Anyone who reads my blog knows that I ride the bus. But, I haven’t said much about what happens after my bus ride. Let me tell you about that.
As I step off the bus in Seattle, I am greeted by rain and a very consistent and decent-sized band of brothers, and a few sisters, that seem to anchor their identity in marijuana. It’s not just the smell that greets you, but they have hats and shirts that speak to the transcendent power of pot. Anyway, I wonder if they feel a little bit rudderless now that Washington State has “legalized it” and has largely stopped “criticizing it.” The mainstreaming of their deified herb has to be disconcerting for these pot pioneers.
Then, there’s a very proud dog owner walking his dog. Oh, but, less proud now as he dutifully (pun very much intended) picks up his doggie’s waste on the sidewalk. I am thankful the owner does that.
There’s a Starbucks.
Next up on my walk is the penthouse part of town. I wonder who lives there? What do they do and do they like their view of the Sound? I think I would like that view.
Then, I cross by the “Cinerama.” This theatre has a throwback feel. I wonder if it was a place where people came to see movies like “Cool Hand Luke” or “Thunderball” or if we are just meant to think that so that the hipsters feel it is a place for them that’s a little less corporate.
There’s a Starbucks and right next door a “we’re not a Starbucks, Starbucks.”
Now, as I turn onto Fifth Avenue, I feel the energy of a million Amazonians bustling about to ensure I can buy any freaking thing any hour of the day. If their role is not to ensure I can buy anything anytime, then perhaps they are dreaming of the next way to increase their share of my discretionary spending. As Joe Fox would say, “they make coffee nervous.”
There’s another Starbucks.
Oh, and there’s another proud dog owner. Look at that, she’s now less proud too as she has to clean up her dog’s waste. Poor owner. Thanks though, really.
I am walking under the Monorail now where some tourist is about to ask, “is this our stop?” Without knowing their destination, I can assure them it is.
There’s another Starbucks and someone picking up dog poop. This seems to be a thing.
I pass a hair salon that has a rather shoddy-looking Mondrian pattern on their wall. I think, “that’s shoddy-looking, but I do love the beautiful simplicity and elegance of Mondrian’s geometries and primary colors.”
Not to belabor the point, but there’s another Starbucks and someone picking up dog poop. This really is a thing.
I am now walking by a lot of hipsters. I must be in Belltown. They know everything, just ask them. Oh, and there’s the crossfit gym. I see a fellow, chest puffed out, proud that he just rolled over a huge tire. I think, “well done puffed-chest man. Should a tire ever encumber your way you needn’t go around it or even over it, you can effortlessly roll it away!” He does a pass by the fit young lady and wonders “did you see that?”
Now I am on the home stretch as I pass by the Space Needle and the Experience Music Project by Frank Gehry. They say it looks like a smashed guitar. Jimmy Hendrix smashed guitars. I wonder if there are more Jimmy Hendrixes, Nirvanas, or Pearl Jams in our future here in Seattle. I like Frank Gehry.
Here I am at work. I have been listening to Swedish music on my walk, which inspires me to say, “nu kör vi,” or “let’s do this.” With that, I am off to do world-saving stuff, which I am thankful to be part of. There are a lot of Swedish people in Seattle (and Starbucks and dogs pooping). OK, now time to focus, really.