Seattle – Page 3 – The Constant Harper

Tourist Season

When the sun shines in Seattle, the cruise ships come out to play. Tourists flood the market at Pike’s Place, get their pictures taken with the pig, watch the fish fly, buy trinkets. Some determined visitors even venture beyond downtown, riding the Duck to see Lake Union, the Space Needle, and beyond. But for those who have to hurry back to the ship, there’s never enough time to take in all of Seattle’s quirky charms.

Small wonder then that travelers who arrive from far away sometimes suffer from tourist fatigue, the inevitable result of trying to cram in too much tourism in too short a time. These are the sort of folks who need a vacation after their vacation. I sympathize. I think there’s a kind of axiom that applies to this syndrome – the farther you have to go to reach your destination, the more likely you are to feel driven to grab all the gusto available.

You see a lot of this in Paris, a must-see destination for many tourists, but also the site of a lot of vacation meltdowns brought on by the super-inflated hopes of an over-the-top romantic experience crashing into the crowded, confusing, over-priced reality of a town which doesn’t exactly exude hospitality.

Yet we keep on traveling. We are a restless species. And, perhaps we’re not the only ones.

aliens-in-Seattle — Waiting for the Mother Ship to return.

I Brake For Sunshine

Fragrant-Cloud — The aptly named Fragrant Cloud.

silhouettes-sunset — Good to the last drop.

Parade Grind

Summer officially begins June 21st. In other parts of the country shorts and flip-flops will be worn, barbecues will smoke. Some people may even work up a sweat at local ball games and festivities.

In Seattle, summer arrives like a rock star, fashionably late and so beautiful that all is forgiven. You can’t stay mad at a summer like that. You don’t want to waste a minute in pointless ire.

But all too often it takes an act of will to believe in summer here before July. The weather rarely provides supportive evidence. The forecast for tomorrow is typical: a high of 61 degrees with an 80 percent chance of showers throughout the day. Folks back East might find such a forecast discouraging. In Seattle, it’s parade weather.

And nobody parades quite like they do in Fremont, the neighborhood whose self-proclaimed position as “The Center of the Universe” belies its decidedly leftish bent. Fremont champions the quirky and the freedom to come as you are, or who you wish you were, or whatever. No one will judge you on your attire, or lack of same, and the annual Fremont Fair Solstice Parade kicks off the summer season whether or not summer, as traditionally defined, has arrived.

The parade is famous for its first course: the hundreds of naked bicyclists who streak by the crowds, flaunting feathers, flowers and bodypaint. But the real excitement arrives with the bands. They don’t exactly march. And their costumes lean more toward Mardi Gras than military. Their rhythm is irresistible. Playing everything from hip-hop to salsa to swinging zoot suit tunes that defy categories, these bands rock the streets.

But for my money the unsung heroes of the Fremont parade are the strong silent crews who power the floats. Because, in accordance with Seattle’s ubiquitous “greener-than-thou” ethic, the Fremont parade has one rule: no machines, motors, electricity or animals can be used to move the floats. It’s all old-school push and pull by strong silent men and women. Even in the chilliest weather you can easily pick them out. They’re the ones sweating.

Poetry in Motion

UW crew team255 — The Huskies demonstrate a perfect blend of symmetry, timing and strength.

Some welcome spring with flowers. Some with horse races. In Seattle spring means the opening of boat season.

Sure, the boats are here all year round. But on the first Saturday in May the University of Washington’s stellar crew teams compete in annual races which draw thousands to line the banks of the Montlake Cut and cheer them on. In its 108 year history the UW crew teams have won 24 national championships, but winning the local Windermere Cup remains a point of pride for the Huskies. The rest of us can only marvel at their dedication and precision.

Petal Lumination

The softer side of April casts a pale pink spell over the campus of the University of Washington. We gladly succumb.

Couch Gag

Why does a couch cross the road?

The answer to this age-old riddle depends on whom you ask.

If you asked the infinitely creative writers of The Simpsons, they might suggest that the couch has deep personal issues of its own to work through. No doubt putting up with Bart and Homer all these years has left its mark on that particular couch.

But perhaps all couches need a break from being sat upon. If you asked writer Benjamin Parzybok, author of the whimsical and strange novel Couch, you might find yourself immersed in a couch odyssey, seeking nothing less than the meaning of life.

