Water Fight!

Recession Proof Dining in Seattle

If you're too spoiled to eat at home or a hopeless bachelor who can't boil water, then these out-on-the-town splurges are guilt free:

Monday - Friday

McCormick & Schmick's
Downtown or Lake Union
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$1.95 1/2 lb. Cheeseburger or Salmonburger & Fries

Talarico's
West Seattle
(4:00 - 6:00 pm)
$3.50 14" Personal Pizza Slices


Mondays

Dragonfish
Downtown
(3:00 pm - 1:00 am)
$1.95 Sushi

Ohana
Belltown
(5:00 - 11:30 pm)
$3 Appetizers
$3-$4 Drinks

Two Bells Bar & Grill
Belltown
(after 6:00 pm)
$6.75 ALL YOU CAN EAT PASTA NIGHT (until they run out)
Spaghetti with red or pesto sauce, served with garlic bread


Tuesdays @ Chez Gaudy
Capitol Hill
(6:30 pm & 8:30 pm - reservations required!)
$5 Tapas
$8 Bottles of Wine


Wednesdays @ South Lake Grill
South Lake Union
(after 6:00 pm)
$5 Steak & Fries


Saturdays & Sundays @ Galerias
Capitol Hill
(Sat. 11:00 am - 2:00 pm Sun. 10:00 am - 2:00 pm)
$8 Brunch (1 Entree w/Selection of Fruit, Yogurt & Pastries)

Observing 'Destruction of the Western Hemisphere Day' (a.k.a. Columbus Day)

Oh my, this image is more than a metaphor for the Spanish conquest on the Americas. European settlers to the New World thought they were so civilized when in actuality they were the savages who've raped, pillaged and plundered since long before 1492. Today, our modern society, shaped primairly by European descendants such as myself, is responsible for the ill state of our planet and its once vast resources. My, haven't we done well ...

Halloween '08 is a total bust

McCain leaves campain trail to help financial crisis, campaigns in Iowa today.

SNL Katie Couric Interviews Sarah Palin

Seattle's own Dina Martian reaching out to touch someone ...

cHHHool wHHHip (Family Guy)

Friends 'Scene' With Celebs

The paparazzi caught up with my San Francisco gal pal Kirstin while on holiday with her boyfriend and Italian TV personality Michele Cucuzza. Their photos appeared in European tabloids and gossip blogs earlier this month. This is one of my favorite of the "scandalous" photos the paparazzi hounds snapped of the couple on the beach in Mexico (spelled Messico in Italian):

In other news, another friend was amid Hollywood glitterati at an Emmy Awards after party. In this photo, Brian is seen to the right of Neil Patrick Harris (best known for his role as TV's Doogie Howser, MD).

BUZZ KILL | Remembering Tido | 02/07/05 - 09/18/07

Today marks the one year anniversary of my dog Tido's untimely passing. I can honestly say that was probably the worst day of my entire life; an extremely low point to say the very least.

I slept restlessly last night and recall a dream about my little pal. At the very least I felt it appropriate to acknowledge him ...

Quote of the Week!

"Your behavior is not your fault, it's mine for allowing it." - Chris

Emo or 'mo - You make the call ...

Is this guy emo or just plain 'mo (as in homo)?

Sarah Palin on Sarah Palin

"Why I'm just your average small town book burning, abortion banning, gun wielding hypocrite hockey mom."

Note about the photo: Sarah loves animals so much she murders and stuffs them so she can always have them around her. Also notice, she has crabs.

Busy Bee

Artist: Ronan, Age 5,
San Francisco

Niece Nicola

I just received word from my aunt in Austin my half brother's baby has arrived. There were some complications during delivery, but she's doing OK in neonatal. Her name is Nicola Ann Petalas, after our late mother Nicky. Nicky, only 27 when she passed, was named after her great aunt, who died at the age of 15. Hopefully three times is a charm!

My half brother knew our mother for the first seven years of his life, but I had no idea he felt such connection with her still. I was very touched by this news. I don't have any memories of our mother.

You know, come to think of it, little Nicola's birth officially makes me an uncle. I have plenty of friends and cousins with children, but no siblings with kids until now. Pretty cool.

Project Jill Doll

My dear friend Grace came into town last week for some client and family visits. Friday night I drove up to spend some time with her at her folks' house just a little ways north of the city. I always find it so amusing the evolution of conversation and activity in any setting. On this particular Friday night, I was brought back in time and allowed some childhood nostalgia.

Grace had just received her aunt's old Jill Doll. Here's a little history lesson. Jill Dolls were all the rage of the 1950's, allowing girls the opportunity to be on the forefront of couture. I have to admit, after seeing this vintage doll and all her accessories, she was pretty damn fashion forward (even by today's standards).

What started out as an innocent exploration of the doll and her belongings quickly transformed into a game Grace and I played with her sister. We gave one another fashion assignments and had to dress Jill accordingly. Each of these assignments were then followed by a small photo shoot with our trusty digital cameras and Jill's original, fabulous vintage box as the backdrop.

Let's start the show:

LONDON HIGH TEA
Here we see Jill dressed for a high tea engagement with a fashion editor in London. She remains well poised yet edgy in her blue silk slacks and white, open-toed heels. She's an elegant woman who isn't messing around when it comes to gettin' shit did. Jill ties a bit of tradition into her ensemble with a gorgeous white stoal and a lovely string of pearls. Her bag is a carry all which doubles as a portfolio case. Jill's stunning attire will certainly impress.

NEW YORK AFTERNOON

Here we see Jill hailing a cab dressed for an afternoon of success in New York City. I styled her hair up because sophistication should be paired with functionality. She's wearing a sporting animal print tube top, high nickers with an oversize belt, dashing heels and a very chic jacket with white accents. Of course she's a smart girl so she specifically chose her white horn rimmed glasses to match her outfit. No woman would be completely dressed without a bag, and Jill's is a simple, black over-the-shoulder carry all.

SUNDAY DINNER WITH THE FAMILY

Jill is always practical yet stylish. Here you see her wearing a simple, vintage pattern dress with diamond head print. While she looks a bit more '50s wholesome housewife, she also draws inspiration from Little Edie Beale by repurposing her stoal as a head wrap. Very fashion forward. Jill adds tradition with her beautiful string of pearls, which tie in nicely with her silver satin and pearlescent sling back mules. Of course she would be remiss if she didn't bring something to Sunday dinner, so under her right arm she carries a honey baked ham. Mmmm, Jill looks delicious.

