A Belltowner afield: New Amsterdam aka NYC

Sometimes the best way to get to know your own space is to get out of it. I've been in New York for the past few days and what I have seen and experienced here puts a whole new frame around Belltown for me. How is New York somehow quieter than Belltown? What this place needs is a Tia Lou's. But then again I keep seeing signs stating that it is illegal to honk. Really. There's a big fine. I'm sure mayor McGinn would agree that keeping people from honking is a clear violation of civil rights. I don't know about you but I don't know if I want to live under such oppression and cruel suppression of my liberties: Imagine living in a place where you can't honk in neighborhoods where people live and sleep? Seattle: have you heard that many of the coffee shops here ban laptop use? How is one supposed to sit and crank out thousands of pages of emo blog text if he can't look up once in a while and see others also pouring their souls out like so much silt from a french press? Unheard of. And a blatant disregard for the rules, far as I am concerned. I would go to a coffee shop to write one thousand words on the subject, but alas! And subways. How come no one wants my money here. In three days I have been asked for money in -count 'em- ONE time. People here must make a lot of money, bums included because I can't walk to Bedlam without someone wanting a dollar back in Belltown. What's with bags and bags of garbage on the sidewalks here? And the quiet organized way in which that garbage gets collected. Weird and a little smelly. Don't you have any alleys? No wonder there's no crackheads, where would they stand and rant? Great food this trip, had an incredible spread of dim sum yesterday for $16 dollars, just about half the price of a rolex. Seattle has a fairly decent skyline, I have to say. The other afternoon we walked down to the water to see the skyline and it was stunning. Our 520 bridge is a little underwhelming when compared to--well just about anything, but this place has some great bridges. Lets get on that. Anyway, The skyline here is broad and dense, but Seattle has the hills, and it makes our buildings look enormously tall. Sort of like being the only guy in class doing downward dog. Awesome. Ok, I'm going to Paris now.

Coach begins “urban camping” class in Belltown, sparks an exercise revolution.

The summer always gets people into the mood to get fit and go outside. Even now that Global Warming has done away with what our forefathers thought of as “summer” the innate desire lingers. Each year, Personal Trainer Jason Squatenhold sees enrollment in his outdoor “boot camp” classes soar early in May in anticipation of the legendary sun’s appearance and this year was no different. Except this year, Mr. Squatenhold had an idea that he says is catching on throughout the country now.

Urban Camp

Jason describes how the idea of “Urban Camp” came to him.
“The ideal of beauty in our society is to be tan and ripped, everyone is trying to get to that place where they look like they spend a lot of time outdoors. Staying thin is very important to the style conscious. I hold my boot camp classes in area parks. In Seattle the homeless are encouraged to occupy the parks as well as streets in front of Nordstrom. What I was seeing was that my clients were all chunky and pale, even more so in comparison to the homeless men leering at them. That’s when I came up with Urban Camping.
The Seattle motif is to be at one with the outdoors, recycling and roughing it, and no one does it quite like the homeless. They literally never go indoors. Harnessing this, Mr. Squatenhold’s clients go through the motions of typical homeless activities.
Client Marsha Mellow says she can feel her core burn when she does the “cigarette butt bends” a move where the class simulates picking up used cigarettes from the ground. Jason makes the class do hundreds of this exercise in a class.
Other exercises include “Spinning in a circle shouting at the sky” a move Coach Squatenhold says is a great way to prevent chin muscles from sagging and an excellent method for getting that sun kissed glow on your face.
"There are no lockers here, in the first class I send every one of my students back to their cars to collect the contents of their trunks, they have to carry everything, including the spare, the duration of the class.”
Naturally you can find a Groupon for “Urban Camp” classes so you can try it out yourself, but the savings don’t end there. “Thursday a German tourist gave me $5 out of nowhere,” stated die-hard Urban Camper Dave Flanders.

