Seconds, Returns, and Leftovers

In one of my college writing classes, we did an exercise where we wrote the same story from the points of view of two different characters in the story. It was fun, but it put a lot of pressure on the second point of view. Most of them turned out to be crap, and added little to the story. The same could probably be said of my blog posts.

While TC was clawing his way back to even on the blackjack tables at Tulalip this weekend, I was in the poker room, which was delightfully non-smoking. I hate hearing about people's poker stories, especially their bad losses, so I won't bore you with the minutae of my hands. (Here's how all poker stories go, by the way: "I had the best hand and I put tons of money into the pot and then this guy got totally lucky and I lost." You've now heard every poker story ever told.) Anyway, it turned out to be a fun session because when I stood up, I had more money than when I sat down. Any time that happens, I consider it a success.

As for REI, my family has had a membership for more than 20 years. Some of my earliest memories of Utah are of ratting around the store with my brother while my parents browsed. I decided years ago that that's where I'd want to register when I got married. I don't need sterling silver placesettings or martini shakers or candelabras, thank you. But a kayak? Or a climbing harness? Or a waterproof/breathable soft shell jacket for spring trail running? Yes, please. I'm a big fan of REI. One of the few ways that REI could be more perfect is if it was a leggy brunette that dug Chinese dudes.

So even though I knew that the Seattle REI was the flagship store, I was impressed by just how awesome it was. Here's what the interior and back entrance look like. What you can't see in the second picture (that's a 30-foot waterfall) is the bike trail that wraps around the property. For people to test out bikes, of course. Oh, and there was a sale.

I think I rooted through every sale bin they had there, which were chock full of things I don't need and only kind of want, but was still willing to buy. I'm lucky to have walked out with only a pair of biking shorts (baggy, not spandex, though the padding still makes me feel like I'm wearing a diaper. Not that I remember what that feels like).

And those technical jeans that Tyler mentioned? We got them right here. Maybe if that homeless dude who sat next to Tyler had been wearing these, he would have kept them on.

Lame Celebrity Death Match: Huan Edition

VS

I'm thinking of investing in a plane ticket for Huan so that he can go and fight one of the following deserving people.

1. In the blue corner we have the Delta Zeta sorority, who are newly famous for getting rid of anyone who wasn't thin and white at DePauw Univeristy. When I told Huan about this article on Saturday he steamed for hours. Anyways, I'm pretty sure Huan doesn't punch women, but he might punch someone from DZ national.
2. In the red corner we have Spencer Pratt (the hoser on the left up there). If you don't watch The Hills on MTV then you won't quite understand why he sucks, although reading his myspace page gives you lots of hints. As will this. If you do watch The Hills then you know exactly why Huan wants to beat this guy up: he wears a chain all the time, he uses "mack" as a verb, and he wears a chain.
   

And yes, I'm fully comfortable admitting that I watch The Hills. It's the best I can do at 10:00 on a Monday.

Gear

I think my first post discussed the way people dress out here, specifically that girls looked kind of trashy and that dudes look kind of fratty. I'm not taking that back, but I'm modifying it.

The folks in this city dress like they just walked out of a dressing room at REI. Everybody has great technical gear (to borrow Huan's phrase). No one wears anything that is bulky or cotton (except jeans, and people probably have really fancy technical jeans that I don't know about yet). They wear layers and layers of wind and water resistant materials. They wear a lot of fleece, not as a jacket but as a sweater. I looked around the bus the other morning and I'm pretty sure I was the only one not wearing North Face. I was wearing Marmot. Anyways, its very intimidating because I know that I'm a bit of a poseur when it comes to technical gear... I own plenty, but I rarely put it to use in a technical sense.

Also, a lot of girls out here have taken to wearing the high black leather boot, which get a strong thumbs up from me. And Huan.

I'm going to be good at my job

Today was the day I realized that I'm going to be very good at my job here.

A little boat ride

We met a friend of Huan's for some drinks last night, and she introduced us to a guy who did this. Think about the longest amount of time you've been on a rowing machine, and multiply it by a lot. Think about the longest amount of time you've been on a boat, and multiply that by a lot. Now add them up. That's still not as long as these guys were on a boat.