SHOPPING ON RODEO DRIVE

Here we see Jill sellin' it Beverly Hills style. She looks hot enough to fuck Richard Gere, or perhaps even turn him straight. A bit on the tarty side, polka dots certainly scream garish L.A. Let's face it, those people have nothing else to live for. This entire ensemble is a Vivien Westwood. Just kidding, it's actually an original Margo Montoya. Isn't her hat the most?! Really, call the fire dept., this is one scorching hot ensemble!

VIETNAMESE PROSTITUTE

"Ten dollar suckie-suckie, fuckie-fuckie," says Jill, who is more Miss Saigon streetwalker in this pure silk teal kimono top. Hanging off her right tit, Jill wears her unplanned newborn. The deliery is so fresh the afterbirth is still resting between her legs. Now that she's had the baby, her twat is prêt-à-porter, mmmmkay!

A Grand New Chapter

In some ways it seems like a lifetime ago since I left my partner, my dog and my home on Beacon Hill. That first morning out of the house was strange. I was staying at a friend's in-city apartment while he was out of town. His building was right next door to where we both lived as roommates when I first met my ex nine years ago. That's a story in of itself.

I was reading the feature story in the June 1999 issue of Cosmo, "How to land your man by the 4th." Then on the 4th of July, at my best friend's party on Lakeview, we were introduced by our best friends who were dating one another at the time. As my ex would often explain to people when we were together, I was as drunk as the Lord that day, which was certainly not one of Cosmo's recommendations. But I did look flawlessly fantastic, and I think that encapsulated the majority of the magazine's advice. While my ex and I didn't start dating until about a month after our first meeting, I definitely landed him the evening of the 4th. He was so cute and starry-eyed in those days. Just like that infamous quote from the classic film 'An Affair to Remember,' "Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories ..."

On that first morning after our break up, when I walked out of my friend's front door, I stepped back onto that part of Bellevue Avenue I was only too familiar with as an early twenty-something single. It was as if I had pressed the reset button on my life. That was two years ago almost to the day since I moved back to Capitol Hill, a.k.a. the "gay ghetto." In other ways it doesn't seem like it has been that long at all.

Less than a week after staying at my friend's place, I moved into my bachelor pad a few blocks east from him. This is my last week living in my temporary exile at The Granada, which has quite honestly never felt like home. I have mixed feelings about my move though, most likely because I'm a bit overwhelmed with work and then having to pick up everything I own and transport it to an unfamiliar space in an unfamiliar part of town. On the other hand, I feel like I'm living with ghosts in this place, figuratively that is, and the space I'm moving into is very cool as is the neighborhood, which is about seven blocks from where I currently reside.

Life always comes with its ups and downs. What is truly great is transitioning from the feeling that my life has been in a state of contraction the last couple years to once more being in a state of expansion. Such are the ebbs and flows of life. How exhilirating it is for one to acknowledge their life's destiny is in their own hands and not anyone else's. It's time to turn the page on yet another life chapter. The next chapter of my life will be grand and I look very forward to writing it.

Newsflash: Chris Crocker leaving YouTube

OMGYG (oh my God, you guys), Chris Crocker is leaving YouTube and getting her own tranny-ass website: http://www.mschriscrocker.com/

Check out her farewell vid:

New Seattle on Two Wheels

Ever want something then suddenly life just mysteriously and simply hands it over to you on a silver platter? I've been wanting a decent street bike for months now, something I could cruise around the city on. My biggest problem has been my lack of storage space. Now that I'm moving into a larger space, I thought it appropriate to start looking for some wheels.

Friday night I was at my friend Flora's birthday on Beacon Hill. She knows quite a bit about bikes, so I asked her whether she would help me shop for a good deal on a used cycle. As it turned out, Flora had just purchased a new one for her partner, so she said I could have their old one. That night I drove home with a very nice, gently used Bianchi! It's a very nice, human-powered two-wheel ride.

Saturday I taught a class with one of my business partners in hopes of drumming up more business. We attracted a couple new clients, which was very nice. To celebrate, I took my new bike out for an inaugural spin, my mini tour de Captiol Hill. I rode from the bottom of the Hill up 15th to the Volunteer Park Cafe. It was an absolutely gorgeous summer day; clear blue skies, sunny and warm. I had one of the best chicken Caesars in my life with a glass of refreshing iced tea while I dove further into the book I'm reading, 'The Art of Racing in the Rain.' After I finished my early supper, I gave myself a special treat; one of the cafe's delicious coconut cupcakes. These delightful mini-cakes are homemade, beautiful and divine.

I have to say, there is something so wonderful about touring through town by bike. It was like being in a new city, a new Seattle. Riding a bike is so much more engaging than driving a car, physically as well as sensory-wise. Biking is peaceful as well as a bit more dangerous. One has to pay even closer attention getting from point A to point B.

After leaving the cafe, I continued my tour through Volunteer Park past the historic glass conservatory, down the hill past lush tree-lined streets with some of the city's finest residences and then down eclectic Broadway.

I had just enough time to take a late afternoon siesta before heading out to a benefit cocktail party on the Eastside in Redmond. The hostess is the good friend of a guy I dated at the end of last summer. He's a total douche bag, but she's sweet as pie. The money raised through the sale of cocktails for donation went to benefit brain tumor research. The hostess' sister was diagnosed with and subsequently had surgery for one around the time the douche and I began dating.

Met some really fantastic people at the party including a fabulous fag hag, a sweet couple from O.C. and a funny gay boy who lives in what's going to be my new neighborhood, SLU. The gay boy and I left the party around the same time, both with plans to hit the (gay) bars. As it turns out, he lives in the same building as, and is friends with, the magazine couple I once knew through my work with the LGBT chamber of commerce. Small world and an even smaller town.

Scotty stayed home ill, but I met Richard out at the Pub along with my buds Brent and Doug. We then ventured over to the Cuff, but unfortunately Brent had misplaced his I.D. and was denied entry. I felt guilty for staying as the boys had driven all the way from Beacon to meet us out, but I had work to do. Nah, but I was meeting my new friend from the party as well as somewhat looking forward to reconnecting with my old acquaintance from the magazine. There was one other reason I wanted to stay as well. I thought perhaps there was a slight chance I might have another run in with the scorching hot gentleman who reintroduced himself to me the Tuesday prior, the one I called later in the week only to be left hanging. Dick.

