Jan 9, 2009
Yesterday was a good day.
Manthony and I hung out, and did what we do best: shrug, whatever. I like this about Manthony, because I never know where we'll end up. First we meandered around Seattle: checked out the Frye Museum, insulted some ugly children who were featured in an art installation, and lazily flipped through expensive magazines at the Barnes&Noble downtown. We ended up at Dragonfish for Happy Hour where we inhaled some spring rolls, and washed them down with two orders of sushi. That is the second thing we do best together: eat. The third is probably talking shit, which we always do with excellence.
Once home, we headed back out with friends from the apartment building. We walked to Lucid, the new neighborhood lounge and my new favorite place to hang. Happy Hour is from 6PM-10PM, there's no cover, the music is good, the space is comfortable, and the owner is super cool. I think he said he's Haitian. Our group grabbed a pitcher of the Irish Death (!!!) and kicked back for an hour. I was sorry to leave when the band started playing, because I could have hung out all night; it's a really chill space. Check it out if you're ever in the U-District.
We left and met up with more people at The Little Red Hen, a SERIOUS country bar close to our place. I've been for their popular karaoke night, but last night was dancing only. And wow, did people dance! As usual, I was the only brown person in the joint, because--well, because it's a country bar. It was like a dance camp for honkies. A-Train and I tried dancing--me, a dark, shuffling iceberg of a person, and him, a sprightly stick of a white guy--but we just pissed the natives off by bumping into them an' their kind. My neighbor, Michelle, invited her boss--I now think of him as The Hot Boss--and they were having a VERY. GOOD. TIME. I'm not going to blame all of the crazy shots they were doing, but I'm fairly sure the phrase "I'm never drinking again" is going to come out of her mouth later, when she finally regains consciousness. I met an old timer named Jimmy, who looked like an 80-year old Skeletor with feathered, David Cassidy hair--and talked with the only gay couple in the place. One of them was wearing a hot pink, ruffly tuxedo shirt with diamond-encrusted cuff links (I got the feeling this was an understated look for him), and the other was wearing a turquoise number that can only be described as 'honky chic.' Fun was had by all.
Today I kind of maybe sorta totally pooped my pants when I saw that Heather Armstrong, of dooce.com fame (and flipping you off in the photo above), is coming to Seattle (Bothell, really) on her book tour. POOPED, I tell you. I'm so going.
Also, the big news just broke: I wonder who is going to buy the Seattle P.I. now that it's up for sale. Paul Allen, maybe? And then he'll buy the rest of Seattle, and turn it into Allentown. I'm thinking good thoughts for all of my friends employed by the P.I.--hang in there!
Hm. This was a meandering post....