I hurt just thinking about it.

DMV reconsidered

I'm still not going to say anything bad about my experience at the DMV, however, I didn't realize some of the downstream implications.

Specifically, the temporary ID they gave me is laughably fake. It's a slip of paper that comes off a bad black and white inkjet printer. Huan laughed out loud when he saw it. I figured that lots of people get temporary licenses, so everyone would recognize them.

Wrong.

At the casino a ordered a diet coke, and for some reason the waitress decided that required her to card me. Really? I thought. I'm definitely over 21, and I'm definitely not ordering a drink with booze. Nope, she still required the ID. So I showed her my temp.

Waitress: Sorry, I can't take this.
Me: But it's state issued. It's the only thing I have.
Waitress: Sorry, it's not plastic.
Me: But I'm only ordering Diet Coke.
Waitress: I might need to ask you to leave.
Me: [dumbstruck]
Me: Well, I have my old DC license that they used a hole punch on to invalidate it.
Waitress: Oh, okay [examines the invalidated DC license]. That's cool. I'll bring you your drink.

I tell this story to Huan and we have several immediate concerns. First, we were going to meet some people for a drink, and it now seemed unlikely that I could get into a bar, much less order a drink. Second, I was driving home from the casino, and we both felt it unlikely that a police officer would accept my fake license if I were pulled over (especially since I had trimmed it down to fit inside my wallet).

Luckily I wasn't pulled over, and the bar didn't card me. But I've got to get through another week, so we'll see how it works. I'll also figure out if there is a way to communicate just how fake this thing looks via the Interwebs.

Tulalip: Indian for "Dealer has a 5 card 21, again"

Huan and I made the first of what is likely many trips to the Tulalip casino, about 30 minutes north of Seattle. Vegas it's not. Atlantic City it's not. It's a reasonable casino in the middle of an outlet mall. With lots of Canadians.

Anyways, I won't bore you with hand by hand details of my huge +$10 blackjack session (other than to say I was horrified to be -$70 after 5 hands... Huan hadn't even sat down yet and I was scanning for the ATM). I will make the following snobbish comments re: crackjack playing skills of my fellow patrons:

• There was a big trend to stay on 15, even if the dealer had 8 or 9 or 10. That infuriates me. I won't get into the math, but if you stay on 15 against a winner, you're dumb.
• However, you wouldn't be as dumb as these two guys who drove me away from two different tables. The first time they would just play really slowly, and after thinking for a long time do something like hit a 16 against a 5. But the 2nd time the following exchange took place after one of them made 21 on three cards:
• Idiot: Why don't I get 3 chips?
• Dealer: What?
• Idiot: I got 21. I should get 3 chips.
• Dealer: [ignores him]
• [Time passes, and a cute blonde on the table gets a blackjack]
• Idiot: Why did you give her 3 chips?
• Dealer: She got blackjack
• Idiot: Well I got 21 and you only gave me two.
• Me: [collecting my chips, ready to leave the table] You didn't have blackjack, you had 21. You only get 3:2 if you get blackjack.
• Idiot: Oh, right on eh!
• This is the first and only casino I've been where you have to pay for booze. Which seems antithetical to why casinos, you know, exist. They take my money, but soften the blow with bourbon.
  

Comcast and WA DMV: not as sucky as expected

It's been a weird week. My expectations for customer service from cable providers and DMVs are indescribably low. If a Comcast tech comes to my house and doesn't rob me or fall asleep I consider it a success; if I can get out of a DMV in under 12 hours I consider it a success.

Which is why I'm stunned by my experiences this past week.

Comcast was scheduled to come this past Sunday between 12-4. I told several people back East to give me a call in that time frame, since I was certain that no one would show up until 5 or 6 or Thursday. Thus I thought it was a prank when the Comcast guy showed up at 12:30. He showed up, quickly installed my cable box, helped me set up my cable modem, and left. I actually wrote on the survey "This was my only positive experience dealing with Comcast in seven years."

This morning I set out on what I assumed to be a day-long effort to get my drivers license and WA tags. Strangely, you can only get your license at the DMV here, while you must go to a private company to get your tags and title. Sweet! I thought... two opportunities to wait in line. So I packed a couple of magazines and a granola bar and set off. It took me 30 minutes to get my temporary license. Stunning. The DMV employees were actually nice and helpful.