Instead, I met a tall drink of something standing in line at the middle bar to buy one last beer and close out my tab. His name is Chris (not really, but to me he looks like that should be his name), and he's a chauffeur. He's about 6'4" tall, has soft, thinning silvered hair, the most gorgeous set of blue eyes I've almost ever seen, full lips and one of the most handsome faces I've seen in a long time.

This man Chris was in line in front of me. When he turned around and smiled at me, however, he invited me to move in line in front of him. I told him that wasn't necessary, but he insisted. We continued casually chatting. I don't recall exactly what we talked about, but I don't think any conversational topic mattered to either of us at the time. I'm pretty sure all we were concerned with was staying in each other's presence.

At this point my friend Richard had left and I wasn't really feeling the gay boy, my magazine friend and their "posse." Just then I passed by the guy who reintroduced himself to me on Tuesday. He briefly glanced at me and then whispered something to his friend as we walked by one another. So much for that dick, but I could really have cared less at that point, especially after meeting Chris.

A moment later Chris appeared, and invited me to join him outside where we could talk and get more acquainted. We found a couple of patio chairs outside in the part of the bar often referred to as "the dog run." While I'm still challenged to recall exactly what we discussed, other than the what ifs of possibly going home together, I can tell you I found him to be friendly, sweet and down right genuine. Such qualities go a very long way in my book.

He wanted to dance and I had to relieve myself. So he took my beer inside and asked me to meet him out on the floor. The place was packed and I wasn't sure I'd find him again. Just then he suddenly appeared. He smiled as I approached. We danced a few songs, finished our drinks and then left the bar together.

As we were walking down 13th, he suggested we get some food. I mentioned the Hurricane, a 24 hour dive at the north end of downtown. He was elated as it's one of is favorite late night haunts. So off we went.

We both ordered breakfast. I adore breakfast food. I could practically eat it for every meal. We filled ourselves with some of the usual suspects, eggs, hash browns, etc. Then I drove him home to West Seattle.

Since that night we've seen one another several more times. I'm really enjoying getting to know him. Inside his attractive tall, masculine and handsome exterior dwells a very odd duck who's a bit quirky yet intelligent but also very thoughtful and sincere. He's certainly not your average Joe. Chris is also unpredictable, slightly strange, sweet and gentle. He barely knows me and yet has already offered a handful of times to help me move into my new SLU digs next week. What a guy. Ya know something, I think I might just take him up on it.

Speaking of moving, a brand new client is on the move for a home east of the Cascades in quaint Cle Elum. She came to my Saturday seminar by happenstance, and the next day we were looking at property between exits 78 and 85 off of Interstate 90, just over an hour from the city. What a beautiful place! I found her a gorgeous half acre property on the bank of the Yakima River, surprisingly well within her first time homebuyer price range.

We had a grand time spending our Sunday together, especially after touring one of the most bizarre homes I've ever seen. It was like the Winchester House of Mystery meets David Lynch. We talked about it for nearly an hour afterward because the experience was so weird.

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect from my brand new client as we had just met the day before. She is one of the sweetest, most fun-loving people I've met in a long time. We wrote up a contract today for that riverfront property, and while doing so she handed me a card, which read:

"Thank you for making me feel like a very important somebody. You shouldn't have ... but I'm very glad you did. Even though we just met I know you are thoughtful, sincere, smart and witty. Even if this house is not the one for me, thank you so much for your kindness. If it does work out though, I hope you visit anytime you want. Love, Annah"

While I certainly appreciate new clients, making new friends is so much more meaningful and gratifying.

Last night Chris met me for happy hour at the bar across the street. We then came back to my place where I made dinner for the two of us. Afterward we ventured down Broadway to rent a movie, Shortbus (one of my all time favorites he had never seen). Then swung by the store and bought kernels to pop. We curled up on the sofa to watch our movie and eat our homemade popcorn while the lights of city skyscrapers sparkled in the background outside my top floor windows.

There was one scene in the movie that really caught Chris' funny bone. He roared with laughter and wasn't able to pull himself back together for quite some time. This was an amusing spectacle to watch. It was great to see him so happy and alive. When he smiles at me I can feel it in my chest.

While I had initially hoped to reconnect with that dick from Tuesday, lord only knows why, life handed me something else, someone who is real, noteworthy and enjoyable to be with. Perhaps Chris is just Mr. Right Now and that's perfectly alright by me. Something tells me there's quite a bit more to come with this one. Only time will tell ...

Forgiveness

Main Entry: for·give
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): for·gave \-ˈgāv\; for·giv·en \-ˈgi-vən\; for·giv·ing
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English forgifan, from for- + gifan to give
Date: before 12th century transitive verb
1 a: to give up resentment of or claim to requital for b: to grant relief from payment of
2: to cease to feel resentment against (an offender) : pardon intransitive verb: to grant forgiveness

According to Merriam-Webster.com, the word forgive wasn't introduced into the English language until nearly the 12th century. Perhaps our predecessors were unconditionally loving and had no use for the term or perhaps the opposite was true or perhaps there was just another term for this meaning. Could you imagine a world without forgiveness? Perish the thought!

Lately I've been having some run-ins with a few men I've dated this year. Wednesday after yoga I bumped into the gentleman who I had the greatest romantic interest in and connection with since "him."

Things between us started out very strong, we had a wonderful connection. He was charming, easy to talk to, highly intelligent and philosophical. I was falling for him hook, line and sinker as it were. However, things between us didn't end up going so swimmingly. Suffice to say our romance abruptly ended due to what I considered to be a bit of an existential conundrum.

So I was leaving the gym, and as I turned the corner for the home stretch to the exit, there he was, marching in place on an elliptical. We haven't spoken nor seen one another since early March. Therefore this moment where he was moving in place held a bit of poetic irony since I truly believe neither of us had moved beyond our previous transcendental idealistic stalemate, if you will. We were both still firmly rooted in the moment of how things appeared to us which was so completely juxtaposed to one another in addition to being contrary to how each of us felt toward the other person. It's a bit complicated (because we made it so), and I digress ...

