this is america

a tale of 2 summers

We are living in/during/through crisis after crisis. Hurricanes, yet another shooting of a Black man, wildfires, the failures of our government and fellow citizens in dealing with the pandemic, the existential dread of an upcoming election. 

I watched the livestream last night as the vigil for Summer Taylor became yet another sickening incidence of blue riot. 

*

Today, a tale of 2 photos. Nighttime on Capitol Hill.

Summer 2019 at CHBP. The Vera Stage.

Summer 2020 at the corner of Broadway and Roanoke. Yes, those are police spraying mace at people running backwards down a neighborhood street.

i was a conductor

 Seen: Harriet Tubman art on a utility pole.

hi and die

 I've been doing a lot of walking in my temporary neighborhood. It's clearly an area that's been gentrified and some of the walks take me along a busy stretch of road where people congregate, sometimes in parking lots by a smoke shop or an abandoned restaurant or in front of a burned out house. 

Yesterday I walked past the burned out house and two women were hanging out on the sidewalk out front. It was a warm afternoon and one seemed tired, sitting casually on a piece of cement. The other, tall and thin, was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, no mask, giving me and my companion hard looks.

My companion said Hi, but I didn't hear this due to the traffic noise.

The woman glared and said, Die. 

I didn't hear this either. 

As I drew closer, I gave her a wide berth because covid19, and said, Hello, nodding to both of them.

Don't you die, the standing woman said (I thought).

Don't you die either, I said, thinking we were being light-hearted.

She lunged closer to me. No, YOU die!

Aghast, I said, Listen, I said "Don't die." I was trying to be nice.

You fucking die. You die, she screamed.

I apologized and stupidly repeated that I was just trying to be nice.

Fuck you, she said. I don't know you. Shut the fuck up.

Let's go, I said to my companion, who had paused, and turned to walk on.

She ran up close, screaming. I'm going to follow you. I'm going to fuck you up.

It was a tense few blocks, to be sure. I felt a surge of fear--was this angry woman without a mask and seemingly without boundaries going to hit me? Run up behind me and bash my head in? We walked as fast as we could. At an intersection, hearing her yells growing closer again, we ran. Finally, maybe a 1/2 mile later, we slowed and looked back. She was gone.

*

I don't know why she was angry. It could have been the heat, or she was hungry, or drugs, or the fact that two caucasians were walking through a neighborhood that is extremely diverse. I've been yelled at, chatted up, panhandled and catcalled many times over the past few weeks. You don't see many white people walking. They're all in the cars whizzing by, and occasionally on one of the very full buses laboring up and down the street.

It is clear that this part of town hasn't seen the tech money or the explosive growth that other parts of Seattle have enjoyed. There's a lot of litter and abandoned buildings and soulless strip malls. There's also a ton of mom and pop businesses and parks and community organizations. It's also clear that I am an interloper and I'll be leaving soon. I wish I felt better about my stay.

the american dream

 Seen.

 

me...then

I've been working on a project that involves going back through old journals and letters and pictures. I started systematically documenting my life when I was thirteen. It's been fascinating to get to know my teenage self (and more than slightly embarrassing). 

It's telling, what I spend time writing about, and what I mostly omit.

There's a lot in there about fashion, style, clothes, looks. If I were a Gen Z'er I'd probably be living my best life online as a would-be influencer. But, I was low tech back then, and filled my journals with wordy descriptions and pen or pencil sketches.

Here's one from 1987 showing an outfit I longed for. Sleek, with long lines, a wide belt cinching the waist, and topped with a flapper's bob.

same walk, different scene

Busysmartypants has temporarily relocated and so my early morning walks/runs are taking me down new avenues. I've been up and down busy Rainier Avenue a few times, wishing the Ethiopian coffee places opened earlier, admiring murals and dodging folks hustling for the bus.

I stopped by MacPherson's, an Hispanic-run fruit and vegetable market that blew my vegetable-loving mind with the variety of produce and the incredibly reasonable prices. I bought enough cauliflower to get me through several pandemics and two delicious peaches the size of Canadian bowling balls.

A few unobtrusive trailheads and sets of staircases have caught my eye for future exploration.

I hiked to Georgetown one hallucinatingly hot afternoon under my sunbrella, made a quick pit stop at Brother Joe's for iced coffee, and hiked back.  

I've also made forays towards Lake Washington, where the houses are nicer, the lawns more manicured, the unmasked neighbors and dog walkers more likely to eyeball you suspiciously; but the water view is magnificent and calm, much needed on days where my mind keeps racing even though I'm standing still.

yes we finally made it!

Waiting around for the post office to open the other morning, I saw this graffiti'ed FIT-321-G sign on Broadway and John. The original text is ridiculous enough--who's we? where did we make it to? And then there's the additions.

Is it obvious?

--yes

Did I laugh anyway?

--also yes

wear a mask you coward

 

what I'm watching

I tuned into the Democratic National Convention last night for the first time ever. Curious about what an all-online event would look like, who would speak, how it would feel. I sobbed through forever-FLOTUS Michelle Obama's righteous reprimand. We needed to hear it. We deserved it. Read Robin Givhan's always brilliant analysis of what she said, what she wore, and how it all worked and mattered.

*

I've also been watching UNHnnh with Trixie Mattel and Katya. For the laughs, and also because the queens will save us with their wit, their activism and their courage.

 

neither rain nor snow nor...fascism

UPDATE 8/18/20: per the Capitol Hill post office, the locks are there during daytime hours so that folks will come inside to drop off their mail. 

====================================== 

Jeebus effing criminey, now we're fighting for the US Post Office?