Rising Fuel Costs, Happy Hour Deals Keep News Crews in Belltown

Belltown, Seattle-The rising cost of fuel combined with Seattle traffic has local news crews scrambling to find news close to home. “Belltown is great for news, its only a few blocks from our office and its got some great backdrops," said cameraman from BIRO8, adding” I have a whole story on the crumbling inner city built entirely around some B-roll of the McGuire!” When asked about crime that takes place in other parts of the city, news organizations all agreed that reporting news outside of Belltown was challenging and not nearly as rewarding. There’s not a single sign or wall not covered completely in vandalism up in Capitol Hill, which is the point, it’s hard to see the forest for the trees, but down here close to home: “Broken windows! Look!” News like this, right by the studio is a no brainer. First Hill has a really bad problem with cars being broken into, I mentioned. “We know, and you can’t imagine how much expensive equipment we have in our van,” said engineer Rob Basil, “going up there could cost us significantly.”
“Belltown has some wicked happy hour specials, and we can walk to most of the best places,” said on air reporter Connie Shellhair. “We used to party down here when I was at UW and I know all the cool spots.” She said that sometime the news hits home for those in the news business, citing last year’s shooting in front of one of her favorite bars. The shooting eventually ended in the bar losing its liquor permit.
“Businesses everywhere are being told to Think Local, and be sustainable,” said news desk manager Duck Blame of KLAW4 holding up his fingers making air quotes, and we’re responding to that market segment. Mr. Blame said that reporting news, any news in the neighborhood was his way of being green.
But it’s not all wine and roses for these loca-repores. Parking rates in the neighborhood are steep, and can put a dent in bottom lines. “Try parking your news van for more than a couple of hours! Forget it!” Engineer Basil lamented. All news crews agreed that to avoid hefty parking fees they tried to cover stories in Belltown as superficially as possible.
“As news people we’re supposed to get footage of us talking to cops, but then we realized that in Belltown there aren’t a lot of cops, so we often get forced to interview the droves of parking enforcement officers and drawing attention to our vehicles. This was a bad strategy.”

Distractions, God and Passover

I have not posted any content in a while. Bad Monkey. but I have excuses, and since barely anyone reads this blog and I feel sort of narcissistic (cheers to google for helping me spell that correctly) when I write it I don't have to make any further argument for why I have been neglecting the literary flowers in my internet window box.
It was Passover. Before today my last day off was The 7th. I finished strong yesterday, even dropping thank you notes on the many guilty parties to my insanity and stress. Never underestimate the power of a "Thank You" note to anyone over 60. I want a vacation someplace warm but time's a luxury that isn't available to my super busy co-conspirator. She's at that point where she has to be there for everything, and she's super responsible so there's no way she's jumping in the car with me. Secretly I find her dangerously attractive because she's so responsible and reliable. But I still keep asking her to go places with me.
I have been writing though. I wrote a few yelp reviews. You can read those here http://www.yelp.com/biz/bedlam-coffee-seattle#hrid:GJyZvdb4aBCP9xfLG1FjSA
and
http://www.yelp.com/biz/urban-yoga-spa-seattle#hrid:CEav5dsMArw5_sj6i2kgDA

And I write my mom and sister:

Christopher
to Katie, Lisa

Apr 25 (2 days ago)

"We gonna rock down to electric avenue!" Outside the office I hear the radio playing over the cacophony for dinner service. Jeremy shouts for AJ to pick up his food. I only have a minute to write this. The throng of people arriving at 5:45 is the same batch I have been feeding every two hours, like babies.
Prime Rib, medium, up!" Kris shouts. Max has come to the door once, when she comes back I will have to stop this and go see what she needs.
I'm still in Passover. The feeling I have right now about work is not too different from touching fire: I desperately want to not be here anymore and would love to pull my hand away. Overall this Passover has been smooth, but arduously detailed. I know very specific Judaic procedures and laws these days usually known only by the most Orthodox. Good for something, I guess. I have worked 134 hours of the last two weeks. Yea me! Marissa had 16 hours of overtime too, plus she has two 5 hour rehearsals a week. We're soul tired. Exercising has saved me from losing any hair. I love working here at the Summit, but this time of year is the worst.
I will touch base with Elise tonight, Katie. I know she has been taking on clients left and right and lots of her bars are gearing up for summer patio season, but I can catch up with her and see if I can't get you some reduced anxiety....
I remember how much fun your Graduation was, I hope that the trip is great for you.
Mom, keep up the good work with not smoking and remember, the first weeks are your strong suite, keep it up!
There's Max.
Love
Chris


Love to you for reading this too.

