Monday, June 30, 2008
Ballard Bull****
Editor/Publisher/Lead Writer: Richard Andrews
Volume 5, © June of 2008
"Where Informed Attitude Counts"
e: ballardbullshit@yahoo.com
web: http://ballardbullshit.blogspot.com
* * * * *
Volume 5, © June of 2008
"Where Informed Attitude Counts"
e: ballardbullshit@yahoo.com
web: http://ballardbullshit.blogspot.com
* * * * *
Einstein's definition of insanity: ". . .doing things over and over again and expecting different results."
The Chai House
SOLD!
SOLD!
Well it finally happened. Jessica (the founder) said "I've had it." Though she still retains ownership of the Chai House Tea empire (based in Greenwood now), the death trips and controlling staff was enough. Oh yea, there's money in the gutter-punk, Goth, metal-stabbed young crowd--they always have cash, but the price was too exorbitant. I personally think the Kyle Huff murders up in Capitol Hill had a whole lot to do with throwing in the towel. Her staff was numbingly close to that horror. And tangentially to blame, while acquiescent to the cops.
Ed Tudor (the old guy buyer) and Chris (his bland son), bought the business. Daddy's rich.
I talked to Chris at a recent Thursday Scratching Post (open mic). Guarded, young, milk-toast to the point of banality, he gave me time, that is until his yuppified friends showed up. The entire quartet was not interested at all with the talent that was on-stage. After all, it's his now, and his rise to importance is to be adulated right? This new group of millennials only know one thing--keep it boring and you'll at least make some money. I fear the Edge is vacating Ballard. But nature abhors a vacuum, and I predict some entrepreneur will find a location near Market to advance a new Edge. The last gasps of Mr. Spots are acrid. If indeed they are the last.
I spent the last four Thursday eves at the Chai to gauge the change, if any. The other Chris, let's call him MC Chris, is one of the last hold-outs there--he was M-C-ing at the old location on Market Street. I could never utter one bad thing about this outstanding young man. Now figure this, he works graveyards (midnight to nine), and faithfully runs the talent show on Thursdays. It's his contribution to Ballard, he doesn't, nor has he, received a dime for his efforts (well alright, maybe a free can of beer now and then). At this point in time, MC Chris is like the proverbial "deer in the headlights" scenario. With the new ownership, he feels everything slipping, slipping away. I personally have mentally bashed on him to take back control.
"I used to have the 'Chris formula.' Many of the performers I already knew (both musical and spoken word). I would balance the evening with their talent."
"Well what happened?" I asked.
"It's kind of like I let democracy take over. I had complaints, and I guess I kind of caved to that."
"So you let the 'Chris formula' die a quiet death, based on unsubstantiated complaints? Think of Ed Sullivan, think of any talent show that has a leader. Of course you're going to get complaints, and right now I'm complaining to you about the lack of talent, and a crowd that now supports that. Where's your balls Chris?"
"Yeah I know," he said.
Chris' Mom and Dad were the essence of the 60's culture. After you're done jading your memories, after your through denying your own myopia, then you'll begin to find the paths of two people, one man, one woman, whose intricate threads formed a perfect supplication with reverence: their Son Chris.
He is Ballard's MC.
It's just too damn easy to give accolades post mortem. Hence the Edith Chronicles Thing--recognize them when they're alive because History is on your side. Know that Sainthood knows no gender, nor age.
When you speak with Chris, please recognize the giant in front of you.
And this my good friends, is what the guts of Ballard is all about.
That leaves us with the Chai House up for grabs. This is a defining moment for that place, and if it succumbs to worn-out formulas, then so be it. But MC Chris is a clever fellow, and he just might find an extra ace up his sleeve. . . . . . . .
Ed Tudor (the old guy buyer) and Chris (his bland son), bought the business. Daddy's rich.
