I was supposed to be reading...

I've been trying to dry our laundry without a dryer lately. This is both easier and harder as a laundromat patron. It's easier because it saves me a LOT of quarters and time sitting at the cafe next to the laundromat. It's harder because it feels strange to cart wet laundry through the streets and up the stairs to my apartment.

This means that I only have 30 minutes or so to wait while my laundry washes. Unfortunately, my new laundromat (the one I recently started visiting, the one that has a hand lettered sign in the window that says "New Owner and He's CUTE!") plays daytime television very loudly. I actually have a hard time not getting mad in there just because of the fear/shame-based shows, so I started going next door, to the Robinwood cafe. Once, I got a spinach pie there and it was really delicious. I'd looked through their entire four page menu without finding much vegetarian, and not much that I was excited to eat (they have breakfast all day, but I try not to eat factory farmed eggs) when I spied (under desserts!) a spinach pie. Turns out the owners are Greek and the Spinach pie is fantastic!

Today, I started my wash (I added Cocacola to one of the washers to deal with some olive oil stains. My sister told me it would work. The clothes are still on the porch, so it remains to be seen.) then headed to the cafe. Since I'm broke, and I'd bought the coke there, I sat at a table with the half-full coke and asked for water to drink while I read.

I heard the young, enthusiastic waiter plugging a show he was playing tonight at Spontaneous Celebrations, a community center near my house. Then, I heard him talking with an older Greek woman who runs the show at the cafe, possibly an owner.

Woman: What will you wear?
Waiter: Jeans and a Tshirt. Normal stuff.
Woman: Do you play songs? Nice Songs? _______________

(Now,in that blank spot, I thought she said "like, musical?" But the kid (who knows her better and was actually in the conversation seemed to think she said "like disco". I'll never know which it was, but it works both ways.)

Waiter: Like disco? I tell you every time. It's hard core punk. It's fast and loud.

I returned to my reading about how school systems can build schools to teach higher order thinking skills for a moment until...

Waiter: When it's recorded, people say I sound Japanese. (guy is white)
Woman: Japanese?
Waiter: yeah.
Woman: What do you say? What are the words? Are there lyrics?

The waiter then very sincerely explained what the songs were about. But that was so sweet that I didn't write it down. He also explained that they had made their own posters, t shirts, cassettes (?) and cds and then given most of them away. The woman was not very impressed with this business plan and told him so.

The whole time, I must point out, "Your song" by Elton John was playing in the background.

Yelling "Fire" in a crowded T stop doesn't have the same effect.

I took inauguration day off so that I could watch the proceedings as they happened.  Since we don't have cable at our house, I headed off to a bar nearbye.  (Yes, they WERE showing it at all the libraries, but I was unsure what kind of scene that might be and I was pretty certain what it would look like at Doyle's, so I headed over there.)

As I walked down the stairs, I smelled smoke, and thought "Crazy JP!  Did somebody burn sage down here to cleanse the T on this new day of hope?!"  I saw some haze in the air, rolled my eyes, figured it MIGHT be some friction between train and rail, and continued trying to get CNN on my phone.  Eventually, I heard a man, almost shouting into the emergency call box beneath the escalators.

"... a small fire at Stonybrook station."

"Ok, sir, but you'll have to call a dispatcher."

"No, no.  I'm a passenger... on the T... and I'm reporting a FIRE here at Stonybrook station."

"Yes, sir.  I heard you, but you'll have to call the dispatcher."

At this point most of us on the platform had subtly scooted ourselves closer so that we could hear everything.  I'd looked around and realized that there was an actual fire on the line where the train to Forest Hills runs. The man had been bent over to get his mouth close to the call box, and at this, he straightened up and gave the most comically blank look I think I've ever seen.  We chuckled, and he tried again.

"Listen, I'm a PASSENGER, and I'm telling YOU that there's a FIRE at the T stop at Stonybrook station.  You WORK fo the T, I need YOU to call somebody!"