Birthday note to my moms and dad November 18th

Mom,
Clearly I understand that the reasons behind taunting always stem from insecurities and fears inside the one doing the putting down. I know too that the enmity I endure from those I care for comes from a place of fear and anger at aging and so many things changing around them. I don't need to imagine how hard it would be to be a person that got treated harshly by someone who needed to put someone else down to feel better about themselves, I live with it daily. I am graced with an ability to charm (thanks dad) and comfort (thanks mom)
What would be hard to imagine would be how impossible it would be to ever truly feel good about myself if I had to rely on other people around me to validate what I already know. You guys taught me a lot of self reliance, you know. And I appreciate the people in my life who love me, but I know I wouldn't even have those good people around if I didn't honor and know the truth of my own soul. I love and know myself well enough to know that the love and support and care I get from others is the icing on the cake. That's the key. Love thyself.
Theologically (if I may sound like dad for a minute-another nod to you dad) at St. Edwards University (thanks for making that happen mom, I am eternally grateful) I learned that "God" dwells in each and every one of us. So to achieve true good one need only let "God" out of your soul via your actions and movement in the world. There is no force moving things around other than the collective energy of those who populate this earth. Dad would not agree, he feels there are several other layers, and while I agree that there are no doubt other layers, how much ability or interest to manipulate the slice we live in is debatable. Wishing everyday for something will only give you hunger. Go and do. Here it is, my Oprah couch moment: Get up everyday and do good. Its my secret-principle-agreement-habit and so far so good. The Dali Lama I am not, but I have read his books too and he touches upon the same ideas. I owe my three parents a giant debt of gratitude for giving me the tools and teaching to seek answers, thanks for the Head Start and the liberal upbringing, all the alternative lifestyles and the variety of cultures you made sure I experienced. Trips to Europe and life in the Caribbean...being son to a single mother, these things made me love diversity and appreciate women. Thank you.
A big nod to Elizabeth, who taught me to cook and to forgive and forget, to rise above and know myself. No son is as lucky as I am to have had such a strong mom. I cherish the times we enjoyed in the kitchen on Hidalgo, and look forward to more. Sorry the mediatating didn't stick.
Back when I didn't love myself, I ignored or worse attacked my loved ones, found little time to do good in the world and generally took up space. I decided to change and do good. It works. When I lose sight of it, things get funky. Will it work? Its better than wishing. Its better than sitting around the house hoping for change. I'm out there, I help and change and comfort and it rolls back in in spades.

Please note that I am not attacking anyone's beliefs here, mom. And you should know that you push my buttons when you drop the pop-psychology book stuff on me, I am glad it works for you and only feel that you should realize that everything you are looking for in these "shelf help" books is already inside you.
Thanks ya'll for making the crazy wild decision to carry me into this world, I love you!!!

pretend

“He’s a fuckwit.” He said. The sidewalk crunches underfoot as they emerge from Brewster’s. Mark lights a cigarette, blows the smoke skyward as is his custom.

“Well, you are an asshole, punctuating his epithet with a cursory tug at the cig, “and damn good at it, too.”

“The hell does that mean? I’m saying he’s a fuckwit, no one believes him." Russell turns to Mark, “do you?”

“I didn’t say I do, just saying that calling him out does you no good, is all.” The two pause at the light. A cab slows, drifting towards them, then accelerates.

He reaches for his wallet as he approach the door,

“And they do believe him, Mark, the fricking do, that’s the sad part,” extracts his license and nods to a man on a stool drinking from a large mug, “Hey Doug how’s things man?”

"Good, Thanks Mark, Russell-ID.” Taking a final drag from his cig and flinging it behind him, says, “They don’t, they don’t believe him, they just choose to go along with it and that’s what’s truly screwed.” A wall of inside swallows their backs.