I talked to Chris at a recent Thursday Scratching Post (open mic). Guarded, young, milk-toast to the point of banality, he gave me time, that is until his yuppified friends showed up. The entire quartet was not interested at all with the talent that was on-stage. After all, it's his now, and his rise to importance is to be adulated right? This new group of millennials only know one thing--keep it boring and you'll at least make some money. I fear the Edge is vacating Ballard. But nature abhors a vacuum, and I predict some entrepreneur will find a location near Market to advance a new Edge. The last gasps of Mr. Spots are acrid. If indeed they are the last.
I spent the last four Thursday eves at the Chai to gauge the change, if any. The other Chris, let's call him MC Chris, is one of the last hold-outs there--he was M-C-ing at the old location on Market Street. I could never utter one bad thing about this outstanding young man. Now figure this, he works graveyards (midnight to nine), and faithfully runs the talent show on Thursdays. It's his contribution to Ballard, he doesn't, nor has he, received a dime for his efforts (well alright, maybe a free can of beer now and then). At this point in time, MC Chris is like the proverbial "deer in the headlights" scenario. With the new ownership, he feels everything slipping, slipping away. I personally have mentally bashed on him to take back control.
"I used to have the 'Chris formula.' Many of the performers I already knew (both musical and spoken word). I would balance the evening with their talent."
"Well what happened?" I asked.
"It's kind of like I let democracy take over. I had complaints, and I guess I kind of caved to that."
"So you let the 'Chris formula' die a quiet death, based on unsubstantiated complaints? Think of Ed Sullivan, think of any talent show that has a leader. Of course you're going to get complaints, and right now I'm complaining to you about the lack of talent, and a crowd that now supports that. Where's your balls Chris?"
"Yeah I know," he said.
Chris' Mom and Dad were the essence of the 60's culture. After you're done jading your memories, after your through denying your own myopia, then you'll begin to find the paths of two people, one man, one woman, whose intricate threads formed a perfect supplication with reverence: their Son Chris.
He is Ballard's MC.
It's just too damn easy to give accolades post mortem. Hence the Edith Chronicles Thing--recognize them when they're alive because History is on your side. Know that Sainthood knows no gender, nor age.
When you speak with Chris, please recognize the giant in front of you.
And this my good friends, is what the guts of Ballard is all about.
That leaves us with the Chai House up for grabs. This is a defining moment for that place, and if it succumbs to worn-out formulas, then so be it. But MC Chris is a clever fellow, and he just might find an extra ace up his sleeve. . . . . . . .
* * * * *
Edith Macefield:
The Rest of the Story
The Rest of the Story
Edith's Edict--Leave Me Alone You Assholes
"You're dirty, sweet. . .and you're my girl."
-----T. Rex
-----T. Rex
Well here we go, and you, my dear readers, just might shit a brick.
What happens when a buxom young beauty actually lives to be an octogenarian? Do you still look at her tits? If you've even been sentient recently, you saw the article about me and Edith (age 86) in the June 25th issue of the Ballard News-Tribune. So it's all well and good right? Edith won the battle with Ledcor, the developer, and she has been canonized (with my help I may add) into local folklore. She won didn't she? But Fate has stranger twists for you. . .
Your intrepid editor did some real digging. I have a copy of the "Revocable Trust" that Edith signed. This type of document guarantees real estate passage. Well, she revoked it, and the "heir" was not to get it. "I was going to give my place to the Catholic Church," she mused to me one day, "but I didn't want to give it to a bunch of pedophiles." Are you with me yet? Now here's where the story undulates.
Barry M., the absolute Superintendent of the Ballard Blocks One project (the Edith thing), cared for Edith from the second they broke ground, and then began moving the polluted soils to Oregon. He took her to her hair appointments, made sure she had loads of fresh fruit, instructed his crew to always make sure her parking spot was available, etc. Follow me now. Edith told him she did not want her place to become a park or a memorial. She wanted to fade away into Eternity without fanfare. She was sick of the attention.