Upon first noticing him, I felt a warming in my chest. Of course I was a bit conflicted as I'm sure he was too when I said "hey" to him. I know in my heart of hearts he's a very good human being. His equally brief reaction to me spoke volumes. He reciprocated the short salutation, and out of half politeness and half really wanting to know about him in the present I asked him how he was doing. He simply said, "I'm good," but in a tone that likely contradicted how he was feeling toward me in that moment. Then he asked me how I was. "I'm fine," I replied and continued to make my way toward the door. I had just gotten the first of my two earphones in when he called me back over sternly by name while facing the opposite direction.

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned back around and re-approached. I took some comfort in his discomfort as we were both in the same boat during that moment.

"Do you want your shirt back," he asked.

"Oh, yeah, that's right," I recalled. "Um, yes, that'd be nice."

"What's the best way to get it to you?"

I pondered for a few moments, not exactly sure what would be in either of our best interests "Well, I'm fairly flexible the rest of this week. I could certainly meet you at the Vivace inside your building when it's convenient."

Since he took the initiative to make the gesture, the least I could do is make it easy for him. I know we both suffered as a result of what transpired. Besides, moving forward means letting go and getting beyond the past.

"Do you still have my phone number or email?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure I do," I replied.

"I know I'll be busy tomorrow, but Friday is good. So get in touch with me and let me know."

"OK, I'll be in touch," I remarked and then continued on my way.

We agreed to meet up this morning. I took a mid-morning break, arriving at the cafe early to relax and get some more reading time in. Right at 10:30 a.m. on the dot he entered, his presence very pronounced by the nicely laundered red with white stripes button down shirt he carried in on a hanger, sleeves pinned neatly across the front.

I immediately looked up from my book and marked my page. I then set it down on the table and removed my reading glasses, placing them on the cover. He smiled and asked me what I was reading as he scanned the cover, asking whether it was a book about dog racing. I corrected him by explaining that a race car driver is one of the main characters, but the main character/narrator is a dog who is also a philosopher. Altogether he seemed much more disarmed than we likely both were during our initial run in the day before last, and he smiled at my explanation of my book.

He handed me my shirt back, which I immediately removed from the wire hanger and made a few attempts to fold neatly to stow in my bag. We spent the subsequent few minutes making small talk. I could sense a genuine interest on both our parts to really want to check in with the other person. Imagine that, we still genuinely like each other.

We spent the subsequent hour getting on one another's wave length about what occurred. Really, and quite simply, I was really on the market for a straight forward apology. I have to give this man a lot of credit for his bravery. To say the very least, it is quite challenging to face someone who raised hell with you for hurting their feelings. Apparently I reciprocated the pain with an older blog post about the situation. No need to go back there, but he immediately brought to my attention how scathing my blog post was about him. All I can say for myself is my words reflected what I thought of him in that situation at that time.

In the end, I know neither of us intentionally set out to hurt the other person. Given our conversation this morning, it was plainly obvious we do genuinely like and care for each other as the people we are.

Harking back to another earlier blog post, the three things we as people need most in our lives is love, understanding and forgiveness. I strongly subscribe to all three of those ideals, I'm a big fan, huge. Sometimes in life, bad sets of circumstances arise to evoke positive changes. It's how the human spirit champions such obstacles, and more often than not these are obstacles we place before ourselves. Further, the best heroes, the kind we can all relate to more often than not, are those who have the odds stacked against them.

So what next? Only time will tell inevitably. For starters, we acknowledged how much we enjoy one another as people. That's a good place to start. Seems to me we both got jipped during our first go of it. We agreed we'd both like to continue a friendly dialogue as well as to maintain topics relating exclusively to the present. Perhaps there will come a time when we can reflect on our "sordid" past with hearty laughter. Until then, we'll just forgive and let go.

Two people who want to work on a friendship so more deserve to have one than those who just luck out by happenstance. I look forward to a new beginning as friends ...

It's a Small World, for Fat People: The Right to be Fat?

My dear snow invited me along for a picnic at Coulon Park today with her darling four year old daughter Lily. While we were sitting on a small floating island eating the delicious lunch Snow packed for us, Lily noticed a posted sign for people to not feed the ducks. Being the curious young mind she is, of course to her this begged the question why, so she asked me.

Just then I noticed a very obese man walking along the lake shore, so I used him as an example. I explained to Lily that ducks naturally find food in the wild and if people fed them they would get too fat. Then I pointed to the obese man and declared that someone had overfed him. Snow chuckled beneath her breath and smiled, well knowing my initial explanation sufficed.

This later brought Snow and I to the topic of obesity. She said she had heard of groups that fight for the equal treatment of obese people. What the fuck?!

While people are born with baby fat, people aren't necessarily born to be obese. Being morbidly fat is a choice. People have control over diet and exercise which has a direct correlation to body fat.

The common complaints obese people have range from being discriminated against in the workplace to being charged for two seats on an airplane. OK, I've been squeezed in next to a mildly obese person on an airplane, and there is nothing more miserable. I'm sorry, but if a person can't fit in just one seat, they should have to pay for two. Space is real estate and real estate costs money. Maybe that will help inspire obese folk to curb calories and take in a little activity.

In fact, Snow recently heard Disneyland is retrofitting the park's 'Small World' ride to accommodate fuller figured humans. Perhaps they ought to change the name to 'It's a Fat World.'

Curiosity further drove me to search the web to see what organizations exist to enable obesity. Top of the list on Google is the Council on Size & Weight Discrimination. What a wide load of crap! There's even a blog about this subject simply called Big Fat Blog.

While I think it's highly inappropriate for anyone to discriminate against and judge anyone else, I don't agree with special treatment of people who make unhealthy lifestyle choices.

Art Attack

What an amazingly full weekend! Snow and I bummed around at the second Friday artwalk in Belltown, which was really fun. We saw some nice work, I met one of the cutest French bulldogs names Oliver and we nibbled on delicious miniature cupcakes at a very fabulous gallery space.

After a glass of sparkling and another glass of still white wine, we needed a bit of repose and some caffeine. Snow and I sat out on the sidewalk at one of Belltown's few cafes and had iced coffee and iced tea.

So many beautiful men strutted past us. We didn't want to be obvious about directing the other person's attention to a hot piece of man in plain sight, therefore we developed a code phrase.

Snow and I have a love for Star Wars and anything that pokes fun at the original epic film. During the attack on the Death Star scene, one of the the red squadron pilots is referred to as Porkins. The funny thing is, if you pay close attention to the movie, this dude is also pretty fat!

Pork of course has other connotations, such as fucking. So now when we see a hot guy we'd like the other person to check out, we calmly and politely say, "Have you seen Porkins lately?"