Two girls, one in dark bangs and black nails are by the beer taps. Shot glasses and beers in front of them. A guy passes them with his bike helmet. “And I was laughing and trying to be nice at the same time, you know, but really, the guy’s wearing pleated jeans, I mean come on.” She’s laughing and drinking her scotch. Her friend is dirty blond and dressed in office clothes, victim of happy hour gone long

“So, what? He’s hitting on you, guys do it all the time, bad fashion never seems to prevent them from trying, so what did you say? “

“Well, I guess I didn’t realize he was hitting on me, because, you know, I never even thought about—anyway, I was being nice, I guess’

“That was your first mistake,” she says, as she pokes a message out on her phone,

“I know, I know, “ her voice rises as she explains, “ but anyway then he asks me what I am doing tonight, and that was when it hit me,”

“What hit you?” she puts her phone off to the side among the beer glasses.

“That’s when I said, Oh shit this guy is hitting on me, so trying! And I made up the story about the conference call and meeting you.” The bartender reaches over a tattooed arm to place flickering votive candles in front of the girls. He nods first at the empty shot glasses then at the girls, turns to the bright screen of the register and begins poking.

As the door closes out the bar sounds outside, Mark steps to the urinal. Russell stands at the sink, leaning in to look at a mark on his cheek. “It’s the game, man. It’s pretend and pretense. Everyone dressed up as something.

"Really? I’m dressed as a man, you…well, you dress for shit,’ he laughs and pushes Mark, who steps forward to avoid tumbling into the urinal.

“We have jobs and credit cards and cars and houses and get up and wear ties, but we’re the same as we have always been, just pretending. I’m just pretending, here.” He turns from the sink. Stands there wringing his hands.

“That fuckwit is pretending, and you know it. And all the girls he gets, they know it too, but what else have we got?” The door swings open and they turn towards the sound of music and conversation. A man stops confused for a moment, then moves towards the urinal, each man careful not to touch the other as they move.

“let’s find another bar, the only girls in here are from my office.”

Heavy Storm Preparedness

You do what you can to avoid the worst; take precautions and put in your efforts.

You worry about your family, your property. At the end of it, as the winds pick up and the effects start to show up on TV, you watch.

Maybe it won’t be as bad as they expect. You say.

Maybe it will turn. You hope.

The talking heads on news channel thrive on destruction and change.

Eventually as the destruction starts to loop on the TV, you turn in for the night.

The worst always happens once its deep night.

In the morning, you’ll get on the net to check out how bad it was.

There are loses and things saved. There are things that will need patching.

Eventually it all goes back to normal; the world finds a way to cope with changes,

Strong and able to absorb the worst, at least for now, little will seem different.

Life goes on.

Election day 2010.

Ghosts In Someone Else's House

There’s a picture in someone’s shoebox of my great Aunt Sylvia standing with a giant shark she caught. My aunt still uses the Queen's English after all these years so far away from her home in New Zealand.

Jack grew up here in Seattle. During the depression, he paid to take the streetcar while his father stood on the corner and waited for him to hand his transfer out the window as the rattling car passed by; they could not afford two tickets.

Tall gentle Milton was a B-17 pilot during the war, he bailed out of his shattered bomber at 20,000 feet above a dark German night. When he landed a farmer with a hunting rifle herded him into town and turned him over to the Nazis. Milton used the walk through snow covered farm roads as an opportunity to ditch his dog tags that identified him as Jewish. He ended up a POW instead of in a death camp.

Heinrick jumped from a box car bound for a concentration camp as it whipped through a frozen forest. He walked for weeks alone in the woods. He was eleven.

Earl played cards all over Europe, says after the war he can’t stand cards. Never fired a shot, because he was a dentist.

Madeline’s father, a wealthy Aristocrat in Vienna, moved his whole house to Buenos Aires, including the cooks and housekeepers. She speaks more languages than she lets on.

Billie went to Garfield, as did many of her friends she still sits with daily. She was the one all the boys wanted to go out with, “because I gave them what they wanted,” she says with a wink of her clear blue eyes.