The woman started to protest but at this point the train to Oak Grove showed up and the man left the call box and boarded the train.  I also boarded the train (I ride this train everyday, and so even though I needed to go towards Forest Hills, I climbed on my usual train and rode a stop in the wrong direction.)  The passenger next to me asked "Do you smell smoke?"  "Yes." I said. "There's a fire at the Stonybrook station."  I said this calmly and looked at the man who'd been trying to do the right thing back there at the call box.  No reaction.  "Oh." Said the woman.  "Thank you for telling me."  Later, on the correct train, I had an identical conversation.  It was strange because I found the words "There's a fire at the Stonybrook T stop." terribly funny even though I really couldn't explain it.

and then, of course, I watched our nation's history change in front of us and drank a beer to celebrate.

Last Solstice in Seattle/Overheard in Fremont

It's time to stop beating around the bush.

Tonight Z said something about our "last 6 weeks in Seattle". "We have WAY more than 6 weeks." I said in the same tone of voice that I tell the children to "put that stick down" or "do not push me" or the voice I used to tell crack addicts to "please take a ten minute walk". "Alright 9 weeks" he said.

Anyway, I've been staying away from "Last Blah blah blah" but I'm ready now, friends... it's time for lasts. Then I'll get firsts. The other day, it randomly occurred to me that I'll be back east in time to spend my brother's birthday with him for the first time... probably in ten years. Probably. Maybe nine. This is good news. (P.s. I hope that brother stays put for his birthday, but it's ok if he doesn't because I've got lots more New England Septembers in store.)

I already had my last mothers' day and fathers' day that I didn't call because I woke up late and did a thing, then another thing, then I ate some dinner and it was way late back east, too late for calling. No more of that, which is cool. (Hey, I didn't miss them EVERY year, most years I totally made it... it just sucks when I didn't so I remembered it more.)

Anyway, last Saturday was my last Fremont Solstice parade. When we first moved here, Z and I lived in Fremont... an arty neighborhood which (suprise!) has gotten less cool and more commercial over the last 10-20 years. This neighborhood hosts a big fair and Solstice parade every summer and even in my 7 years here it's gotten WAY bigger. I've always gone alone, though in the past I've met up with good friends. This week I went alone (Z considered going, just because it was his last chance. On the other hand, he hates crowds and there was a Eurocup game going on, so he was much happier at home.) and was happy about that. I am so often on the verge of tears in big crowds.... (esp. since I stopped smoking, I'm kind of an emotional wreck... in a good, clean, celebratory way).

The hippie pagan selling prayer flags in English, the kids watching the bubble man, the guy who built a huge chair so that he could sit 15 feet above the crowd at the parade, one of my favorite coffee shacks all dolled up like a cabaret, everything made me cry a little bit.

As the naked cyclists swirled around (there was an awesome naked guy painted silver on a skateboard as silver surfer which was awesome) I was still looking for a spot. I passed a grown man talking to an older man (his father I think) saying "Some people never learned the value of wearing clothes, I guess". I found this fascinating on so many levels. Then I saw a big vinyl sign held aloft that said "GOD HAS GIVEN YOU OVER TO YOUR DEGRADING PASSIONS." I misread this as celebratory, and got all teary. Later, I saw that the guy had a megaphone and was trying to save people from themselves, and realized I'd had it wrong. I heard part of his rant "Like this little woman here. What do you call yourself young lady?"

Woman in wings: A fairy.
Man Trying to Save Us: A fairy. What fairies like this don't know is...
Nearbye man with a pink fedora and a lisp: There's nothing wrong being a fairy.
Random strangers in the crowd: Chuckle.
Woman in wings: Fairies Rule!
Two women in wings: FAIRIES RULE!
Man in pink fedora and women in wings and passersbye: FAIRIES RULE! FAIRIES RULE! FAIRIES RULE!

I have to say I can't quite imagine tinkerbell pumping her fist in the air the way they were, but it was lovely in its own way.I sat down for a second to write this stuff down, and the guy from the local paper took my picture.



