Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I think it's Mother Nature's way of forcing us to spend more time with each other. The malls are empty. People speak to each other as they clomp by on the street. My dog romps in the cold stuff as though it were a version of doggy heaven.
Something about the vicious weather brings out our humanity. A couple of days without power might change that.
Still, it's beautiful. Cold, but pretty. But cold.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Last night at a bar along Roosevelt, a woman in a glittery headband and brick red lipstick waited to place her order. The bartender was busy making Jaeger bombs for a couple of pool players. Shot glass brimming with chilled Jaegermeister? Check. Tall glass 3/4 filled with energy drink? Check. "I killed a man after drinking two of those," the woman said. The pool players wordlessly downed their 'bombs. "Did they ever find the body?" the bartender said, in a tone that suggested he pretty much knew the answer already.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Writing is like this. You have this awkward mass of words, and you know that somewhere within lurks the gem of an idea, but how to get to it? You tinker, you edit, you think and chop and put things back. And if you do this long enough, and thoughtfully enough, there is this moment where you see it, the thread, the beauty, the idea you were writing about and you didn't even know it.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
I have been practicing the lost art of eavesdropping.
At Fuel coffee shop this morning, a young guy, unshaven, in jeans with a very strategic hole on one rear pocket (and proof he was going commando), flirted with the baristas, a pair of twenty-something women. How much did they weigh? 95, one said. 130, the other one said. Everyone registered shock. 130? No frickin' way. Way. I chanced a look at Ms. 130. Skinny. Tall. You make a cute fat chick, Commando Boy said.
Later, walking down 45th, I passed a clump of five or six people, brunch-bound, I'd guess. They kept bumping up behind a blond guy, then sorted themselves back into rank and file. The guy in front said, as though defending himself, I'm walking as fast as I think anyone should want to walk. A masterfully circuitous piece of dialogue.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
You'd think Seattleites would be good at driving in the rain. We're not. Traffic snarls up like knotty thread every time the drops start falling.
I don't mind the rain though. In fact, I like it. If it's warm rain, the air takes on a certain earthy heaviness. When it's cold, the mist hits your face like a spritzer. It's refreshing. It's enervating.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Fall in Seattle is gorgeous.
I know you're thinking, what could be attractive about drippy gray days, where the streetlights glow all day like giant night lights, and you feel the damp chill deep in your sinuses?
I have one word for you: leaves.
You have to love a thing that is named for its behavior. In the fall, a leaf--well--it leaves.
Seattle's silvery gray autumn light makes the changing leaves light up, illuminates them as though each one is a little lamp. The leaves on the tree outside my window are a riot of golds and yellows and peaches. At dusk, they become a sunburst of light against the surrounding gray-green cedars. Our maples turn a deep ruby red, as intense as pomegranate seeds, or aged port.
This morning as I was out walking the dog in the cold dark mist, I spotted this leaf, a brilliant yellow, bedazzled with raindrops, plastered against the sequiny black pavement.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Let's think about this for a minute. You're asking this question of an insipid twenty-year-old with a handbag budget larger than the GDP of some foreign countries. You're asking the star of "Scary Movie" and a grainy sex tape who she looks up to in the style department.
It started me thinking, though. I'm an old-fashioned girl. Sit me down with a black-and-white movie and a champagne flute and I couldn't be happier.
Jane Alice Peters -- you might know her as Carole Lombard -- is one of my style icons.
Sure I'm a Hepburn fan (Katharine, mostly but Audrey too) -- and I love Bette Davis, and Isabella Rossellini before her Prince Valiant haircut, and I'll watch Cary Grant and George Clooney any ole time.
But Ms. Lombard is in a category all her own. Maybe because she left us so young, I don't know. But I could watch her in "My Man Godfrey" daily for the rest of my life and never stop admiring her style and wit and grace, the way she gazes at William Powell or glowers at sister Cornelia, somehow managing to both sparkle and smolder against the Art Deco set.
You can watch this 1936 classic movie any time you want, on You Tube. I recommend that you stick with the black-and-white version.