I came upon Parzybok’s book in a used book store a while back and was immediately drawn to its tagline: “Three guys move a couch, save the world.”

Wow. Talk about a story I can relate to. Who among us hasn’t moved a couch? Who among us hasn’t broken down in hysterical laughter while trying to maneuver said couch up a tight stairway? For me, for some inexplicable reason, moving furniture, particularly large unwieldy items such as couches or mattresses, up stairs, around narrow corners, into seemingly impossible positions, has always triggered fits of laughter. I think it has something to do with that feeling you get when you know you’re edging right up against the fractured borderland where the not funny becomes funny. Those moments when the realization hits you that you’re this close to dropping the piano, or the couch, or whatever. And then you have a choice. Either panic, or laugh. But whatever you do, don’t let go.

In Parzybok’s rambling misadventure story, the moving of a couch becomes an extended metaphor for all those perilous moments when things seem too heavy to deal with, yet deal we must.

I wouldn’t recommend the book for everyone. It’s kind of a Portland thing. It’s weird. But, if you like that sort of thing, it’s kind of great.

Seattle has its own love affair with the weird and quirky, and in a quiet corner of Ballard a pocket park pays tribute to the humble couch. At first glance the concrete couch at Ballard Corners Park looks so inviting and homey, you might plop down on it before checking to see if its soaking wet. Rain won’t damage this couch, but soggy pants are a downer.

But should you come across this couch corner on a sunny day, it offers a wonderful change from the usual park bench. It invites you to sit a while and ponder the mysteries of life. And couches.

Goths to the Flame

Seasons come and seasons go, but complaints about the weather never wane.

As we reach the end of a dreary January here on the Northwest coast, we dare to hope that conditions will improve. Perhaps the sun will come out once or twice a week for an hour or two. Is that asking too much? Or, failing that, at least there may be an end to the moaning and griping from friends and relatives back East who’ve had more than enough snow this winter.

The thing about weather is: it can always be worse. Some of us take comfort from this. After all, when you live somewhere cold and dark for nine months of the year, you can take a kind of grim satisfaction in the fact that at least you don’t have to dig your car out from under two feet of snow every weekend. Nor do you have to contend with heatstroke and failing air conditioners. No indeed, here in the Shire all we need are three or four thick sweaters, a layer of Gore-Tex, an industrial strength espresso machine and an impenetrable shield of denial and we can get through winter’s gloom. And spring’s, and fall’s for that matter.

But there’s no denying that at this stage in the calendar year we are not immune to the siren song of sunlight, however fleeting and cold it may be.

Thus, last weekend, when the clouds thinned just long enough to allow some glittering rays to reach the Sound, some of us threw on our parkas and scampered down to the shore to enjoy the moment, before it vanished, and we trudged back to our dark bungalows to dream of brighter days ahead.

Sappy New Year

Raise your hand if the mere thought of another New Year’s Eve makes you queasy with dread.

I’m all for auld lang syne and whatnot. A cup of cheer and thou beside me singing in the wilderness suits me fine. But the prospect of another loud, stimulant-fueled night of forced merriment to celebrate a new calendar leaves me less than thrilled.

I can count on one hand the New Year’s Eves in my life that actually lived up to the hype. I mean, seriously, in real life, how many times can you hope to: a) fall in love; b) achieve some sort of epiphany of hope and wisdom; or c) land a publishing contract, on the last night of the year? Let’s face it, to accomplish even one of those small miracles, on any day, at some point in your life, should be considered as cause for celebration. But to have to celebrate regardless of one’s current state (or status, if you accept the Facebook terminology) can transform what might be an ordinary night into an ordeal.

Still, ready or not, the champagne’s on ice, the crystal ball is suspended above the lurching mob in Times Square, and the tuxedo and tiara set, presumably, are polishing their dancing shoes.

Me, I’m searching the lists at Netflix hoping to come upon the perfect movie to distract me from the whole business.

But I do wish the whole world a Happy New Year. Preferably one in which fewer children starve. Considerably less violence against women would be good. Also less war.

If all the people who begin each New Year with the resolve to lose weight instead put that dedication toward being a little more compassionate, would the New Year be happier?

I’ll drink to that.

