Seattle: City of Layers

Cold. Warm. Hot hot hot! Cool. Damp. Cold. Clammy. In short, your typical Seattle day.

I got as far as Lincoln City, OR before deciding that I'd had quite enough of the whole driving-to-a-thing-and-looking-at-the-thing element of tourism. So, grabbing a crab cake and an iced tea, I veered sharply right, powered across rolling plains of cattle and grapes, and jumped on I-5 via Portland. And away north to Seattle! I toyed with stopping at St. Helens, but apparently it's not smoking anymore. It used to be cool, but it's changed, man.

Seattle is strange. Every joke about Starbucks there is true. Jason pointed out a corner where you can see two of them at the same time. And there was a Tully's between them, just to be safe. The signs in the airport include Baggage Claim, Restrooms, and Espresso. These people are ill.

We went to the Space Needle, which is kinda dingy up close, and the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, which was very cool. They had a lot of props and interactive displays about the history of Skiffy. I actually learned a few things, although the navel-gazing self-absorption of the SF community made the museum as a whole a little... breathless. For what it was, it was good.

The weekend was very laid back, as Jason mentioned, it was the end of the vacation season for both of us. After a week on the road my own operational day was severely reduced and neither of us were really up for heavy duty sight-seeing. We went to Pike's Place to see the fish throwing and the giant shoe museum, and we went up into the crazy Seattle public library, which gave Jason vertigo. Overall it was a good experience and I'd like to go back sometime to see the Asian Art Museum and some of the markets we missed. For now, though, I'm glad to be back on the east coast, where I can be assured that people will curse at me and treat me like dirt.

But I will always remember you, Seattle Harbor Granola Girl. With your cargo pants, longsleeve t-shirt, pigtails and exposed midriff. Your yin-yang headband and Lance Armstrong bracelet. Your Doc Martens covered in muck as you dutifully sweep the kayak docks clear of debris. You may be destined for Slacker Health Food Store Boy, I know, but you will always be Seattle to me.