What happens when a buxom young beauty actually lives to be an octogenarian? Do you still look at her tits? If you've even been sentient recently, you saw the article about me and Edith (age 86) in the June 25th issue of the Ballard News-Tribune. So it's all well and good right? Edith won the battle with Ledcor, the developer, and she has been canonized (with my help I may add) into local folklore. She won didn't she? But Fate has stranger twists for you. . .
Your intrepid editor did some real digging. I have a copy of the "Revocable Trust" that Edith signed. This type of document guarantees real estate passage. Well, she revoked it, and the "heir" was not to get it. "I was going to give my place to the Catholic Church," she mused to me one day, "but I didn't want to give it to a bunch of pedophiles." Are you with me yet? Now here's where the story undulates.
Barry M., the absolute Superintendent of the Ballard Blocks One project (the Edith thing), cared for Edith from the second they broke ground, and then began moving the polluted soils to Oregon. He took her to her hair appointments, made sure she had loads of fresh fruit, instructed his crew to always make sure her parking spot was available, etc. Follow me now. Edith told him she did not want her place to become a park or a memorial. She wanted to fade away into Eternity without fanfare. She was sick of the attention.
And in a final supernova, she...deeded...her...entire...place...to...Barry!!
The very person who was demonized (globally). The developer's lap dog. And, she gave him full Power of Attorney to take care of her affairs after her death. Both the Investigative Medical Examiner and the lead Mortician at Evergreen told me this. So to the Ballard community who wanted to keep her place as a shrine (including one of the founders of the Viking Bank), she simply stuck her middle finger right up their butts.
Irony At Its Best
The big question for everyone is: what's going to become of her house? Well you're getting it straight and true right here, and first: in time, it will be demolished, and the remainder of the Ballard Blocks One will continue, just as they had planned.
So the developer gained by personal default. But Edith dominated the battle from the beginning. Her final wishes were to raze her house, and let its memories be absorbed into the future.
Now what do you want to do? Go against her final algorithm?
So the developer gained by personal default. But Edith dominated the battle from the beginning. Her final wishes were to raze her house, and let its memories be absorbed into the future.
Now what do you want to do? Go against her final algorithm?
* * * * *
ASTER
Well what is that damn CLOVER coffee maker? Is it the superlative infused nirvana? Did you, like ol' man Schultz of Starbucks, get sucked in, like a Latter Day convert, to the verbiage of hype? Dear reader, did you abscond your taste buds for two things:
The new Aster Café is at 56th and 24th NW (5615). At the base of the other NOMA. The owner, bless her soul, is Beth Scribner, who you may recognize as an ex-Cafe Verité employee. She now has her own little oasis. But be prepared to drop some bucks. While she admitted that she does not give anything away at the monthly artwalk, she was quick to add that her happy hour runs every day, from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. The specials: $3.00 pints of beer, and house wines (red and white) for $4.00 a glass. Do you dear readers see a trend starting to develop? The operative word is 'overcharge.' Now here's where it gets sketchy--I love the entrepreneurship, but you gotta have a staff that is a clone of you, OR, you have to have a staff that brings a twist, OR, you have to have a superlative product that humbles the competition.
Her main employee---Dan U.,---is a narcissistic know-it-all who just doesn't know when to stop lecturing.
When can you get past the jargon of pomposity?. . .does price dictate pleasure?. . .is the brain's perception based on hype or bean reality? Barista Dan U. would be a consummate Marine. It's just that this type of simper fi doesn't fit Ms. Scribner's vision. Sure, he's got all the coffee jibe, and he's confident that his argument is secure. And that's the problem. I don't need, as a customer, to be cajoled into a knowledge cave. My palette will judge the bean, not the rap.
Well I ordered the 'middle.' Three dollars for what? For the barista's bullshit, that's what. If you're buying into brand name, i.e. the Clover brewing process, then you've just been conned. Hard to admit, but Starbucks' Pike Market blend, even in the drip form, was superlative over this Clover crap.
This joint is an evangelical paradise. BELIEVE. Faith cannot dominate my wallet, but evidently thespian excellence can. The coffee is the Holy Grail, and my faith has been diminished. This 'Clover' machine is supposed to take me to Socratic areas, per the barista that is, and when I arrive I crash to the earth. I make better coffee with my crude drip system at home.