Unfortunately, the guy asked me what I was writing, and I said "Something I overheard that I want to remember" and he captioned the picture "Kendra PeloJoaquis pauses to makes some notes on what she's heard people say as they walked by her." That Ms. PeloJoaquis sounds like a creepy character. Yuck! Fortunately, it's a picture of my lap, so I think I'm safe. Next big last... my last day working with my mentor.

Heard in Ballard

As I slogged up a slight hill on my way home today, a dude rolled down his window to say "Thanks for biking!"

At first, I felt happy and appreciated, then I wondered why this dude was in a car if he valued biking so much, and THEN I realized that I was looking at the Bubble Man in his purple bubble mini-van.

And I felt awesome.

Laurie -1 Guy in the Chai House - 0

Overheard Saturday Midday at Mr. Spot's Chai House:

Guy is first tapping away at his laptop, then greets a friend. The friend comes over to say hi, and they chat, after awhile, Guy loses interest in friend and becomes more attentive to his video poker game.

Guy is standing, leaning over glaring at his laptop.

"Stop betting Laurie. Stop betting. Oh, Laurie, come on, I'm not betting for nothing. Laurie, don't do it Laurie, you don't have it. We both know you don't have it. Throw your cards in Laurie. There's no way I'm bluffing, I can't afford to bluff. You don't want a standoff. Stop betting. Laurie!" There's a pause. Then
"Oh! Laurie you bitch!"

The friend mumbles a question. Poker guy responds.

"There's a lot of ways to win a game like this. A show down is one way. Yeah, I could probably go all in and win a in a show down. But I don't want to win in a show down on this one. Oh, Laurie!"

I glanced over at the guy's screen. Laurie's avatar had long blonde hair, blue eyes and a white cowboy hat. I wondered if she's a real person or just a computer player.

Oh Laurie!

Overheard outside the Obama rally

Among the thousands-strong throngs of us who were left out of the packed Key Arena were two skinny black jeans-clad punk teenage girls. One of them was clearly still learning to smoke as she said...

"But you donot' know... he could turn out to be a pedophile, and you'd like have his name on your body forever."

"But he's NOT a pedophile."


-- I imagined that this was a conversation about getting an Obama tattoo.

Z points out that this conversation could (and should) happen whenever one considers getting a tattoo with a person's name on it. (Unless your last name is Gray, in which case something deeper than thought goes into it, clearly.)

Overheard on the playground

Spoken by a first grader and a Kindergarten whose casual manner shows that they CLEARLY do not yet know the cultural significance of moms and dogs.

"There's my mom."
"That's your dog?"
"No! That's my mom!"

Heard in Tenants Harbor ME

Breakfast at Farmer's Restaurant across the street from my grandpa's old house.

Jessy: What kind of veggies are in the veggie omelet?

Waitress: Oh, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions... we don't put anything weird in there. I been waitressin' for years, but one day somebody asked "You don't put OLIVES in yer omelets, do you? I said NO! Ha! Can you imagine!?"

Overheard in Ballard (fancy pants bistro edition)

Around 5 pm or so, as I put together YET ANOTHER piece of office furniture, I said to my pal Sharon... "after this, let's go drink beer." After two more hours of back breaking moving madness (no, really, my back got older faster than I did, AND one of the movers quit(not our fault) in the midst of the job) I was really ready for one. We ended up at a fancy hipster former gas station "Station Bistro" for a porter and some warm dinner. It was quite awesome, and I feel silly for not going there for so long.

But this is another installment of "Overheard in Ballard". I'll set the scene: Two young dudes in woolen caps are lighting smokes.

"Hey man."
"'sup Couch! How you doin'... Couch."
(long sigh) "Not bad."
"Hey, Couch... what's your real name? I've just always called you couch."
"Justin. Joo-stun.. actually."
"Justin, that's cool. Why DO people call you Couch anyway? You sleep on a lot of 'em or what?"
(another tortured sigh) "I used to work at this skate park, and one day I brought a couch there."