dear sir I have a complaint
HOW LATE IT WAS HOW LATE
It seems like forever ago I went to Seattle but I have not had much of a spare goddamn minute to type lately, because work is insane and home seems like a place of pajamas, wine, and staring blankly at frightening Bravo programs. Well, and it’s also been really good weather here so there has been gardening, taking Nora to the park, and sitting in my backyard with wine, staring blankly at growing things. Yeah, sometimes I do that in my pajamas too. Fuck off! I got a privacy fence! Anyway I made a lot of notes in Seattle about things I did in Seattle, so Seattle down (ha ha!) and listen. If you want to.
- I hung out with the great Matthew Baldwin, bought him a sandwich and a few beers in a feeble attempt to make up for all he’s done for this blog, and advised him on karaoke choices.
- I played that “what if I lived here” game. I like to play that really literally, like what if I lived in the exact part of the city that I am currently visiting.
- If I lived in downtown Seattle I would need a much more powerful flat iron (which is called a “hair squisher” in my house, a Toddler-Nora-ism that stuck), because all the moisture would leave me insanely frizzy-headed.
- If I lived in downtown Seattle I would probably be quite fat, because there is no way I could resist daily piroshky and/or that crepe stand on 7th.
- If I lived in downtown Seattle I would be less fashionable than I am now, if that’s even possible, because I hate being damp and would probably retreat into total Gore-Tex and rubber boots, every single day.
- And if I lived in downtown Seattle, all plump and frizzy-headed and sheathed in waterproof materials, I would hopefully be extremely rich, because as long as I was playing “what if” I threw in “what if I had a waterfront view?” When I did an idle real-estate search back in the hotel room nothing of any size seemed to be much less under two million.
- When I took an early-morning walk down by the Market and the aforementioned waterfront, a homeless woman called me a “dildo faggot girl scout.” I found that confusing but also sort of pleasant. It has a rhythm to it, like a conga line. Dildo faggot girl SCOUT! Dildo faggot girl SCOUT!
- Three days with a bunch of science editors. Our meeting overlapped with that of the Medical Library Association, and there were some joint social events. Whew, it was dorky in there.
- My only complaints about my hotel were the very unflattering light in the bathroom (come on Sheraton, be nicer to us old ladies) and the fact that I killed a bug in my room the first night. I considered calling and complaining but decided to be tough, as long as the body count remained at just one.
- Every time I travel for business there is some TV thing that enrages me. (O TiVo! You were sorely missed!) This time it was a Jolly Rancher ad. Jolly Ranchers do not need advertising, and they certainly don’t need advertising with a tagline of “Are you ready for this?” Am I ready for some shitty hard candy? That is given away in huge bowls next to the diner’s cash register? Sure, I guess so.
- However, a bright spot in my lonely hotel-room programming was yet another showing of Rocky IV! Every time I watch it there is something new to lovingly/WTF-ingly fixate on and marvel at. The terrible music, the extended flashbacks (the film director’s equivalent of typing your too-short term paper in a BIG FONT with WIDE MARGINS), the very long bit that contrasts the Romantic primitivism of Rocky’s training regimen with the technological sterility of Ivan Drago’s, the very stupid closing speech. This time around I almost fell off the bed laughing at the “Living in America” scene, with all the stunned incredulous looks on Soviet faces. Russians can’t handle James Brown!
- So now I am home, and I had a very excellent Memorial Day weekend that involved tofu hot dogs and beer and friends and getting sunburned at the pool. Nora went to two birthday parties, one of which included karaoke, which she claims to have enjoyed. What? The kid who only wants an audience when she is performing feats of strength? Whatever.
- She also went to the doctor for her 9-year-old checkup and now weighs 51 pounds. Achievement unlocked! She has been wanting to break that 50-pound barrier with all her heart. The doctor is not similarly goal oriented, and I kind of love the way he shrugs at her chart and says, “Someone’s got to be small.” He also noted that we had not been in his office because of illness in over 3 years. Go get some Chinese orphanage germs for your own kids. They work wonders.
—mimi smartypants realizes that may not be practical.