So if you want to get sucked into this 'Clover' temporary mania, dig in.
It's bullshit in its purest form. And that’s how this rag gets its name.
Her main employee---Dan U.,---is a narcissistic know-it-all who just doesn't know when to stop lecturing.
When can you get past the jargon of pomposity?. . .does price dictate pleasure?. . .is the brain's perception based on hype or bean reality? Barista Dan U. would be a consummate Marine. It's just that this type of simper fi doesn't fit Ms. Scribner's vision. Sure, he's got all the coffee jibe, and he's confident that his argument is secure. And that's the problem. I don't need, as a customer, to be cajoled into a knowledge cave. My palette will judge the bean, not the rap.
Well I ordered the 'middle.' Three dollars for what? For the barista's bullshit, that's what. If you're buying into brand name, i.e. the Clover brewing process, then you've just been conned. Hard to admit, but Starbucks' Pike Market blend, even in the drip form, was superlative over this Clover crap.
This joint is an evangelical paradise. BELIEVE. Faith cannot dominate my wallet, but evidently thespian excellence can. The coffee is the Holy Grail, and my faith has been diminished. This 'Clover' machine is supposed to take me to Socratic areas, per the barista that is, and when I arrive I crash to the earth. I make better coffee with my crude drip system at home.
So if you want to get sucked into this 'Clover' temporary mania, dig in.
It's bullshit in its purest form. And that’s how this rag gets its name.
* * * * *
The Ballard Art Walk
An Update, A Downturn
An Update, A Downturn
“The Arts Council doesn’t believe in supporting amateurs, except in its own ranks.”
--Sir John Drummond
--Sir John Drummond
Well OK. I do the perfunctory Second Saturday Walk. And once again, the arrogance of the Old Ballard Ave ambience does not overwhelm me. I'm supposed to feel fortunate that many of the businesses are open. What? Screw you.
There is a local cultural attitude that undermines the Spirit of the Artwalk. You (the customer) are here for me (the merchant). What a crock. It's not an Art Walk--it's a vacant attitude. You might as well have a ticket, a pass, to even let you sip wine. Take OK OK gallery for instance--last month they had a piece of art for $36,000. But both hosts, Charlie and Amanda that is, eagerly invited you to contribute to the 'drinks' fund, i.e., the cheap-ass cans of PBR. So you should throw some bucks into a kitty that should be free. I thought they had a little more class than that.
This is the new Ballard Attitude, and it sucks. Forced (albeit suggested) donations do not an Art Walk make.
There is a new cynicism that pervades Ballard right now. And it has nothing to do with the orgasmic growth of condos or apartment conversions. Why should the “artistic” Millennial generation be exempt from Greed?
But speaking of exemptions, let me give you a couple. SKARBOS, which is the new furniture store that replaced Olsen's, is a participatory player. The wife of the owner gets it: she provides wine and the appropriate cheeses, and doesn't worry about drunks spilling alcohol on her four thousand dollar leather couches. "Hey, this is the cheapest advertising I've done," she states. Exactly. She chooses her artists expeditiously, and grants them a whole lot of wall space. Quality artists. Her affable manager, Mr. Andrews (no relation to me), is witty, wholesome, slightly edgy if you push him, and warm to all of his guests. (Why else would they name the patron Saint of Scotland, St. Andrews?) This is a nice place, and you should support it.
And always peek at the New York Fashion Academy. Terri and her husband bought that whole building a couple of years ago, and it is just now re-germinating. This place is HUGE. Now of course the nationally respected Academy gets precedence, but there is enough space to have a full-fledged gallery, at ground level, and Gallery it will become. They held a few experimental exhibits in the last year, to a resounding response. Yes of course, they know the value of "give a little." Wine and cheese, yes.