Grace braided her husband’s hair while he slept in her lap Saturday afternoons at Volunteer Park. And those two have been together since high School (Garfield class of ’41)

Everybody gets old, as the song goes, we all end up ghosts in someone else’s house. Talk to an old lady today.

My Grandad met my Grandmother at a dance, family history says he went out with my Great Aunt Sylvia first.

she never married.

*I have rules at work: I changed all the names and such. The stories are true as when they told me though. I love you aunt Sylvia.

Can we keep him?

Mom,
Yesterday was an Odyssey. First of all I had a very big memorial to do, it was sad to see a friend mourn the loss of her mom and it made me think of you (all) -- my parents--this job is hard sometimes>> fast forward to later in the day: On Sundays we use our Dairy side kitchen, it's fully functioning but maybe only half the size of our meat side kitchen. There isn't a lot of room to work. The high school-er I had assigned to assembling to-go orders got overwhelmed and botched 75% of them, I was covering for concierge when I started to get one angry phone call after another: "Give me the kitchen, this is an outrage!" One should note that "outrage" is defined in this context as receiving quiche when you ordered
salad nicoise. One woman--who is an Olympian of rancor-- finally vanquished me and I was completely demoralized and ready to go cry in my happy place. Instead I soldiered on, finished the evening and went to sushi with Marissa.
On the way home, walking downtown I heard a strange noise, looking across the street I saw, sitting perched on the wheel of a gold SUV....a kitty!
Well. You can imagine that we could not let such a thing alone. We tried for over an hour to coax the mewling wily little creature out of the engine compartment of the vehicle, buses roared by, pricey sardines were procured from a nearby specialty store. Eventually we surrendered the cause. I left a note, an addendum as it turned out-- to a note already written by another "please don't start your car, it has a kitten in it, this is not a joke" to this I added my phone number.
As soon as the contacts were out and we had showered (covered in road and grease...) the phone rang. I had told a neighbor about our evening and so I called them back and we all set out to Save The Kitty!
Now I have a kitten. And a sore throat and itchy eyes. already.
I think we will have to pass her along to someone who wants her soon, but for now, as I type the sound of Marissa coaxing the cat from under the refrigerator and a steady meow are my metronome....
love
Chris

Day in reverse

Sitting in the coffee shop by our house, the one we printed out tickets in the morning we were all going for our (fated) Christmas trip. The air outside is redolent with Fall. In here someone has a cinnamon tea nearby and the music is soul and electro. I'm reading and Marissa is sketching. We got here a little before five and its now 7:30.
The after work meeting crowd left and the punk rock art school baristas kneel out front smoking and killing time. There's a guy twisting a rubik's cube while he looks on at his companion's laptop. She's telling him about the best after-hours gay bars and how her girlfriend often wakes up next to conquests she catalogs based on dominant tattoos.
The high tinkle of the bells punctuates everyone's comings and goings.
Rubik's cube guy goes outside to make a phone call. His right pant leg is rolled up, emblem of his membership in the tribe of the fixie. The barista has decided that we've had enough doo-wop music, and puts on
some Gogol Bordello. My foot moves reflexively and I look up from my
phone. To everyone here I am normal but what is it with us- forever on
our phones- outside a crackhead skitters past, his hair ghastly in the
back light of an expensive European car's halogen-its operator and
passenger slipping into down at the heels Belltown's many high end
eateries. There are so many restaurants because the rent is low.
Commercial space opens everyday, the start-ups and nonprofits, tech
firms and hair salons supplying a gust of lunch business at the apex
of the increasingly darkening days. in the morning the doorways
blocked by bundles of shipping boxes and blotchy blankets. Humans are
in there.
How does one get to a point where not even a family member can offer
shelter. Shuddering in the cold I tread quietly towards the silhouette
statues that emerge from the mist just past six am. We huddle and drop
our mats splat zippers and keys loud in the too soon morning, and
begin to sprint blood flows and I feel the movement of great slabs of
thigh muscle as I grasp to pass my fellow exercise classmates. We
exchange conversation as we lunge, birds fishing in shallow bogs, our
heron legs up, out and down, over and over.
Thus goes a day in reverse in forward in Belltown