After artwalk, my pal Scotty guilted me into having a drink with him as his plans fell through with the guy he first met and slept with the night before.

We met at 611, which has a great bar. Then went across the street to get Scotty a slice or two (of pizza) at Mama's, one of my local faves. While there we ran into Richard and Manny, soon to be my new South Lake Union neighbors.

Scotty and I ended up at Purr, which I generally can't stand. However, I ran into an old friend and colleague I hadn't seen in about four years. We'll call him Jimmy. I had once hired him for a long term contract and then about six months into it placed myself on contract within the same group in a slightly subordinating role. In other words, at one time he reported to me and then I became somewhat subservient to him. It was good seeing him. Jimmy remarked the last time we saw one another was at Manray, which wasn't true.

Methinks he was referring to a time we bumped into one another in line there at the bar. He was a bit more than tipsy and ended up giving me a bit of a smacker on the lips. I didn't mind, but I was partnered at the time and didn't reciprocate. The following Monday at work he made an apology.

Saturday I slept in and then picked up my pal Brent on Beacon Hill for a little brunch in Georgetown. We ate at the Hangar Cafe, which was surprisingly good. They serve crepes and sandwiches as well as they have a full espresso bar. The restaurant itself was a single family home that had been converted. We sat in the front yard, which had been turned into a patio seating area. From there I could almost see my little red house on the hill through the trees ...

Afterward, we returned to Brent's, sat in the sun and had a beer or two until his partner Doug arrived home. We then met up with our friends Matt, Kevin and their new foster child Max out on their boat in Seward Park. Max is great, but he's seven and a total sponge, meaning he hears, remembers and repeats everything you say.

My big oops was when I heard him ask, "Matt, what's a sausage party?" I was having a candid conversation with Kevin about how I would like to join the one in progress several boats away. Hopefully he'll never know anything other than the innocent meaning of these words.

After a couple hours on the lake, Brent, Doug and I ventured back into Georgetown for a bite at Stellar Pizza, which was delicious as always. We then toured through all the open studios, shops and galleries for the neighborhood's Second Saturday Art Attack. Many of the places we ventured into offered beer, wine and light nibbles. I stuck with beer, which I had been drinking since two that afternoon.

My favorite was an a-board sign pointing to a small show inside a very funky storage space which read, "Who Arted?" Cute. Along the way I spoke with several artists. Georgetown seems to attract people who are genuine, kind and sociable. However, there was another group of gays also wandering around the hood. We said hello to them and they completely ignored us. They were fairly homely too.

In Seattle, if a gay man says hello to another, it means he wants action. So is the perception. Either that or people in this town just don't know how to be friendly and talk to one another. Maybe it's a combination of both.

Later that night we found ourselves at the Elite, a pub style bar down the block from my Capitol Hill bachelor pad. We had a drink and then from there went to Purr. At this point I was seriously ready to slip into a coma. I managed to catch a seventh wind when Doug introduced me to his friend and band mate, whom I conversed with for nearly three hours.

What feeling(s) does this evoke?

A fellow writer sent me this music video a while back. I'd love to gauge others' reactions to it. Please feel free to comment or send a reactionary email to: urbanperspective@gmail.com. Cheers

FUCK YELLOW CAB OF SEATTLE

It's 2:00 a.m. I just got back in from a very long 48 hours, nearly half of which I spent working. Had a two day business conference. Then an after party, which didn't go late, but clearly I did by American standards. So here I sit, three beers and an entire 10 inch cheese pizza later, still pissed off about my last two Yellow Cab experiences.

My drivers were fine. The cars were clean. I reached my destinations safely and punctually. But when I arrived at my destination however, the cab driver gave me a total that was $2 more than what the meter read. The first driver declared a $2 fuel surcharge. The other didn't. No where is this "charge" posted. Either way I think they're full of shit, so I didn't tip either of those fucking thieving bastards.

Let me tell you something. I am the 20% tip guy. You have to really grate my nuts for me to not tip even close to 20%. But $2 is nearly a half gallon of gas. I was only going 8 blocks, in both cases. So not only am I being charged handsomely for service, but I'm also more than paying for these guys to fill up their gas guzzlers. I'm pretty sure these cab drivers and/or companies are taking advantage of over speculated oil futures and basically charging themselves a 50% tip. It's not the money so much as it is the principle. FUCKERS!

Here I am, trying to be a responsible party goer by cabbing it. From now on I'm driving drunk or bumming rides from total strangers. I think they call that hitch hiking. Or better yet, I'll get drunk, commandeer someone else's ride, then smash it into the side of a Yellow Cab and flee the scene undiscovered. Surcharge that, motherfuckers.

Social Media Conundrum

Digital (online, virtual) ethnography (a.k.a. netnography or webnography) - is it a study involving the culture of people or the culture of machines or both? You decide ...

I'm gonna be a SLUT!

It's official, I'm going to be a SLUT (South Lake Union tenant). For nearly two years, since the end of my seven year relationship, I've been harboring myself like a fugative in what I refer to as my "temporary exile," a.k.a. the maxi pad on Capitol Hill. While I'm still not quite ready to settle back down into a place of my own, I'll be one step closer, living in an incredibly unique one bedroom loft apartment in one of Seattle's most up and coming in-city neighborhoods.

Finding Inspiration

My dear Snow, an incredibly gifted, freelance illustrator, has been yearning to find the time to stay with her craft of painting. I'm finding myself with a similar and yet slightly different dillemma.

I very much want to stay with my craft of writing, and I suppose to some extent I have through my blog. Time isn't as much the issue as is inspiration, focus and creative gusto these days.

Pounding away on this Underwood No. 5 (is that like Chanel No. 5 for writers?) is such a romantic notion. Have you ever tried to type on one of these machines though? Not only are they ergonomically hateful, but they are just plain uncivilized. People must've had very strong fingers back in the day.

Still, I imagine myself in a small, secluded cabin along the Pacific Northwest coastline with ample time for reflection and energy to create masterful works on one of these beautiful antiques.

Is America Going Bankrupt?

In the spirit of observing America's independence from England, it is important for us to reflect on the reasons why we as colonists became separatists in the first place. Was it not because of taxation without representation? Funny how history repeats itself as you'll learn via the following 60 Minutes reel:

Summer in the City @ 1st Thursday Artwalk

Snow and I ventured down to Pioneer Square for July's First Thursday Artwalk. Neither of us had been in quite some time.