My anecdotal experience is that yes, yes indeed we are. I tried to mail some cards 2 weeks ago at the post office in the University District. It was a Saturday afternoon and it was closed, and there were zero blue USPS mailboxes outside. 

Zero. Where formerly there were at least 2 of the big drive up boxes.

Zero blue boxes outside of the main post office in the UD.

Yesterday, I stopped to pick up mail on Capitol Hill and was confronted with this, outside of the Broadway post office. This ain't good, folkx. See you in the streets.

 

be safe out there

The comicsareforkids Tumblr posted a useful series of graphics about safety while protesting. 

It's crunchy out there. Read and heed.

et tu WSF???

A Washington State Ferry ride the other day became an exercise in anxiety.

I was of 2 minds about getting on, but the drive around would have taken an extra 90 minutes and I was tired from painting all day. So, we rolled up to the Kingston Ferry Terminal around 6.20pm and immediately saw that the ticket seller--a WSF employee--was casually not wearing a mask, and chit chatting away. 

WTF? I quickly got my ticket and drove into my lane to wait for the ferry. All around, on a hot afternoon, other ferry passengers strolled, puttered in their cars, sat with open windows, hardly anyone masked.

We were eventually waved onto the ferry by yet another unmasked WSF employee. 

All the workers onboard were masked but it was a brief respite of presumed sanity. The 30 minute trip across the Sound was another opportunity for plenty of unmasked strolling about the boat. No announcements about covid-19 or mask wearing. Nothing. Not one. We kept our car windows rolled up despite the toasty afternoon, and watched the maskless masses roaming about.

Eventually we docked in Edmonds. A tall, thin, khaki-clad figure strode purposefully aboard, catching a black satchel and wearing a Trump2020 face mask. Another WSF employee? He wore no identifying markers and did not break stride as I yelled through my closed window to go F himself. 

It was alarming on so many levels. Alarming and disappointing and disheartening. THIS is our Washington State Ferry system? These are my fellow citizens? Maskless during a pandemic? Openly wearing hate speech on their faces when they do mask up? I wrote to the Department of Transportation and received a reassuring reply that they would look into it. 

Sure. Okay. I'm still fuming.

mask + sunbrella

 

mask + sunbrella

the feed

 Gosh, social media is such a blessing and curse.

With Twitter (and Twitch) I can catch protests real time and witness Jerry Falwell Jr.'s tacky downfall (it's always sex with these creeps) and cackle at sarahcpr.

YouTube is infested with Republican political ads, for some reason. I report them all as offensive hate speech.

Facebook is like hanging out in my racist uncle's backyard. I block what I can and support as many arts and activism organizations as is humanly possible. 

It's been fascinating to see the evolution of ads and marketing and creativity. Here's a glimpse of what I saw yesterday. 

Fencing: the perfect pandemic sport (Pee-wee!)

Fake federal agents

America hates teachers, apparently

Yes to Pride, No to gatherings

Pop-up dance at the park!

Jazz on a New Orleans balcony

*

Insurance companies have done the best with recent ads.

Progressive's Zoom "WFH" actually made me laugh.

This one too. You don't even need audio--the body language communicates everything.

I lie

I lie, when people ask how I'm doing.

I assume we all do. 

Hanging in there, we say in response.

Doing alright.

You know.

*

Reality is bleak. "When do you know when it's time to go," a friend asked a few weeks ago, and I think, if we are asking the question, maybe it is time.

Last night I came to the end of forbearance and self-care and summoned all available energy to brush my teeth, take an allergy pill and put myself to bed. 

Sleep is a brief relief, for a few hours anyway.

I don't know how to ask for help. I do know that. So, I write, and do what I can, and fund what I can. And then try to sleep, and wait for the deep dark to pass.

art/cc

Walking through the cool mist the other morning and art was everywhere.

I saw more than a few sidewalk mobiles, similar to what I posted in art/pony a few weeks back.

I'm intrigued by these sidewalk art installations made of old CDs and other shiny bits.

They're unexpected and beautiful. Many are dinosaur or monster-themed.

Who makes them? 

They bring me joy.

Good trouble

Love the rallying cry on the Ark Lodge Cinemas marquee in Columbia City.

We love you Brother.

R.I.P.

John Lewis: good trouble

We may not hvae chosen the time, but the time has chosen us.

*

Good trouble indeed.

Jetzt machen wir eine Pause

Somehow I haven't posted in 3 days.

Because...?

I'm working on a project.

It's disgustingly hot outside.

The world feels violent and bleak.

Between work and my community and life, my mind is wrung out.

*

Words, reasons, possible causation.

In any case, I'll do better.

I'll try.

*

still here

Conduit Coffee

I worry so about the many small businesses continuing to suffer during the pandemic shutdowns.

The governor is right to roll things back. People are generally selfish idiots, and if you doubt this at all, walk with me as I witness a woman board light rail this morning, sans mask despite at least a dozen posted signs in several languages and with pictures, requiring a mask to ride; or the group of 30-somethings gathered for a sidewalk bbq last evening outside my window, also sans masks and seated elbow to elbow for hours.

The establishments who have struggled and stayed alive deserve a lot more than they're getting.

No more help from the city, any time soon.

I try to support them and tip well and send others their way when I can.

Caffe Ladro has been open throughout, cheerfully and calmly serving up coffee on the darkest days.

Rancho Bravo as well. And, doubled as a medic staging area during CHOP.

And many many thanks to the stalwart hot dog guy of Dirty Dog, corner of 11th and Pine, grilling away through protests and clouds of SPD tear gas and the day the trumpers charged through with weapons. A hero for our times.

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