Seattle Metblogs » sea_rachel

Woe!

sea_rachel — Sun, 05 Sep 2004 11:40:25 +0000

You know, as a teenager, I used to sort of jokingly fantasize about living in a gothy community. A place where black nail polish would flow like water, where six inch platform vinyl boots would be as easy to come by as, say, a pair of Converse, where you could walk down the street in an outfit even YOU knew was ridiculous, at any time of the day, and all without getting one single “Hey! MORTICIA!”
And now, here I am on Captiol Hill which pretty much IS that place. Well almost…
See, there is a glitch in my gothy fantasy-land…one which I had never anticipated.
Everytime I swing by the Broadway Rite Aid, they are entirely out of black hair dye AND eyeliner. Hah, looks like I’ll have to start shopping in another neighborhood. Fools! They could be making a fortune! You know, supply and demand and all that…hehe…

Jump in!

sea_rachel — Mon, 30 Aug 2004 14:14:04 +0000

Now that I have been here about three months, and the fall is coming, and I am realizing that this move is more than just a big silly summer vacation, I have been thinking a lot about my first days in town. It makes me laugh to remember how wide-eyed, frightened and yet unreasonably hopeful I was. It shocks me to think how different a direction my life has taken since those early days…
My first friends in Seattle were these homeless guys who hung out by the water all day–in that “park” area by the aquarium, with the picnic tables and the disturbingly aggressive seagulls that crap all over EVERYTHING. I was sitting there, trying to plan out my new life, staring at places I did not yet know, waiting for my hostel check-in time to arrive, when I heard a scratchy voice from behind me–”Hey, wanna pet my bird?”
I turned around fast, teeth grittted in defensive New Yorker mode, to find a weathered looking man with freaking PIGEON in his hand. I had to decline the offer (pigeons terrify me), but the ice was then broken…his friends approached, slowly, shyly. Once they found out I was new in town, they overwhelmed me with chatter–tips on how to get around, places to go, stories about how they all ended up here.
Some were ridiculously young (an eighteen year old who had left Miluakee a few months before, lured by the promise of sweet, sweet Seattle weed). Others were around my age (a man from LA who had gotten kicked out of his parents house a few years back and had been wandering ever since). And some were older…like the guy with the pigeon, Brian.
He was there every time I went back over the next few days. It was hard to pinpoint his exact age really–if I had to judge by his perpetually resigned expression, I might say 50, but I know it was more like 35. I used to worry that I would appear rude because I had so little to say to him (I’m not good at striking up conversations with strangers), but it always ended up okay; cheesy though it may sound, I think Brian just wanted someone to listen.
He told me stories from different phases of his life; from his time in the Navy, to idyllic visits with his niece and nephew, to horror stories of the present day. How his back pack was stolen while he slept and how it wouldn’t be that bad really except for along with wadded up clothes and a few cans of food, the theif also got pictures of his family, his hometown, his dead mother–things he had no way of replacing. How most days, he just sat by the water, thinking about how there was no way out of his current situation. In between stories, he’d offer me swigs of his Pepsi and bites of canned tuna which always struck me as extraordinarily generous (I mean, if I had nothing, there’s no way I would be giving my food away to anyone, let alone some spoiled chick who had come to Seattle “on a whim”…I mean, how white girl princess is that??).
One day I was sitting with him, watching tourists stroll as he spoke. Some were ascending that pink ramp, making their way to the above landing. When they reached it, they all leaned over the railing, looking down at the water below.
“Hey,” yelled Brian. “Jump in!”
“What are you doing?” I asked him, slightly embarrassed, as I watched the tourists spin around in confusion.
Brian grinned at me and turned back to the tourists. “JUMP IN!” he repeated, even louder this time.
The tourists zeroed in on him. “You jump in!” they retorted.
He held up an extended index finger in a “Hold on a second,” and then stood.
“WHAT are you DOING?” I asked, a shade more nervous than before.
“Don’t worry. I do this alllll the time. Watch my stuff, okay?”
I nodded and watched as he jogged over to the ramp and up to the landing. I saw him converse with the crowd of tourists, negotiating. Then he stripped down to his boxers, climbed over the railing and…well…jumped in, while the tourists snapped photos.
When he returned to the bench he pale and shivering (the hot summer weather had not yet kicked in) and five bucks richer.
As the day progressed, Brian proved true to his word–he did do it “all of the time.” By the time I left a few hours later, he had made about four more jumps.
I don’t want to say that there is anything necessarily wrong with these transactions. Brian offered, they accepted. They hadn’t sat and talked with him, they didn’t think of him as a person, just a zany Seattle character–”Oh Betty, look at this delightfully quirky homeless man I met on vacation. I paid him a dollar to jump into the water. Isn’t that just a LAUGH?” That’s not so very evil, just human and a little sad.
On the other end of the spectrum, there’s Brian. The idealistic part of me thought “Someone as smart as Brian, surely he could get a job SOMEWHERE! And build a life! And be happy again!” But I know it isn’t that simple.
Since I have moved to the Hill and started working practically non-stop, I haven’t had much of a chance to go trade stories by the water. Even if I did, I am not sure that I would–”Hey guys, I have a house and a job and food in the fridge! Isn’t that great?”…but I might… I wonder if Brian still hangs out there. I wonder if he still gets five bucks a jump. I wonder what he does in the off season. I wonder if he’s okay…