Thus I figured the real wait must be at the place to get tags. I drove over and put 1:15 on the parking meter, figuring it would be a debacle. But no! I walked in, filled out a form, waited 5 minutes, and got tags, a title, and registration. Quick and easy. Painless. And incredibly boring to write about. Sorry for the long post with no payoff.

Dangerous chicken

Despite only being 6 blocks or so from my apartment, the trip to my gym is fraught with danger. Please see the diagram below:
It is physically impossible for me to get to my gym without walking through the cloud of awesomeness that is the aroma cloud surrounding a fried chicken joint. It's not a matter of if I come home from the gym with a bucket of chicken, but when I come home with a bucket of chicken. Hopefully I will have done about 189 minutes of cardio before ordering up a 10 piece dark meat bucket. Plus biscuits.

Grab bag

I'm afraid that I currently have nothing to top the salsa post (30 individuals visited the site on Tuesday... yes, I'm tracking you), other than to say that one of the party co-hosts texted Tyler H the day after to say she thought that A) Huan and I were "cool and funny" and B) it was awesome that Huan would take the salsa.

I do have some things I'd like to share, but one of them is work-related, and I'm not going to write about people at work for fear of getting fired. I'll just say that a nickname has been bestowed upon me, and I dislike it very much.

Hopefully something interesting happens to Huan so he can post. Otherwise, there might not be much unless I try and register my car this weekend. DMVs always put me in the best moods.

Salsa Roadie

Generally when one sees a red plastic Solo cup in the vicinity of a beer pong party one expects said cup to be filled with a frothy beverage. When said cup is then taken out of the party (potentially to another party, or to a Brazilian steak house, for example), that cup becomes a Roadie.

Rarely does one encounter a Roadie filled with salsa. But that's exactly what happened this past Saturday.

Tyler H. invited Huan and I to some party thrown by Microsoft and HBS folks. It was actually quite a bit of fun... good people, mostly decent beer, great music, and inarguably the best salsa I've ever had. It was also the best salsa that Huan has ever had, so when I asked how much I had to pay him to take the leftover salsa home with us, the price was more than affordable: $1. After depositing the salsa in the cup, the following conversation took place (this is approximate/completely made up):

Host: Um, what's in the cup?
Huan: Your salsa. It's the best salsa I've ever had.
Host: I can see that. And you're taking it home?
Huan: Yes.
Host: [silence... he was obviously ready for the party to end, and not just because of us]
Huan: I mean, you got it as Costco*, so it probably comes in gallon jars, right?
Host: No, it comes in regular size bottles. I guess I'll have to get more.

We then went home. To commemorate the occasion, I took the following picture of the Salsa Roadie at 2:08am**:


* If anyone has a Costco membership and wants to send us a care package, we'd gladly accept. I prefer medium spice.

** Sadly, we lacked chips, so we couldn't actually enjoy the salsa roadie until Sunday afternoon.

More photos

Some more photos of the place. First, a couple of the general living area:



Now, a view of the kitchen (and the boxes we haven't gotten rid of):
Lastly, the master suite (aka my bedroom). The last photo includes a shot of the framed poster the landlord left. It's pretty cool, but it's amazingly large. I don't think it would have fit into my previous apartment.

How I will get arrested in the next 12 months

It won't be an act of civil disobedience.

People don't jaywalk in Seattle. They come to intersections with zero cars in sight, see the "Don't Walk" sign, and freeze like Raymond in Rain Man. No movement. Waiting. Then the "Walk" sign comes on and they bustle across the street, likely to be caught on the next block by the menacing orange hand. When I (and other brazen Easterners) choose to ignore the advisory signs, our neighbors look on with a level of disdain usually reserved for kitten-beaters.

Needless to say, there's a reason for this behavior. The police actually issue citations for jaywalking. I'm not making this up. (Note to my mother: this is how safe this city is... the police can focus on ticketing people who cross streets.) So here is the scenario that will lead to my arrest:

1. I come to an empty intersection and cross after looking both ways.
2. A member of the law enforcement community observes this behavior and gives me a citation.
3. I start laughing in their face and thank them for protecting the community from such vile behavior.
   