We felt fortunate the weather held out. It's always a crap shoot prior to the 4th of July. People were out en masse, dressed for warmer weather. We started our tour by attempting to find parking, which we finally did after lapping around many blocks and shelling out $12. Of course on our way wandering on foot down 1st Ave we passed by a couple garages for half the amount we paid. Now we know better.

We started our tour in the pedestrian alley of Occidental where white trade show tents housed painters and jewelers selling their artwork and crafts. Snow remarked how nerve wracking it must be for these artists to have people candidly walk by, commenting and critiquing their work.

Both Snow and I were slightly intoxicated by the creative energy and buzz all around us. Not to mention the myriad of beautiful folks strolling from gallery to gallery, some dressed as artfully as the fine pieces on display.

Inside the second formal gallery we ventured into, where we saw some of the most spectacular pieces, both our eyes also ran across an incredibly gorgeous gentleman. He wasn't wearing a ring. Yes, that's the first thing I look at. But he wasn't alone either, and he wasn't with a man. Still, he was fun to admire from afar nonetheless.

We then found ourselves across the walkway at Cafe Umbrio where we lounged at a sidewalk cafe table for a spell. That's when we noticed Arien, a fellow I dated for several weeks this spring. He was with another fellow, but from what we could tell they weren't together in the romantic sense.

Snow and I remained incognito. We watched them walk into a gallery on a perpendicular street, then walk out and toward the waterfront. Suddenly they appeared again a half block closer from where we spotted them out front of the gallery at the end of Occidental, but didn't see them walk back the same way. We deducted they must have walked all the way back around the block. They were standing out in front of a Starbucks, not hard to do in Seattle as there's practically two on every block. Then they started coming our way.

It's not that I have a big problem with Arien. He's a very sweet guy, but also another one of those deaf guys who wasn't able to hear the fact I thought he and I were better off as friends. I extended a lunch invite not too long ago, which he made a production out of. So, I'd rather not engage him if he can't just be a cool cat and chat me up casually.

Arien and his friend walked right in front of our table. I had my head turned slightly and didn't notice. That was acting. Thank you. Snow remarked that he looked right at us, but he too didn't notice us either. Bravo. Encore.

We then got up and toured one more gallery space right at closing time. Shortly after we headed back toward the car and to grab a bite along the way. We stumbled upon the best Thai place I've been to in a while. It was very tastefully minimalist, they played classic jazz tunes and the joint was adjacent to where we parked. We dined on the most delicious little spring rolls and chicken phad thai, which was more than enough for two. We got out of there for $17 including tax and tip. What a bargain! That more than made up for being extorted on parking.

Snow and I had such a wonderful time we vowed to do artwalk every month from now on.

The Douchiest Phone Message In History

My San Francisco BFF sent me this the other day. Here's the back story. A girl named Olga was out with her friends in San Francisco's Marina district (known for being a popular hang out for douches), and she talked to this guy named Dmitri for all of two minutes. Then she gave him her card and said “give me a call.”

These are the two messages he left her. Listen to the whole thing, it just keeps getting better and better. You've gotta hear it to believe it:


http://view.break.com/527579 - Watch more free videos

Swallow My Pride

A priest walks into a gay bar with a dyke, a fag and a straight chick. No, this isn't the beginning of some joke, but rather the start of my Friday night out in San Francisco. Seriously. Any trip I can come back from saying the aforementioned is a great one, which I plan to get a lot of mileage out of in the coming days. The significance of this date is that exactly 39 years ago in New York City (on Friday, June 27, 1969) the Stonewall Riots ignited the LGBT liberation movement.

Our Pride adventure in The City (what many Californians have nicknamed San Francico) actually started on Thursday, which wasn't necessarily off to a good start. The City of Seattle towed my car. Apparently the utility work on my block started a day early. I heeded the signage correctly, but the city fucked up. So I missed my carpool, but still made my flight in more than plenty of time as it was delayed due to poor visibility as Northern California was a blaze with wild fires.

Caught up with Hicks, a friend of a friend, inside SeaTac's sleek newer Concourse A. Ironically, I found him in the African Lounge, ironic because he's black.

Upon arrival, I turned on my phone only to be receiving a call from the plane pulling in right behind mine. It was my dear friend Rach, who I've known since my college "daze." We were meeting up in The City and both staying with my BFF Grace on Russian Hill.

No sooner had we put our things down in Grace's flat, we were whisked off to North Beach via cab to get a drink or several. We started at a very swanky bar, a place I had been to once before but can't recall the name. While there, a very muscular, athletic gentleman about our age approached. He's an acquaintence of Grace's who was very interested in having people notice his well developed bod as he drew attention to it by casually flexing from time to time. He was pretty sexy right up until those moments. Next.

Don't know what it is about the corner of Grant and Green in North Beach, but two out of two times I've been on that exact same corner adjacent to this quaint Irish pub, months apart, I've gotten completely stoned.

The time before this last it was Grace and my dear friend (and former co-worker) Macho Pacho (that's Grace's nickname for her). Pacho and her band performed at the pub last October. I had just stopped through The City for the night on my way to my other home away from home in coastal Mexico.

This time we were walking by these three big dudes and the smell of ganga in the air was extremely pungent. As we passed, I commented how good something smelled. We then invited ourselves to partake. They were more than happy to share. I suppose this stands to good reason.

Man, they had the fattest spliff I've ever seen. I swear it was nearly an inch in diameter. OK, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but it was pretty fucking huge! And one toke got me pretty fucking stupid-baked. It's sometimes very fun to regress ...

From what I recall we ate some wood fired pizza at what first appeared to be a very charming Neapolitan pizza restaurant right on Columbus that was clearly open for late night dining. The waiters must have been faux Argentinians because they thought they were Mexicans who thought they were British and acted like snooty French men. We sat out on the sidewalk and even if you offered me $1 million, I wouldn't be able to recall what we talked about. I do recall a lot of laughs, but that's par for the course with these gals.

Grace had to run into the office early Friday morning. I don't know how she did it. Rach and I accompanied her to Peet's on Polk Street for some fresh morning brew. Lord knows we all needed it. So Rach and I went on walk about, strolling down Embarcadero on the water's edge until we hit Market Street. Along the way Rach made contact with our good friend Alice, who I had just seen about a month prior during my last visit with Grace in The City. We agreed to meet her and her girlfriend for lunch at Chow in the Castro.

