लिखा निष्क्रियता

The busses of Seattle cannot be tamed by a newbie.  They can only be coaxed into compliance by a man who knows their ways, knows the town, and knows how much he can get out of them.  I am a newbie.  I cannot coax the buses to do anything, and as one spits me out onto an unfamiliar part of town—East Lake—I almost consider revoking my no-car policy.

The mission is to get to see Justin, who is a young man that I am looking to buy a chair from.  I have been searching for a good chair and ottoman since I got to Seattle, and that has been no easy task.  I plan to use this chair for reading and writing.  Becky is under the impression that this will be a mutual chair, but that impression is wrong.  Wrong wrong wrong.  Once I claim a chair, it will be mine.  It must be mine.  It will be where I read, where I write, and where I spill my thoughts.  And there are stipulations to such chairs.

The chair cannot be too hard or too soft.  I would like a soft chair with a firm under cushion.  That is to say, I want a chair that is pillowy, but oncewhich offers support.  It must be plain material or simple designs—no swirls, murals, or paisley.  Also, the chair must not smell or have stains on it.  This is important because stains are known to inhibit the flow of ideas and thought to the brain, which will be occupied with trying to figure out what made the stains, and will ultimately gross the rest of the body out.  Additionally, the chair must be solid, have wooden leggings, and have clean lines. Clean lines are important.  You can have a soft chair, but if it’s an overstuffed leather piece of crap that looks like Marshmallow Man’s afterbirth, you might as well pick up a bag of glue and huff away the last remaining brain cells you have.  Such chairs are base and disgusting.  Also, since you are not decorating the lair of an 80’s super-villian, this chair will be impossible to match to any decorating scheme, and if you find that this is untrue in your home decor, you must burn your house to the ground at once. 

With these tried and true methods in mind, I have selected a chair to view from craigslist.  The problem being, obviously, that I am unable to magically teleport myself to a different part of the city and must then take unfamiliar buses to these unfamiliar places. Fortunately, Googlemaps.com has a feature that allows one to look up directions for those of us using mass transit.

Googlemaps is still working some bugs out, apparently, because as I make my second transfer, my driver tells me that “No, this bus doesn’t pass Steward St. at all.  That’s a different line entirely.”  This is not good news.

After a few ill-fated attempts at figuring out the bus lines I am downtown and give up.  Just about this time Ar calls and invites me to go out for beers and burgers with everyone at The Park Pub up in Phinney.  I hop the #5 bus and get going.

Some time later I walk into the bar to a full roster of people, some who I know, and some who I do not know.  Even our table has new friends that I have not met yet.  After greetings and hellos I order a beer and burger at the bar sit down with Nic in a very literal sense.  There are no extra stools, so Nic and I rotate cheeks as we share one, until I wedge myself between our stool and Phil’s, which works pretty comfortably until he shifts his weight and I go down like sorority sister on pledge night. 

The burgers come and are so delicious, and I am so hungry from not eating anything today, that I order another one.  Den has much to say on this subject, but we all know it’s the fact that he hates bleu cheese and insists it smells like manure to him. 

As we have a few drinks and catch up on the events of the day, I have an epiphany.  I am really beginning to feel like I belong here.  Looking around the bar at all the laughing people, I realize that I would feel totally comfortable calling any one of them to hang out, and that’s what’s important.  I am a part of this group.

This comes just as I’m starting to a conversation with Eche, who is training for a half-marathon.  I haven’t talked with her as much as I’d have liked to, but I feel we really connect over running.  We trade experiences and advice, and I feel that on some level I can offer her advice in her running.  I am far from an experienced runner, but what I know, I know well.  She is a beginner, and I am a perpetual beginner—constantly starting and stopping, never really progressing far beyond that uncomfortable finding-your-legs stage.  She’s there now.  I exist there.

We continue to talk as people leave, and we too depart from the bar.  Sape has now made two developments for the evening; the first is that we need a Gx boat for the summer, so we’re going to look into buying a small skiff.  Second, Mick is in danger of losing his doctor’s status with the group and may be demoted to nurse practitioner if he doesn’t start throwing down.  I suppose a quiet but hilarious third is the idea we’ve had to sponsor me in the Olympic Discovery Marathon by silk-screening “Gx Enterprises” onto the front and back of my shirt.  Possible body tattoos may also be present.