The Final Hours

The dust is beginning to settle. So many metaphors, so little time: I'm rounding the final bend, the end is in sight, my journey is almost over, my butt itches... they all mean the same thing.

I turned in my final paper of this term, which was also my final final. Finally finalized my final. Philosophy majors have two things going for them - 1) No stupid multiple choice finals requiring dozens of hours pouring over countless 3x5 note cards and 2) No need to memorize worthless information for the two seconds it will serve you on the final and then forgetting it forever (thank you, science). However, they also have two things working against them - 1) Nobody knows how awesome they are and 2) My juicy mind grapes don't impress the ladies.

Alas, we poor philosophy folk, like our counterparts in the English department, have large papers to turn in. For some professors, they make the final paper a culmination of work from the term, ending in a rigorous treatment of the subject matter (see also: my 10-page paper on the relation of freedom and oppression in Simone de Beauvoir). For other professors, they make us write some 5-page ass-kisser, the assignment being: write about how your life has changed because of my class which is so totally awesome when I teach it I cream my jeans just thinking about how incredibly talented and awesome I am. In the former case, it hurts because of the amount of secondary source material and overall brain power it takes to even begin to think about writing it. For the ass-kisser, it's just a matter of not wanting to because it feels forced. You know - you use the kind of complete sentences and phrases usually reserved for learning a second language: "The reason I liked this class was because it encouraged me to think harder. I also liked this class because...". Barf. I must note, however, that I haven't had very many of these types of papers to turn in. It usually only happens when a professor has all but checked out, getting on to their vacation being more important than grading papers. I doubt they even grade them. They're like, "Yeah. A, whatever".

The relief I feel right now cannot be summed up in a sentence. But you can see it all over my face, pouring from my nostrils and eye ducts. I have closed the chapter entitled The Term From Hell. A fan of histrionics, I *occasionally* exaggerate and *occasionally* make a big deal out of minutiae. However, this was truly the only term birthed from Satan himself and thankfully, it will be the only one. I've gone on enough to all of you in person about how class-free next term will be, so no need to beat a dead horse.

I feel as though I'm breathing again. It's strange how that metaphor really applies to school work. We're "buried" and by completing a huge final, we "resurface" and "breathe" again. Thanks to Dr. Mark Johnson, pretty much everything someone says now I pick out the metaphor, have prototype effects and image schemata activated, and can instantly map why that metaphor has so much meaning for us. That's right, I'm a regular weirdo. But if you want me to show you how compelling his work is, I'd be more than happy to discuss it with you. But not right now. I'm high on life and stuff.

I Ate and Drank Seattle. It Was Yummy.

This past weekend, Robin, myself and plenty of others headed up to Seattle for the Lebowski Fest. Needless to say, everyone had the best time possible. I could (and probably will) do an entire post just on our shenanigans, from the crazy hotel we stayed at to the crazy parties in the crazy hotel we stayed at, but that will be for another time.

Robin and I went up before everyone else (Thursday) in order that we could have a relaxing, fun time while in the great Seattle. We holed up at the Moore Hotel and no, I did not book it because it shares my totally awesome name. Our friends from Portland decided on it because of my totally awesome name. And the super-duper cheap room rates. Smack dab in the middle of everything on 2nd and Virginia, we soon discovered that the hotel location made every aesthetic criticism pointless because we were minutes away from EVERYTHING.

We arrived at 7:30 and were hungry. Because I have no shame, I ask natives everything wherever I go (Robin just loves it). There are all sorts of "activity" maps you can find in the hotel, with "suggested" eateries and shopping locations neatly printed for your convenience. But I'm much smarter than that (massaging large brain); if it's printed somewhere, that stupid restaurant PAID to have it put there. No, the natives know. They know. The front desk lady being one of these natives, I knew she could give us a direction to walk and run into some good restaurants. Pointing north, she told us to head up 2nd and there were several we could choose from. I later discovered that she sent us into the Belltown district. She mentioned Italian and several others, but Robin and I stopped listening after Italian. In fact, the restaurant, La Vita e Bella, had a website that we were visiting in the foyer as the hotel lady was still talking. Pretty much deciding on Italian, Robin and I began our walk.

On the way down 2nd, we passed all sorts of neat restaurants and bars. Taking mental notes on each of them for a later return, we soon came upon La Vita e Bella. The owners, partners in life and in business, had an adorable set-up. Small and candle lit, the restaurant was in the style of a bistro, with "table for two" written all over it. Our server came up to the table and in the most beautiful Italian accent asked, "may I get you two saahhmthing to dreenk?" Wiping the pee from my leg (I get excited about accents), I ordered the house Chianti. For an '05, it was excellent. Robin ordered the lasagne, I ordered the Funghi e Salsiccia crepes. Mine was the more elaborate dish, but Robin's was no less devourable (thank you, thesaurus). Smothered in a parmegiano sauce, the sweet crepes were a perfect balance between the salty cheese and meat. I died and went to heaven and so did Robin after trying it.