We hopped a streetcar on Market Street, which would could have easily beat to our destination by just strolling at a casual pace. It was one tourist experience I hadn't ever indulged during my dozens of visits to The City over the years. Now I know why. Impractical when you have limited time, places to be and people to see.

Chow was delicious as was our waiter. Afterward, Rach and I returned to Russian Hill in time to meet Grace's friend, Priest Ralph de Bricassart.

The four of us started at a rooftop bar in the Mission, which offered skyline views and was fantastic except for the cold wind whipping up from the bay. Our next stop was surely for Rach, the Lexington, a dyke bar on the edge of the Castro. Some of her gal pals from San Diego were there. They came up as a band to play a few sets for the Dyke March the following night.

Our next stop was Moby Dick's, which was surely for yours truly. The men were out in full force for Friday night of Pride weekend in The City. Funny enough, I recognized quite a few men from Seattle, but we of course kept to ourselves and didn't bother saying hi to one another. It's the gay Seattle way, the prude misunderstanding that if you say hi to another gay man it means you want to fuck. Whatever happened to being able to just be genuinely friendly? Oh well ...

Apparently during our time at Moby Dick's, Priest Ralph de Bricassart engaged Grace in a very unholy conversation, more than insinuating (emphasis on the "sin") his romantic interest in her. Talk about an existential quandary, one that my dear Grace wanted nothing to do with.

We fled to Escape from New York Pizza on Castro. I love their pizza! Delicious, perfectly crispy thin crust and very flavorful. My mouth is watering just thinking about it, which is why I indulged in their pizza three times over the weekend. Mmm ... I digress.

After pizza, the priest, the dyke and the straight chick got into a cab and I ventured back to Moby Dick's. That's where I met Doug, a very tall, robust gentleman in his late 30s with slightly slivered hair and a gorgeous smile. Clearly I'm a sucker for that, but that came a bit later in the evening, pardon the vague innuendos.

Doug and his three pals, one couple and one ex boyfriend, were a breath of fresh air. They were welcoming, talkative and genuinely nice. Very un-Seattle I have to say. They invited me out on the sidewalk for a toke and then Doug bought us a round of drinks. We stayed at Moby's for one more and then headed down to a much smaller, quieter bar called the Men's Room, just down the block.

Not long after our arrival to the Men's Room, we were sitting at the bar when the gentleman next to me stood up on the bar stool, hefted his glass up high and announced the death of his father, asking everyone to join in his toast. It was the sort of moment you'd see on the silver screen, but rarely in person. I was so stunned I stood to my feet, placed my hand on his back and asked whether he was serious. He said he had just moments prior received word from his brother in San Luis Obispo, the town where I attended university. He also explained that his dad was very ill and this had been a long time coming. He was glad that his father is at peace now.

The night was winding down, and Doug extended an invitation to his place by Almo Square Park. The park is famous for the row of colorful Victorian "Painted Lady" homes often seen with the San Francisco skyline in the background on films and TV.

Suffice to say my time spent with Doug was the most amazing 12 hour relationship I've ever had! The conversation was great, the intimacy spectacular and he treated me like a complete gentleman. We slept in until nearly noon, and then he took me to breakfast at his favorite greasy spoon. It was delicious and the perfect elixer after a night of tying one on with Father Tom and friends. Afterward, Doug drove me back across town to Russian Hill in his convertible Audi with the top down.

Meanwhile, the girls (Rach and Grace) were enjoying Bloody Mary's at The Cliff House. We had planned to see an art exhibition, but that didn't actually come to fruition. A few years prior, the three of us went to go see "The Universe Within," which is that Chinese exhibit of human cadavers. It was housed at San Francisco's Masonic Temple, and it was definitely not the type of exhibit one should experience hung over. Enough said.

The three of us had an appointment with some other dykes and tapas in the Mission that evening and then we were invited to walk in the Dyke March. At the tapas table, I had Grace to my right and a scruffy dyke to my left. She had a bigger goatee than me! I can't recall her name, but she was very nice to converse with. She said she loved Seattle and had been up recently to film a documentary about bearded ladies. Oh, of course.

We went by foot from the restaurant to the start of the march at Dolores park. I have seen enough dyke breasts (a.k.a. yams in socks) for a lifetime. What was great to experience was the festive atmosphere. People in the row houses and apartments that lined the streets of the march hosted parties. One of the parties consisted of what appeared to be several breeder families, whose children were hanging out of the windows giving peace signs and waving little rainbow flags in support.

Grace and I grabbed a couple of ice cold Sapporros from a sidewalk vendor and drank them out of paper bags during the march. By the end of it all we had all we could handle, so the two of us left Rach to her fellow dykes and devices while we grabbed a cab back to Russian Hill.

Despite having gone to bed at a very respectable hour, 10ish, morning still came a bit early. We had to get Rach to the airport and then had a brunch with Grace's friends at none other than their favorite Polk Street haunt, Bar Johnny, which I lovingly refer to as the Regal Beagle. They offered a phenomenal brunch.

I had poached eggs with lox, sweet potato hash browns, mixed greens and bottomless mimosas. Grace shared her brioche with me, which was absolutely one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted. They clearly slice their own fresh brioche loaves and then throw the slices on the grill with some butter. Simple yet mildly sweet and deliciously savory.

After our bubble-filled brunch, the gang (I think there were like eight of us) went with Grace's friend Alysha, whose birthday it was, back to her amazing apartment for a little smoke out. That seemed to be a theme that wove its way through the weekend. Along the way half our group stopped in for a glass of wine at the most charming cafe on the corner of Hyde & Jackson. After the smoke out, we returned to the same corner cafe with the intention of taking the trolly over the hill near the Wharf.

Trolly after trolly passed us by as they were filled to capacity with tourists. So we settled for taking over the sidewalk tables at this gorgeous corner cafe, where we had several rounds in the sun before a chilling fog rolled in. Then it was off to the Bell Tower, where Grace had originally met Priest Ralph de Bricassart. Incidentally, he met us for brunch, but left early to play a round of golf. He was leaving early the next morning to do some fundraising in Portland, Oregon, but was to return to The City a few days later. He ended up cutting his West coast trip short, having to head back to New York to attend a funeral.

I managed to get myself to the airport, drunk as a skunk, all the while wearing my Swallow My Pride t-shirt. I left some DVD's at Grace's and lost a ring through security. Otherwise I returned to Seattle without so much as a scratch, thankfully.