“Community” Delivers Outside the Box

At this time of year sometimes I find myself wishing that Elf would get Scrooged.

Some may suggest that this is merely a sign that I’ve wasted too many hours watching Christmas specials on TV, and I can’t deny it. I think I watch them, repeatedly, in hopes of recovering that twinkling sensation of Potteresque magic, when the story was fresh and Hogwarts School cast its architectural spell in the minds of millions of impressionable viewers.

The wizardry of modern media is such that most of us have become numb to special effects. You see one apocalypse, you’ve seen them all. But at Christmas time, the inner child whines anew. Where’s my Christmas miracle?

I do think Scrooged comes closer than most of the other holiday fare to providing a kind of updated cocktail of cynical materialism and over-the-top Dickensian transformation, and for that I thank Bill Murray, whose performance ranks as one of the all-time best in the Christmas makeover category.

But, after you’ve watched it a couple of dozen times, you find yourself yearning for something new to provide that holiday moment when, okay, maybe you can’t and never were able to believe in Santa, but you could sort of embrace the concept of giddy hope that keeps the myth alive.

This year I found my measure of cheer in Community.

I was already a fan of the NBC show about a group of misfits in a struggling community college in the middle of anywhere USA. The show manages to avoid most of the clichéd tropes of the majority of sitcoms. With a light hand and nimble pacing the show both mocks and celebrates its characters, who are all struggling to find purpose or connection.

The central character, Jeff, a disbarred lawyer trying to make a new fresh start, is played by Seattle native Joel McHale, so Seattle viewers were quick off the mark for this show. But what keeps me tuned in are the brilliant concepts and witty writing. And, of course, Abed, my favorite character, played by Danny Pudi with a kind of understated grace that slips past all my defenses.

So when I saw that the Community Christmas episode was called “Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas” I was ready to give it a go, even though it was created in stop-motion like the pathetic, albeit classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, never one of my favorites. But Community didn’t let me down. The episode is everything a Christmas special should be, and more, much more, including the wonderful John Oliver as a sort of Christmas wizard.

So, if anyone out there is weary of It’s a Wonderful Life, or simply can’t stomach another minute of Charlie Brown and his sad little tree, I suggest going online and checking out a Community Christmas. It’s special.

Lenin Lights Up

Christmas spirit is a matter of opinion. The “right” way to celebrate, or even acknowledge the curious amalgam of traditions and customs which surround the last week of the year has become a popular political football in the last thirty years or so. And each year the game gets louder, thanks to the huffing and puffing of stuffed shirts claiming that the Christmas celebration is in need of as much “defense” as the custom of marriage.

Such a clamor. Reindeer on the roof don’t even compare.

Fortunately, in Seattle there exists a long and proud tradition of reinventing tradition. Thus, while other communities across the globe light trees and candles to honor whatever is dear to their hearts, in Seattle, along with the trees and the sugarplums, the lights go up on Lenin, our beloved, if misunderstood, hero.

In Fremont, where this statue of Lenin is a relatively new addition to the eclectic and stubbornly independent iconography of Seattle’s most free-thinking neighborhood, the lighting of the Lenin statue signifies the spirit of tolerance and charity which, if I remember my Bible school lessons correctly, are synonymous with Christianity, as well as being common themes in most of the world’s popular religions.

Lenin himself, of course, was not a religious man. His cause was justice for the common man, the workers of the world, and the enemy, as he saw it, was not some imaginary devil, but the very real tyrants who rose to power under the capitalist system. As Lenin wrote: …”capitalists strive to sow and foment hatred between workers of different faiths, different nations and different races.”

Not exactly the spirit of Christmas. How ironic that Christmas has come to represent the apex of the consumerism which fuels capitalism.

At Fremont’s annual event children drink cocoa and Santa mingles with the crowd. Carols are sung and goodwill abounds. It’s not a particularly holy event. But, like the Christmas holiday itself, it fosters a few moments of genuine peace and hope.

Neither Lenin nor Marx found much to praise in religion, seeing it primarily as a cruel hoax used by tyrants and political schemers to keep the workers of the world from fighting for themselves in this life. But even those early Socialist leaders recognized the vital role that religion can play for the disenfranchised masses. Marx once called religion “the heart of a heartless world.”

At Christmas time, that heart beats a little louder. Even in Fremont.