Oh yes, the art. Alan Magee’s Paintings, Sculpture, Graphics is up until April 3rd, and features both calming and quizzically frightening mixed media realism studies. Also joining the Frye’s permanent collection is Philip Pearlstein Drawings (until May 1st). Though a friend noted that many of the nudes looked very similar to the drawings in her boyfriend’s 1975 copy of The Joy Of Sex (and indeed these drawings are mainly circa 1960 – 1979), those interested in the “meticulously recording images from careful observation of life” will find inspiration in this collection.

The Frye Museum is open Tues – Sat 10 AM – 5PM, Sunday noon – 5 PM, and Thursday 10 AM – 8 PM.

Maybe we’ll have a governor by Christmas.

The Hi-Life is a gorgeous, homey space. We enjoyed a leisurely Saturday brunch there this past weekend, and took in our surroundings while sipping freshly brewed Caffe Vita coffee. Exposed brick walls, high ceilings, long windows that let in the morning sunlight; none of this is new to previous patrons of the Ballard Firehouse. But Chow has done up the place with lovely vintage lights, just the right balance of seating and open space, a great mix of eclectic chairs and tables, high backed booths along the southern wall, and plusher booths lining the remainder of the dining room. A full bar is installed in the northern third of the space, tasteful and elegant (non-judgeable on a Saturday morning at 11 AM). I sat facing the open kitchen, complete with a wood oven and a clean and happy seeming crew, preparing what creates the heart of any Chow endeavor; the meal.

The Hi-Life’s menu is larger than its Wallingford cousin Jitterbug, and more eclectic than Queen Anne’s 5 Spot. The breakfast menu offered up 3 “rumbles” and 3 omelettes, all served with fantastically herbed grilled potatoes and Essential toast. Highlighted dishes included scrambles with root vegetables, a delicious, enormous helping of french toast, and other typical-with-a-twist brunch fare. While heavy on the “pig” items, the menu for both breakfast and lunch offers plenty of vegetarian and vegan options. For lunch, wood-fired pizzas are offered, as well as a list of sandwiches. A roasted beet salad looked interesting, and our neighbors were digging into a french onion soup that I could practically taste from two tables away.

My dining pal and I shared a rumble with italian sausage, those divine potatoes, and the fabulous French Toast. I’ve never had french toast like this before; four huge slices served up with a big slop of espresso marscapone and sugared hazelnuts. Syrup was served, but absolutely not necessary. Sweet, rich, heavenly.

The service is friendly, typical for a Chow joint. We were offered a glimpse at the dinner menu which never materialized. Our food was served on big glossy black plates, which matched the retro black and white menus. What will make the ambiance of The Hi-Life will be the clientele, and the restaurant is primed to accept hordes of Ballard natives who are in desparate need of moderately priced, yummy food served up in a classy place by fine folks. Bon Appetit.

Meanwhile, the natives got restless. I thought Seattle drivers were hard-core, but bus riders seem to be under the same pressure. A few passengers asked, then demanded to be let off the bus, despite the only exit route being directly into fast moving traffic. The driver refused, claiming their safety, Metro policy, and fear of law suits upon their probable deaths as (quite reasonable) excuses. A man on his way to work started shouting “You Can’t Keep Me Captive On This Bus!” Repeatedly.

I was on my way to work too, but I felt Shouting Guy was a bit dramatic. Then a sweet old lady on her way to a doctor’s appointment got all up in the driver’s face as well, waving her handbag and pacing the aisles. Eventually, a police officer came over to advise the flustered Metro worker, and Shouting Guy demanded that the Officer escort him through traffic to catch another bus. Thankfully, the officer just scoffed at him and told him he had bigger fish to fry (the beige Honda blocking the entire right lane of the overpass being fish #1).

Eventually, with much lecturing by the sassy, defensive bus driver and much caustic muttering about captivity by Shouting, now Grumbling Guy, we turned around and made it downtown only about 14 minutes behind schedule.

The new driver handled the situation, if not with stoic grace, with the right decisions, and, in my opinion, an appropriate amount of sass. If anyone was docked for being late to work, I do feel bad for them. Except Shouting Guy, whose captivity on a Metro bus lasted approximately 10 minutes and probably saved him from death by traffic squish.