The stretch…

sea_rachel — Wed, 11 Aug 2004 13:29:29 +0000

Seattle, for a town full of pierced up people, you sure have some sorry-ass studio options…
Yesterday, I decided I needed a little change. Nothing drastic mind you, just something to perk me up. For a while now, I have wanted to stretch my ears up from a two gauge to a zero. Well, I guess that sounds drastic to some people, but y’all are just squeamish. So yes, this was my long standing wish, and yesterday seemed to be the perfect day to make it come true.
So I wandered Captiol Hill, in search of a studio with a good feel. And, I must say, I ended up a little disappointed. Granted, I am probably a little spoiled by the place I used to go to back home, New York Adorned. That joint is more like a museum of body modifications than anything else–tons of beautiful jewlery options, artful presentation, an expert staff of friendly, super modded up folks. And of course, the fact that they are all insanely hot only adds to the overall wonderfulness of the experience….mmm….sigh…but I digress…
So yeah, I am on Broadway, eyes peeled. I skip right over Laughing Budda. I haven’t heard one good thing about them since I have come here, besides, that whole flyer-person-perpetually-positioned-out-front deal strikes me as a little tacky. I mean, that stuff is all well and good for strip clubs, but when it comes to piercing studios I want something a little more…low key, I guess.
I continued on to Sin City, which is right across the street from Dick’s. A lot of people have told me that they have a really sweet, talented body piercer. But I dunno man, the place is primarily a clothing store and that just makes me wary. On top of that, the piercer wasn’t even *in* that day. And the store kinda smelled like hamsters (although my friend only picked up on a slightly “woody” odor)–not an aroma I usually associate with hygenic environments.
Feeling a little frusterated at this point, I headed over to Apocaylpse. It seemed very neat and tidy–maybe a bit sterile, actually. The counter people were a little indifferent to our presence, but then, that’s the norm at most piercing studios. The only thing that was a real let down was the jewelry selection–the only zero guage options were a few brightly colored metal eyelets (I’m more of a dark hue wearer) and some equally garish glass plugs! Horrors! Finally I spotted some clear glass ones that I felt I could live with.
“In fact with black o-rings, they’d look really good,” my friend pointed out. Of course, the place didn’t have any black o-rings. Just clear ones. Still, I had my heart set on getting the stretch today, and it was looking like Apocaylpse was the end of the line.
The procedure was well-excecuted, but the piercer guy didn’t give me any after care advice which seemed a little unprofessional. But whatever, I walked out happily rocking my new jewelry.

The complexities of spanging etiquette…

sea_rachel — Fri, 30 Jul 2004 14:16:32 +0000

Last night I was walking down Broadway on the way to the Merc (yeah, I am a big gothy cheeseball), eyes on the ground, as always.
Then, whilst passing Dick’s I heard some yelling. Being a nosy kinda gal, I had to listen on in.
The commotion was coming from a small blond crusty chick who was squatting on the sidewalk clutching a wilted cardboard sign which no doubt said something VERY clever. She was directing her wrath at a guy a few feet away who was wearing a yellow tinged wifebeater and a seriously out of it expression.
“You cut me off!” She screamed. “I NEVER do that to you guys, ever! But now whenever I see you, I am gonna go out of my way to!”
The guy sorta grunted and lurched forward. The girl continued her tirade.
Turned out the guy had spare changed someone who she rightfully should have had a crack at. Part of me wanted to walk over, crouch down next to her, put my arm around her shoulder and say “Honey, at any given time of the day there are at least 20 spangers on this stretch. You’re ALL cutting each other off. And, if it makes you feel any better, that guy? Well, he probably wouldn’t have given you any money anyway…”