4. Detecting just a little bit of Eastern-elitist-liberal-city sarcasm the officer hogties me.
5. I continue laughing.
6. I get the Tazer

This is why I carry around the business card of my West Coast legal team, the law offices of Sean, Patrick, and Feeney.

Pants free weekend edition

Someone that I work with completely removes his pants when going to the bathroom. Twice I've seen him putting his pants back on (in the stall). I can't for the life of me figure out why.

The Huan Index

Days in Seattle: 19

Days spent alone in the apartment with only a bar stool as furniture and a newspaper as entertainment: 11

Crossword puzzles attempted during those 11 days: 11

Crossword puzzles solved: 0

Jumbles attempted during those 11 days: 11

Fastest time, in minutes, for completing a Jumble: 5

Highest score on Issac Asimov’s super quiz, without cheating: 11

Novels read during one really bored night: 1 (The Catcher in the Rye)

Counties that I’ve traveled into for work: 3

Length, in miles, of the longest round-trip bus ride I’ve taken for work: 70, twice, to an Indian casino in Tacoma, where I aged my lungs about 10 years each time.

Transients that have sat next to me on the bus and engaged me in conversation about how important a good set of headphones are when you don’t have a very nice Walkman: 1

Transients seen drinking booze on the bus: 2

Items purchased at Patagonia’s winter sale: 4

Average discount on those items: 55%

Processor speed, in megahertz, of my computer at work: 800

Price, in dollars, of computer in 2000: 1,538

Processor speed, in gigahertz, of my new Macbook: 1.83

Price, in dollars, of Macbook in 2007: 999

Factor by which my Macbook’s processor is faster than my work computer: 2.5

Number of lawyers I’ve met in social settings: 0

Number of lawyers I’ve interviewed for work: 8

Number of lawyers I’ve interviewed for work who were really nice: 8

Target

I need to find the hip Target. Huan and I made a trip to Target after watching Duke get pounded by Maryland this afternoon. I was expecting a similar scene to the NoVA Targets: hip single folks in their 20s and 30s looking for housewares at reasonable prices. Basically, like a bar only without booze or loud music, and with 500-count sheets and candles.

(As an aside, if I'm managing a Target I'm putting a cute staffer in the bedding aisle. There's no chance that a customer buys cheap sheets if they're being watched by a cute girl/guy. They go top shelf. One or two upsells a day covers the extra cost. Target can pay me for this idea in gift cards.)

Anyways, we didn't exactly find that scene, despite being only five miles from UW. First, there were lots of couples with kids named "Cooper." Second, the store itself was kind of picked over. Also, they didn't put the light bulbs anywhere near the lamps, which I found ludicrous.

So the search for the social-Target continues...

Lilliputian Furniture

Dear friends --

Why have none of you told me that my furniture is small and puny and embarrassing? When my stuff finally arrived in the new apartment on Saturday I had a very Zoolander-like moment... I felt like they had delivered the furniture for a school of ants, not for actual humans. My stuff could be three times as large and it might look reasonable. Here is my rough approximation of our living room:My TV is tiny. My couch is a joke. My chair is swallowed by the vast savannah of berber. I get tired walking from my bedroom to the living room. What's worse is that there is very little built-in lighting, so I'm going to spend so much money on lamps that I won't be able to afford adult-sized furniture.

Murray the Bartender

I lived in DC for just under seven and a half years. I probably visited somewhere around a hundred different bars or taverns during that time, and I never knew the name of a bartender; nor did any bartenders know my name. I kind of knew the name of the bouncer at Millie and Al's, but only because I couldn't believe that someone could be a bouncer for seven plus years.

I was on a first name basis with a bartender in Seattle within four days. Murray. At Zig Zag Cafe.

As it turns out, Murray might be the most famous bartender in Seattle. The Seattle Weekly ran a story on the growth in swanky cocktail joints in the city, and Murray was generally recognized as the most creative and exacting bartender in the city. He was named one of the Ten Best bartenders in the country by Playboy (the link has no adult content now, but I'm not making promises it won't when you click it).