Their May, full-blown art exhibit, was one of the most talented collaborations I have seen in Ballard. First class stuff. They're even going to refurbish the original fir floors to spec. I told hubby Robert: "Why not look at it this way. Give the South end of Ballard Ave to OK OK, and you take the North end. The noose tightens in-between." He got it.
So there you have two reasons to still attend the second Saturday Art Walk. As for the other businesses, they've got to capitulate a little, and realize they're not that important. For Ballard Ave to become a homogenous unit once again (like it was four years ago), it's about sharing the wealth, escape the 'take take take' mentality, and get back to a few basics, the most important one being: lighten up, serve up some freebies, and give us locals a definitive reason to return.
If not, there's always Fremont, just a little stretch down the street. . . . . .
There is a local cultural attitude that undermines the Spirit of the Artwalk. You (the customer) are here for me (the merchant). What a crock. It's not an Art Walk--it's a vacant attitude. You might as well have a ticket, a pass, to even let you sip wine. Take OK OK gallery for instance--last month they had a piece of art for $36,000. But both hosts, Charlie and Amanda that is, eagerly invited you to contribute to the 'drinks' fund, i.e., the cheap-ass cans of PBR. So you should throw some bucks into a kitty that should be free. I thought they had a little more class than that.
This is the new Ballard Attitude, and it sucks. Forced (albeit suggested) donations do not an Art Walk make.
There is a new cynicism that pervades Ballard right now. And it has nothing to do with the orgasmic growth of condos or apartment conversions. Why should the “artistic” Millennial generation be exempt from Greed?
But speaking of exemptions, let me give you a couple. SKARBOS, which is the new furniture store that replaced Olsen's, is a participatory player. The wife of the owner gets it: she provides wine and the appropriate cheeses, and doesn't worry about drunks spilling alcohol on her four thousand dollar leather couches. "Hey, this is the cheapest advertising I've done," she states. Exactly. She chooses her artists expeditiously, and grants them a whole lot of wall space. Quality artists. Her affable manager, Mr. Andrews (no relation to me), is witty, wholesome, slightly edgy if you push him, and warm to all of his guests. (Why else would they name the patron Saint of Scotland, St. Andrews?) This is a nice place, and you should support it.
And always peek at the New York Fashion Academy. Terri and her husband bought that whole building a couple of years ago, and it is just now re-germinating. This place is HUGE. Now of course the nationally respected Academy gets precedence, but there is enough space to have a full-fledged gallery, at ground level, and Gallery it will become. They held a few experimental exhibits in the last year, to a resounding response. Yes of course, they know the value of "give a little." Wine and cheese, yes.
Their May, full-blown art exhibit, was one of the most talented collaborations I have seen in Ballard. First class stuff. They're even going to refurbish the original fir floors to spec. I told hubby Robert: "Why not look at it this way. Give the South end of Ballard Ave to OK OK, and you take the North end. The noose tightens in-between." He got it.
So there you have two reasons to still attend the second Saturday Art Walk. As for the other businesses, they've got to capitulate a little, and realize they're not that important. For Ballard Ave to become a homogenous unit once again (like it was four years ago), it's about sharing the wealth, escape the 'take take take' mentality, and get back to a few basics, the most important one being: lighten up, serve up some freebies, and give us locals a definitive reason to return.
If not, there's always Fremont, just a little stretch down the street. . . . . .
The Fremont Art Walk
An Update, An UpTick
An Update, An UpTick
“I look as if I was having a difficult stool.”
---Winston Churchill, on his portrait painted by Graham Sutherland
---Winston Churchill, on his portrait painted by Graham Sutherland
Well OK again. First Fridays have never looked better. What a refreshing change from the greed of the Ballard Art Walk. I hadn't been over there in a while but what a treat. At every place I visited I let them know that Ballard was represented. Nothing but open arms and open treats. Fremont has been trashed in the last few years, ad nauseam. But therein lies the problem--it's a false conundrum. Gentrification did NOT take Fremont over. The press said it did. but the locals quietly fought that bad representation.
