As I mentioned on Facebook earlier, in case there was ever any confusion, the Steitzeseses are the greatest hosts in the world and Mike is a guitar god. I just wanted to clear that up once and for all.
I’ve said before that in addition to eating, sleeping, and dicking around on the Internet, the other thing I pretty much always want to do is go home. I can’t help it. I’m sort of anti-social to begin with (because to most people, being content with sitting quietly and observing one’s surroundings is anti-social and warrants a million “aren’t you having fun?” questions), but I also just really like where I live. I feel so comfortable here that I sometimes have to force myself to leave. This doesn’t explain why it took me 6 years to take a vacation, though. That was a perfect storm of wanting to save money, working to make more money, and working so much that I had no time to go away. BUT Graham and I finally made some time to go to Seattle together, and now I’m experiencing that weird hangover where you’re finally able to relax and recover but are a little bit depressed that all the good stuff is over. Aside from an all-inclusive tropical resort where the drinks are free (and maybe not even then, have you seen the translucent blue of my skin?), I could not have asked for a better vacation.
Day 1: After 2 flight delays, we arrived at night. We assumed that we’d take a train and a bus to Luke and Courtney’s, but they surprised us by meeting us at the airport! And then taking us for beer and sandwiches! I know I can get a little snobby about my food and beverage tastes sometimes, but I am firmly aligned with the Liz Lemon philosophy that all anyone really wants to do is sit in peace and eat a sandwich. Taking me for beer and sandwiches after 6+ hours of travel wasn’t just thoughtful, it was saintlike.
Day 2: Hey lookit us, we’re being tourists!
This is Graham and I at the Space Needle (or, as Thomas calls it and I am inclined to agree, the “Sneedle”). I’m not a fan of the under-the-chin photo technique seen here due to its tendency to add all of the beers and sandwiches consumed in the past 90 days to the jowls, but it was necessary to capture our location. This is a
better slightly more flattering one from the top:
I’m not a fan of heights, paying to experience heights, or standing in line to wait for heights, but the Sneedle was actually pretty cool. It’s a beautiful view and my butthole only clenched a little bit when Graham held his phone verrrrrry close to the edge to take photos.
On the same grounds of the Space Needle is EMP, which also houses a sci-fi museum and, while we were there, a horror movie exhibit. The music portion was pretty cool…
…this is a very dim photo of me with Eddie Van Halen’s Eruption guitar as an example, but the sci-fi part was only a very staid exhibit of a few Battlestar Galactica pieces. The horror movie exhibit was the best part of the whole place, and whomever designed that needs to have their next exhibition brought up out of the basement for more people to see.
After a brief detour into a tourist trap that smelled like stale fish oil, we went to Pike Place Market to pick up some ingredients for the dinner we made our hosts. We met some very cool and helpful vendors who not only had great product, but were extremely gracious in referring us to other sources. While we tracked down one of these sources, Graham noticed Piroshky Piroshky. You guys. This is very important. Piroshky Piroshky was so goddamn fucking delicious that I’d sort of like to pitch a tent in front and live there. Graham described it as “what Hot Pockets wish they could be,” and this is a picture of me making sweet sweet love to a potato, onion, and cheese:
We’d promised to make dinner for everyone that night, but first we had to get back to the house. This became a bit of a problem once we learned that Graham’s iPhone is a lying sadist that repeatedly fucked up our location and tried to send us to West Seattle. By the time Mike called to offer us a ride if we made it to his place, I was ready to have a psychotic meltdown and take the nearest pee-soaked bum with me.
But we made it home, and to everyone in Seattle who bitches about the public transit system? You guys are fucking crazy. You have no idea how good you have it. You don’t realize how polite your drivers are and how unusual it is when your fellow riders don’t scream, sing along to their iPods, or get in fistfights over the rightful ownership of four chicken McNuggets.
Dinner. No photo exists, but I think everyone had seconds and I didn’t have to do the dishes. This was worth the vacation on its own.
Day 3: We went to a junk shop called The Funhole, saw the Fremont Troll kind of by accident, and ate really decent fish and chips. I can’t express how happy this makes me, and not even because the Photosynth app is so cool (I don’t have an iPhone, so fuck me, right?). Just…man. Mad/confusing/superfun love affair with Seattle, expressed perfectly here, with these people.
Then we went to the French Letters CD release party WHICH WAS INCREDIBLE. If you don’t listen to anything else I say, please listen to me when I say that you need to buy In Tongues because it’s that good. If the live show is porno jazz metal, then this is post punk poem blues in digital format. DO IT. Do it NOW.
After the show, I ate Jack N’ the Box for the first time in at least 5 years and half fell asleep in Crossley’s apartment. Which is saying a lot, because I was folded into an armchair with some weird girl’s ass in my ribs and Appetite For Destruction was playing in the background. I definitely have problems with people who have no concept of personal space, but I also never miss Appetite.
Day 4: Roxy’s for brunch (Dear Courtesy, please to start making decent coffee and perhaps I’ll start staying out late for Slingers again), music swap with Courtney, and a nighttime filled with the buying of hats, a quesadilla, and lots and lots of alcohol. There was a vibrating table of beer, a room with a stuffed cougar named Barbara, and karaoke. I did not participate in the karaoke. Because obviously.
The details got a little fuzzy towards the end (ahem, after the bar), but I know there was a hamburger stand, half-wigged drag queens, a rose used as a ninja weapon, and Thomas smart-mouthing a cab company over the phone. So, you know, my Sunday was probably more interesting than your Sunday.
Day 5: No flight delays, no morbidly obese seatmates, and no screaming babies. Not a terrible travel situation, and now we’re finally home. The cats are alive and happy to see us. I have full-time Internet again. I’m off tomorrow, too, so I can sleep late in my own bed and dig everything out of my suitcase.
I had an excellent time in you, Seattle. I hope to see you again soon.