The alley…

sea_rachel — Wed, 28 Jul 2004 13:56:49 +0000

I guess it’s technically not an alley. More like a long narrowish street without a name. Or maybe it has a name that I am simply not aware of. It’s quite possible. I am not yet aware of many things in this town.
Anyway, whatever it is, it cuts through most of the blocks between Bellmont and Summit, slicing them into…umm…mini-blocks. Yes, that is the highly technical name which I have assigned to them. You like?
Whenever thoughts of scaling the hill and fending off Broadway spangers become too daunting, I head for the alley. I’m not sure exactly why. I mean, it’s not really very sceneic–mostly you pass the backs of houses and apartment buildings, some garages.
I think it’s that, for a big city girl like myself, it’s a bit of an escape. In NYC, there were very few places you could go that allowed you to forget that you were in the middle of a seriously urban environment. Here, if you walk a few blocks from the main drag of whichever neighborhood you happen to be in, it’s all houses and flowers and birds chriping. It’s nice…but also a little jarring sometimes.

The Market…

sea_rachel — Tue, 27 Jul 2004 11:26:01 +0000

So finally, weeks and weeks later, my internet trouble is all smoothed out and I can resume my rather obsessive on line habit.
Anyway…
I work in the Broadway Market, at one of the few stores that is staying in business through and after the construction that is currently taking place. Although I get sick of explaining this all of the time (customers ask me about 30 times a day), for you all, I will make an exception. From what I understand, the QFC on Republican and Broadway is moving into the market and the building it formerly occupied is getting torn down. And no doubt turned into something souless like condos or a parking lot.
Now, if I know this after only living in the area for about a month and a half, I really don’t know why everyone else can’t catch on. But I digress…
The construction is really depressing me. Of course, the Broadway Market was just a mall, really–not some precious bastion of neighborhood spirit, emblematic of all that is Capitol Hill. It was just a bunch of stores. It was gentrification. But this seems like even more gentrification.
Then again, it is hard for me to imagine a pre-gentrification hill, having only moved to town a few months ago. Seeing little changes like this makes me wonder about all of the big ones I missed, about all of the parts of this city that I will never know.

“Change is good and healthy…”

sea_rachel — Fri, 09 Jul 2004 06:15:03 +0000

And now for my belated intro (more on the belatedness of it in a moment). My name is Rachel and I just moved from NYC, my hometown, to Seattle about a month ago. All together now–”So, Rachel what brought you here?” (I get that question at least once a day).
The truth is, I’m not really sure what brought me here. Life in NYC was good but seeming sort of stagnant, it was that time of year where it starts getting unbearably hot and the smell of urine is unavoidable, I had just graduated from college and there was nothing holding me back…so I just said “What the hell?” And here I am.
Seattle has been good to me. I found a job (crappy though it may be), a place to live, a lot of nice people. That said, I miss home a whole lot. I am prone to attacks of “In NYC we do things like THIS and it’s BETTER.” In fact, I feel one coming on right now!
The reason I have not posted until today is that I have had no internet for the past week. It was supposed to get turned back on today. But that has not happened. Why? Well, that’s a good question but also one that I have no answer to. My landlord, who is nice enough to give me and my roommates free internet has upgraded his service, but something went awry.The ISP is blaming the phone company, the phone company is blaming the ISP–I just don’t get it. Seriously, in NYC if you denied someone a service for TWO weeks and couldn’t even give them an actual explination as to why this was happening…well, there would be death threats and gore and a lot of foul language.
I mean, whatever, it’s just the internet, I’ll live. But the whole occurence has made me aware of something–NYC has turned me into a spoiled brat. New Yorkers basically have the mindset of cranky five year old children–we want what we want when we want it (and the time we want it is usually NOW!). Now that I’m here, I have 23 years of bad habits to unlearn.
So, I guess living in Seattle is already teaching me some sorely needed lessons. No, I can’t have a gin and tonic at 4:00 AM (not in a bar anyway), and I can’t go for pierogis right afterwards. I can’t choose from a plethora of delivery menus the next day when I emerge from my hangover craving Chinese, or Mexican, or Thai, or Japanese, or Pan-Asian Vegetarian, or Indian, or–well, you get the idea. I can’t have everything I ever might need all within a two block radius of my house. But I mean, maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s better than okay, maybe it’s a good thing. I mean, maybe people really aren’t meant to eat pierogis at 4:30 in the morning.
Or I don’t know, maybe they are. Until I figure it out, I just keep repeating the same old mantra “Change is good and healthy, change is good and healthy, CHANGE IS GOOD AND HEALTHY!”