And hence, an excellent Art Walk. I mean it. Of particular note was a Gallery called The Orange Splot. It featured five artists, and didn't mind at all if you had one too many glasses of wine. In Ballard they would have scowled at you. All of the Artists were in attendance, and all were willing to discuss their Art. Humble. This is the Stuff of an Art Walk, and leave it to Fremont to lead the way.
It’s annoying to live in Ballard and allow the local powers shove this Nordic shit down our throats all of the time. I wrote in an early issue of the Bullshit a needling fact: the Scandinavians never were the dominant force in Ballard. The definitive census from 1910 put the Nordic population second to the Midwest Germans. So we really should be celebrating knockwurst with good dark beer. Ballard lives a lie that way.
All Fremont ever claimed was to be the Center of the Universe, and put some outrageous statues in their town.
Thus: false pretension in Ballard, honesty in Fremont. And it shows in their Artwalk.And hence, an excellent Art Walk. I mean it. Of particular note was a Gallery called The Orange Splot. It featured five artists, and didn't mind at all if you had one too many glasses of wine. In Ballard they would have scowled at you. All of the Artists were in attendance, and all were willing to discuss their Art. Humble. This is the Stuff of an Art Walk, and leave it to Fremont to lead the way.
It’s annoying to live in Ballard and allow the local powers shove this Nordic shit down our throats all of the time. I wrote in an early issue of the Bullshit a needling fact: the Scandinavians never were the dominant force in Ballard. The definitive census from 1910 put the Nordic population second to the Midwest Germans. So we really should be celebrating knockwurst with good dark beer. Ballard lives a lie that way.
All Fremont ever claimed was to be the Center of the Universe, and put some outrageous statues in their town.
* * * * *
E's:
E-0: "I don't know if I like you at all, but hottdamn, Y'know what the Iron of Truth Is? It's you."-----Billy H.
E-1: "Since Edith ain't alive, I'll hang out at Mike's Chili and beat the shit out of anyone who might disrespect her."-----Reggie W.
E-2: "Can I still talk to her?. . .can I just sidle up and tell her she's loved, but not in the way she's used to. . ."-----Renaldo R.
E-3: "History is best when it erases. Her memory will fade, until entropy says 'I'm gonna put it right back in your face.'"-----Derek II Z.
E-1: "Since Edith ain't alive, I'll hang out at Mike's Chili and beat the shit out of anyone who might disrespect her."-----Reggie W.
E-2: "Can I still talk to her?. . .can I just sidle up and tell her she's loved, but not in the way she's used to. . ."-----Renaldo R.
E-3: "History is best when it erases. Her memory will fade, until entropy says 'I'm gonna put it right back in your face.'"-----Derek II Z.
(f)E's:
(f)E-0: "'The Chronicles of St. Edith' is the right title. When you achieve Sainthood, minus the Church, God smiles. . ."-----Jenna B.
(f)E-1: "I Googled 'Bertrand Russell' and scored some photos. No wonder Edith went after this sexy, distinguished, all guy, all guy. . . "-----Melissa A.
(f)E-2: "Her memory imprints structure to a tortured soul. There is comfort in that, comfort in that. . . "-----Cari Ann B.
Aggravated e(f)ểmails
androgynous at best:
androgynous at best:
"So Edith's your hero huh? Why?"-----Willus
"Gosh Richard, did you get any bone fragments from her?. . .saliva?. . .personal relics?. . .it appears you are a master of vivisection. ."---Elliote
And a Poetic Favorite:
"You've put into words what was just beyond my tongue."-----Leera Beckon
* * * * *
Snippets
"Tiny," an Alaskan Native American living in Seattle (Ballard), got screwed by the Supreme Court's ruling regarding the Exxon Valdez oil spill. He, and all of the other 33,000 plaintiffs, will get $15,000. for the punitive damages. The court ruled that compensatory damages should benchmark the punitive award. Translation: this dilution comes after a jury award of over 5 billion dollars in 1996, then to 2.6 billion dollars (from the 9th Circuit), then to $500 million after almost 20 years. (h)Exxon won.
Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey: if you want a melodic, but quiet moment, go to the free concerts, on Sunday afternoons, at the expansive lawn near the entrance of the Ballard Locks. You will witness a geriatric crowd who lived in an era that determined ours. I saw an old gal get up and dance a swing tune, despite her arthritis, despite her pain. Go there and experience a warm time from long ago, a time that hinted at that demon of the youth--rock'n'roll. I’m not saying you have to like the genre, but if you need a break from all the madness. . .
The New Homeless Shelter in Ballard: Well it's really the Library. Cement this image in your mind that I saw. I took a dump, flushed, and on my way to washing my hands, I saw this: some bum (yea that's right, bum) had backed his ass up to the stand-up urinal, and was spraying liquid shit out of his ass into, onto. . .yckk!. . . Can you smell this yet? But the female man-haters who run that dump would rather listen to the melodious and dulcet tones of toddlers, screaming their friggin' heads off. . .well, that's just because they're cute you know. . .and their public offal is confined.
When The Rubber Hits the Road: Did you know you can get all the FREE condoms you need at the local DSHS? Yup, increase your stash, at no charge. If you're shy, well just go to the john (this is the second bathroom rap, I've got to get a grip). In the little atrium is a plastic bin full of all the protections you need.
Film It You Idiots: Look, we live in a police state, and you know it. Learn your vid/phone. It's not that hard. It's a check and balance the Constitution never could have imagined. And when you see the pigs beating the rights out of your friend's head, film it. The major networks love it, and so do local judges. The right snippet can go viral very quickly. Why should the cops have all the advantages? Well they don't, just film them. Learn your cam damnit. Here’s a little scene I witnessed at the North end of Pike Market just a couple of years ago: a cop pulled up near the central speed island and stopped. A scruffy guy emerged with a roll of bills, put it into the cop’s hand and vanished. My angle of sight would have been a perfect angle for filming, had I had a vid phone. C’mon now, exercise your rights OK?
Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey: if you want a melodic, but quiet moment, go to the free concerts, on Sunday afternoons, at the expansive lawn near the entrance of the Ballard Locks. You will witness a geriatric crowd who lived in an era that determined ours. I saw an old gal get up and dance a swing tune, despite her arthritis, despite her pain. Go there and experience a warm time from long ago, a time that hinted at that demon of the youth--rock'n'roll. I’m not saying you have to like the genre, but if you need a break from all the madness. . .
The New Homeless Shelter in Ballard: Well it's really the Library. Cement this image in your mind that I saw. I took a dump, flushed, and on my way to washing my hands, I saw this: some bum (yea that's right, bum) had backed his ass up to the stand-up urinal, and was spraying liquid shit out of his ass into, onto. . .yckk!. . . Can you smell this yet? But the female man-haters who run that dump would rather listen to the melodious and dulcet tones of toddlers, screaming their friggin' heads off. . .well, that's just because they're cute you know. . .and their public offal is confined.
When The Rubber Hits the Road: Did you know you can get all the FREE condoms you need at the local DSHS? Yup, increase your stash, at no charge. If you're shy, well just go to the john (this is the second bathroom rap, I've got to get a grip). In the little atrium is a plastic bin full of all the protections you need.
Film It You Idiots: Look, we live in a police state, and you know it. Learn your vid/phone. It's not that hard. It's a check and balance the Constitution never could have imagined. And when you see the pigs beating the rights out of your friend's head, film it. The major networks love it, and so do local judges. The right snippet can go viral very quickly. Why should the cops have all the advantages? Well they don't, just film them. Learn your cam damnit. Here’s a little scene I witnessed at the North end of Pike Market just a couple of years ago: a cop pulled up near the central speed island and stopped. A scruffy guy emerged with a roll of bills, put it into the cop’s hand and vanished. My angle of sight would have been a perfect angle for filming, had I had a vid phone. C’mon now, exercise your rights OK?