On our way back to the hotel, we happened upon a bar called Karma (again on 2nd) and popped in for a couple of drinks. They had an elaborate drink menu; elaborate in the sense that the drinks were none I'd ever heard of, except the Sangria. I ordered that along with another drink. Robin had the cucumber masterpiece made with Hendrick's gin (VERY refreshing) and a Knob on the rocks. Reading this paragraph over makes it sound like we ordered all these drinks at the same time. Well guess what? We did 'cuz that's how we roll. But seriously, we did because we're drunks. But seriously, we didn't.

I wanted Saki. We passed two sushi bars on the way to dinner and I wanted Saki more than I wanted to keep breathing. The Japanese restaurant was barely open; the server was making her final rounds. We told her we just wanted some Saki and she encouraged us to have a seat. It took her quite some time to get to us, but after glancing around and noticing a fairly busy restaurant with ONE server, I could understand (and feel) her pain. Rushing to the bar, she apologized profusely for the wait. We didn't care because we had already had wine, whiskey, gin, vodka, whiskey and sangria, so we were just happy our livers were functioning. Not for long! I'm a fan of unfiltered Saki. Slightly sweet but usually dry, I take it chilled (like it's supposed to be) and have enjoyed every brand I've ever tried. The server giggled and told us that unfiltered Saki is her favorite. Then she poured a rather large portion of Saki for the both of us, saying the extra was because we had to wait so long. Free booze for waiting 5 minutes?? I peed myself again.

The next morning, I was considerably hung over but not in any mood to let that stop me. After drinking Puget Sound (yuck...maybe not...), I was ready for breakfast. Again asking the front desk where a good breakfast place was, they pointed us towards Pike's Place Market. The market was bustling with people, stores were slowly opening and venders were setting out their wares. We walked up and down the market, but we couldn't find a specific "breakfast" restaurant. For whatever reason, most of the restaurants there are lunch or dinner, and the places that offer breakfast were either overpriced or just patisseries. Using my "ask the natives" trick, I found a vender who looked very Seattleite-ish. You know, like she had this cloud of smugness hanging over her organically shampooed head. She shrugged and said, "there's a place called Lowell's in the market. Yeah, that's pretty good. Plenty of people seem to like it." Though the font and color of the Lowell's sign bore a remarkable resemblence to the home improvement chain "Lowe's" sign, the food didn't taste of drywall and wood shavings. To the contrary, this was THE BEST BREAKFAST I ATE ALL YEAR AND PROBABLY FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH AT LEAST UNTIL WE GO TO MARCHÉ AGAIN. Seriously though, I had the Dungeness Crab Cake Benedict (P.S. the seafood in Seattle is *kinda* fresh), which came with perfect hashbrowns but who the fuck cares because I was devouring that benedict! Spiced and herbed to perfection, that dish was why I eat breakfast. Screw that. It's why I eat at all. Robin had the breakfast quesadilla, which if you can handle tons of spice and tomatoes in the morning (not for my poor tummy), it was a fantastic dish.

Our friends were supposed to arrive at lunch time, around 1 or 1:30. After calling them at 11:15, and them telling us they were headed from Portland, this should have held true. Alas, they got a start much later than that (12:45), so Robin and I were left to our own devices with regards to lunch. Back in Belltown, Robin showed me the Ace Hotel, which we would have stayed at if it weren't for a certain other hotel that boasted such an awesome name. The Cyclops, the restaurant/bar attached to the hotel, is where we finally landed. I ordered a Guiness because I hadn't drank yet that day. The menu before us, I immediately knew I would love the food when I saw "Grilled sharp cheddar and fontina cheese sandwich". Robin ordered the Oregon Burger (Oregon meat and Tillamook cheese, "the best burger in Belltown"). Robin's burger WAS the best in Belltown because if someone had a better burger, it would kill you because of its awesomeness. My fancy grilled cheese sandwich was equally mind-bendingly scrumptious, the side salad was of the mixed baby-greens and adolescent-greens balsamic variety.