My plane touched down before midnight, and it was still Pride weekend on Capitol Hill. So instead of driving home, I parked near the Cuff. That turned out to be dead, so I walked over to Madison Pub, which was even more so. Decided to have a beer there anyway, which turned into two, which turned into a flirty conversation with a muscle cub, which turned into smooching in an open parking lot among just a few other things ...

Although I always have a grand time in The City, it's good to be home.

A League of His Own

I feel funky. Maybe it's the week. Maybe it's the weed. Maybe it's the dweeb. This afternoon Luke, this guy I dated for the last couple months, tells me he thinks I'm out of his league. That was a first. He said he felt inferior and thought I must think he's a bore. That's about the saddest thing I've heard in quite a while. Almost as sad as, "I can't be the man you need me to be," famous near last words from an old flame ...

Is it me or is there something seriously wrong with someone who would say such things? Let us not overlook the fact this way of thinking is purely unilateral, which comes from a completely self absorbed place.

Well, truth be told he was too insecure and emotionally immature for us to be a good fit. Instead of just being direct and straight forward, he would often hint around about how he was feeling. Can't tell you how much that drives me up a wall. I'm not a mind reader, and I would never assume to ever just know how someone else is feeling. Perhaps over time, a long, long time, I might gain some insight.

Luke had many great qualities. We had a nice little connection. Even today, despite not having seen one another for a couple weeks, we chatted across a cafe table for a couple hours. We made a lot of small talk, and then broached the elephant in the room; what went wrong.

I suppose what baffles me the most is that he had the vulnerability, the humility, the balls to articulate how he feels lesser than me. I really liked him, and I'm very expressive, so I showered him with praise. From day one he deflected my compliments, almost couldn't take one to save his life. Translation: very poor self esteem.

OK, we would all be remiss to not admit our insecurities. Everyone has them. Some clearly more than others. I mean, c'mon, I'm the guy who farts into the phone with some of his best gal pals on the receiving end. Guess sometimes others see in us only what they want to see and overlook understanding who we really are.

On some level I would say this is unfortunate. Though one should never curse their bad luck until they're absolutely certain it's not good luck.

We walked out to our cars together and hugged a couple times prior to parting ways. We agreed we could still continue on as friends. What amused me the most were his parting words, "This isn't goodbye, just see you later ..." Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps he'll just remain in a league of his own.

Adios, amigo.

My Nude Neighbors

My apartment faces directly into the living room of the Canadian breeder couple who live in the building across the street. I'm deducting their national origin based on the oversized flag they have displayed on a post in their living room. They moved in a few months ago, and have a tendency to rearrange their furniture on a weekly basis. They also have a tendency to walk around bare ass naked with their window coverings pulled wide open.

Between their living room and bedroom windows is a smaller window into the alcove that houses their shitter. My kitchen window looks directly into it. On the thankfully rare occasion, I've been washing dishes only to look up and see the guy wiping his butt. The odd thing about it, in addition to him doing so shamlessly in an open window that directly faces my 100+ unit building, is that he stands up to wipe while watching himself do so. Yeah, it's gross.

However, I will say the guy is otherwise physically attractive. Tall, lean, muscular, beautiful skin. He also has a HUGE dick. Once he was standing, smoking a cigarette in the buff right at their living room window on a bright, sunny weekend morning. His member was taking an elongated bow while he sure seemed to be standing proud. I can only imagine he was having a post fuck smoke.

Yes, I have also seen them fuck, but nothing quite prepared me for what I witnessed this morning. The guy was going down on his woman like he had just returned home from Auschwitz and hadn't eaten a scrap of food in weeks and months. At first I thought he was just on his knees with his head in her lap while she was sitting up on their living room futon. No, it couldn't have been that innocent, not with them. They were moving and grooving almost violently. I thought at one point she was going to unbirth him and her voracious vagina was going to swallow him up whole.

"Nah, don't bother drawing your shades. The whole neighborhood just loves watching you pig out in your woman's trough."

Straight nasty. Rude.

So that's how my morning started. Then I attended to a suit and tie business affair at an office tower a few streets down the hill from me. This was a most welcome change of scenery.

Quote of the Week!

Um, have we met? I've only sat on your face four times this week! - Anonymous

What Gays Have Been Reduced To

Holy shit! You've gotta read this. A gem of an excerpt I recently ran across on Craigslist:

YOUR AVERAGE GAY MAN - 30 (Seattle)

Reply to: pers-718157208@craigslist.org
Date: 1969-12-31, 4:33PM PST

I'm your average gay man. I'm emotionally shut down, but have an uncanny ability to have empty, casual sex whenever the mood strikes. I'm self absorbed and judgemental, but deep down, like most of you, I'm very insecure. I lack emotional maturity and assume the role of victim in life.

In addition to being checked out, I also like to play head games. I expect you to guess what I'm thinking and how I'm feeling most of the time. If you guess incorrectly, I'll get upset and become withdrawn. When that happens, I'll need your unending devotion. I'm a bit needy.

Otherwise, I'm entirely physically attractive and always present myself very well. You can think of me as somewhat of a wolf in sheep's clothing. I promise the sex will be killer because that's about all I'm good at. Well, aside from being aloof and passive aggressive. Sure, it'd be easier just to be direct and up front, but where's the drama in that?

Don't worry, if I suddenly lose interest in you, I'll just sever all ties and you'll never hear from me again.

Any takers?

Location: Seattle
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Hmmm ... well that pretty much about sums up every guy I've dated over the past couple years. Whoever wrote that is a genius!

OK, I'll admit it. I wrote it and posted it to Craigslist as somewhat of a joke and some what of a way to express my disdain for dating. I actually received responses. None was more creepy than this fugly fifty something guy who thought I sounded really interesting. OMFG.

Seattle: Colder than Siberia

Colder than Siberia? Must be a reference to my last couple break ups. Joking aside, Seattle is generally known for being soggy, not frigid. Though I once saw it snow in the Cascade foothills around North Bend in June back in the early '90s.

Truth be told, Seattlites are never satisfied with their weather. It's either too wet, too cold or too hot. We're not even talking extreme weather and a place where as soon as temps hit 60, people are walking around in shorts and short sleeve shirts. Seattleites are just a bunch of whiney pussies.

Well, if global warming is really occurring, it's sure not yet making a stop on its world tour here in Seattle.