And he has keys to my apartment.

When I saw his picture in the Weekly I thought "Wow, that's the guy who let me into the apartment I'm about to rent." Sure enough, Murray is great friends with my landlord (who lives in Guam), and keeps the spare set of keys. He and his girlfriend showed me the apartment when I came house hunting back in January.

Anyways, Huan and I have dropped by the bar a couple of times and he knows us by name, knows what we like to drink... it's kind of cool. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the city, and has given us great tips on places to check out. We've been told that we essentially know Seattle royalty. If this were DC, that means he'd be a Senator or Cabinet member. More or less.

Pants free edition!

I fanatically avoided the bus in back in DC. In all my years there I can only recall riding the bus twice: once taking the shuttle from Greenbelt to BWI (and back), and once taking the Circulator into Georgetown. They weren't bad experiences, but both trips were during off-hours, thus they were uncrowded and generally pleasant. I've been taking the bus in Seattle because A) my job gives me an unlimited free pass B) the cab drivers don't know where anything is and C) it seems to be the cool-kids thing to do.

Well, I had my first "man without pants nearly falling into my lap" experience last night. Technically he was wearing pants, they were just around his ankles. It goes without saying that he had not recently showered.

I'm taking a different route tonight.

Why I Might Blog, Or Not

(All links are safe for work). It’s not that I’m hoarding what writing talent I have for work. Yes, once you start getting paid (however little it might be) to write, you may have trouble getting psyched to tap out anything that won’t at least potentially lead to a payday. And yes, I want to make sure that I save anything newsworthy for work. I doubt my editors would appreciate it very much if I broke a story on the West Roys, and since our own blogs are so topically broad, what’s left over for this one? Rants, which are boring; making fun of people, which is lame; and my personal life, which nobody wants to read about. More importantly, do I want people reading about it? The only greater failure than blogging shittilywould be blogging as therapy. Honestly, the main reason I’ve been mum on this blog is because I’m terrified that I’ll say something that might adversely affect my so-called career. I’m still trying to find the line between work and not-work personas, and I can’t help but think some things are best not shared in a public forum. For an example of the kind of personal unveiling I want to avoid, listen to this. I mean, what would my legions of loyal readers (or, say, prospective literary agents) think if they knew that the same guy penning erudite features on gangsta skateboarders or pickpocket cops or throwback cross-country coaches also chuckles over lowbrow YouTube clips? I know, I know, nobody cares, and I probably shouldn’t care, either, but people who read blogs (read: bloggers) can be really petty when they want to hate you, and it can be very annoying. And since I don’t believe in blogging anonymously, as it usually ends badly, this is a bit of a conundrum. (Anyway, Tyler’s already plastered my full name on the blog—thanks, dude).

So, I’ll keep trying to figure out how to participate and I’m sure you’ll await each of my posts with bated breath.

Vote for Huan!

Huan seems to be using all his writing talent for his paid gig rather than adding anything of value to this blog. I think that's complete crap. So post a comment and vote for Huan to make a post! He'll easily cave to popular opinion. After all, he can show his book publisher how popular he is when he submits his next proposal.

Musica!

As I mentioned in another post, I'm finding myself fairly sensitive to music these days. Snow Patrol and Coldplay have been banished from my iPod, and there are a couple of other songs that I won't listen to in public places for fear of being the crying guy. That said, I have found solace in Everyone's Starting Over by the diggs. It puts me to sleep every night and kind of puts my whole move to Seattle in better perspective.

(I know I said there would be no "linking" from this blog, and I've broken my own rule after four posts. I'll play the role of ombudsman as well as editor and explain myself. I know the diggs, or at least their lead singer Tim Lannen and their "manager" Brian Berger. They make much better music than more popular bands, so anything I can do to give them hype is worth breaking my own blog rules. Check them out, especially if you are in NYC, since that's where they are based.)

Week Two: A bit tougher

So I'm done with week two. It wasn't as fun as week one. To be honest, it was actually pretty bad at times. People at work are, seemingly, too busy to sit down with me and explain to me what I should be doing, how I should be working with various folks, etc. This is enormously frustrating, because in order to be remotely effective I have to learn about what my group does. And unless people are willing to tell me, well, then I don't know how I'm supposed to learn. I'm smart, but not that smart.

Anyways, the combination of no real progress at work and being in my enormously lonely corporate apartment put me in a bad state of mind. I'm pretty sure my mom actually checked into buying a plane ticket out here after talking to her on the phone on Tuesday night. I found myself having to be very careful about what music I listen to, as sad songs made me want to cry... to prevent this I've banished a lot of music from my iPod. More on this in another post.

(I know the point of a blog is to give "real time" updates rather than weekly summaries, but without internet access at home it's hard to do anything. That should change next week.)

All that said, the week ended on a high point. My car arrived on Thursday. The rest of my stuff arrived on Saturday, and I spent last night in my new place (photos to come once we've cleaned up). That has made me feel much, much better. Week 3 is looking better.

Photos!

After carrying around my camera for the full two weeks that I've been here I finally remembered to use it for something other than ballast in my messenger bag. Here's what I've got so far:

This was the view from the balcony of my corporate apartment... the body of water is Lake Union, and the land mass on the other side is Capitol Hill (I think), which is about the exact opposite of DC's Capitol Hill in terms of vibe.


The reason the view of the lake isn't actually that pleasant is shown in the photo below. That's Aurora Ave, also known as Highway 99. This photo was taken from exactly the same place as the lake photo. Now everyone knows why I was complaining about how loud my apartment was... it literally sat on top of a highway. Great design!

The Frasier shot. This is the view from Huan and my balcony. The sky is a bit hazy, so it might not appear as striking as it really is. I wish I had a camera that could take a decent night shot, because it's even prettier when the buildings are lit up.


If you look to the right from the balcony you see the photo below (this was actually taken from my bedroom this morning). I have *NO* idea what they load on the ships that dock there, but it is much, much quieter than a 6 lane highway. The arrow shows where the Olympic Mountains are, unfortunately they were shrouded by clouds this morning. Not that my camera is good enough to get a decent shot of them.

Why this blog exists

People seem to have a wide range of opinions as to whether or not I should blog. I have a wide range of opinions as to whether or not I should blog. So I figure, like any good businessman, I should set a mission or vision for the blog in order to explain what I will and won't do.

What I will do:

• Give basic updates to friends and family about what's going on 2700 miles away
• Make keen insights on how Washington (the state) is different from Washington (the city)
• Let Huan make similarly keen insights and updates
• Post some photos to give context to my stories
• Brag about my iPhone in 6 months
• Basically, save me the time of writing the same email to all 9 of my friends and family
  

What I won't do:

• Provide links with comments like "I agree" or "Must read"
• Think that anyone cares about what I say
  
• Try to use this blog to launch a career as a columnist or author

I guess the fact that I want some people to read what I have to say defeats the "Think anyone cares about what I have to say" tenant, but we can't all be perfect.

Week 1 differences

Differences I've noted so far:

1) Drivers. They are patient and nice to a fault, thus they are amazingly easy to take advantage of. They also complain a lot about traffic, even though by reasonable measures the traffic isn't that bad.

2) Freezing fog. My new fear in life is freezing fog. I can't think of a more terrifying weather phenomenon.

3) The time change. Every time I see a clock I do the math to figure out what time it is in real places, like DC. For example, I wake up at 10am, go in to work at 11am, and go home around 9pm. I need to stop doing the math.

4) The way people dress. Everything is definitely casual, but its the reverse of the East Coast. People work in very casual, comfortable clothes. But when I go out to bars it's immediately obvious that everyone has put in time to look better than they did at work. The dudes look like dudes anywhere (trendy jeans, lots and lots of striped shirts). The girls, interestingly, look kind of trashy. Lots of make-up, lots of engineering, lots of skin. The difference with a conservative place like DC is immediately obvious.

5) The climate. It rained yesterday, which was the first rain I've seen since I arrived. What strikes me though is how much warmer the same air temperature feels. I think that might be due to the moisture in the air (DC is dry, Seattle isn't). But I like it.

That's what I've got now. I hope to have some pictures of my corporate apartment later this week. Huan may or may not start posting as well, depending on whether or not Apple has fixed his computer. For the 3rd time. In 3 days.