The crew finally arrived. After an essential run to the liquor store, we were ready for dinner. Joe knew of a restaurant; the Fisherman's Restaurant on Pier 57. Though the service left much to be desired (went with a party of 10 and barely got attention, but they weren't busy so WTF), the food made up for it. We ordered the calamari and crab dip appetizers and I had the Scallops for the entrée. The ambiance was nautically rustic and the food extremely fresh. The view was spectacular. Right on the waterfront, we watched the romantically lit romantic boats and romantic ferrys drift by. Perhaps not so romantic in the daytime, the ferrys look beautiful in the dark. We expected that place to be roaring on a Friday night, but it wasn't tourist season.

After a night of heavy partying/drinking/shenanagining (thanks for nothing thesaurus), we needed breakfast. Most of the crew met in the lobby for a return to Lowell's, because I made them. After breakfast, we perused the market for fun things (picked up a sterling silver ring, fireweed honey and hand lotion) and went out for more shopping. After an afternoon of walking, Joe, Michelle and myself were tuckered out and wanted to return to the hotel for cribbage playing. The rest of the gang split off for more shopping. A lazy afternoon was exactly what I needed after the night before and the night to come. Dinner came and I wanted sushi. I was very nice about it, as I strong-armed people into Lowell's (not that they didn't mind). We said, "let's just walk down 2nd into Belltown again and decide when we get there". We walked across Virginia and smack dab in our faces was Wann Japanese Izakaya. As with all the restaurants, their menu was posted in the window. A brief glance showed us exactly what we wanted to see - something for everybody. Arriving at 6:40 on Saturday, we again expected the place to be packed... but it wasn't. Seattleites must not go out for dinner until 7 or 8. We didn't know it at first, but as they were dropping the "happy hour" menus in front of us, we grew increasingly excited. Lasting until 7, we had just made it. Their sushi rolls (6 pcs.) were $4. Their drinks were $4-5. Their service, impeccable. We all got really excited and ordered our weight in sushi. Robin and I both ordered three plates and thank god they forgot to order my last one, because after 12 pieces of perfectly prepared sushi, I couldn't handle another bite. Our bill, 5 plates of sushi and two drinks, came to $29. Boo-ya.

Saturday night was spent at the bowling lanes, being way drunk and celebrating all things Lebowski. Pictures to come, I'm sure.

Anyway, if you're ever in Seattle (downtown specifically), there are incredible eats all around you. Take some time, walk around and you won't be disappointed. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find some stupid chain restaurant, unless the Westlake Center (a.k.a. big mall) is your thing.

Whatever Lady

All people have a switch in their brain that functions as a safety precaution to guard one's speech from coming across as, what's the phrase...bitchy as hell. Located at the base of your Globular Hippocampatic Semi-Permeable Membrane, this switch is sometimes missed because the speaker either cannot access it or has the mental capacity of Paris Hilton's butt baby that rolled in toxic waste (true story).

I was walking into a closed office today in order to retrieve some files. Upon opening the door, walking towards the entrance was one of my semi-coworkers ("semi" because she works in another area entirely, but "coworker" because I still have to deal with her crap). Because the people in that office were attending a meeting, I wasn't expecting to find another human being (or in her case, Soul Harvester) on the other side. I jumped. She squealed with delight, saying something I couldn't/didn't want to hear because I had my ipod going. Instead of doing the polite thing and flipping the switch in her brain, she looked at my ipod and said something. Taking out my earphones, her sentence ended with, "...because they can cause accidents!" Bitch I know you wasn't talking about my ipod!! But she was. I asked, "I'm sorry, did you say ipods can cause accidents?" She put on her pretend-worry look and continued, "Oh sure. You walk around paying no attention to your surroundings and see what happens? Those are just another way to not deal with your surroundings." I was truly shocked. My face must have given me away because she added, "What? You don't believe me?" I paused for a moment and fantisized the Shuffle leaping from my lapel and smashing her head into the wall. It could if it wanted to. I glanced down with an encouraging look on my face (DO IT), but it stayed motionless.

"I guess I don't understand. How does my ipod make me less aware of my surroundings?" There is probably some scientific explanation for this, one similar to my brain-switch example, but I don't know what it would be. Assuming she would know and was about to tell me, I was quickly proven wrong when she said, "Because the energy of your field of attention is limited when you're disengaged from the world". Energy of my field of attention? And then it clicked. I was face-to-face with a hippie douche, and one that would probably try to harvest my soul. I don't mind hippies, but I do mind douchy hippies, like I mind douchy anybodys. I said, "the fact that I was startled that you surprised me after walking into an office I thought was empty doesn't mean I was disengaged from the world". Her eyes reddened. I've seen this one in action before. Right before she harvests your soul, her eyes redden, her nails grow long and her teeth extend to display a glistening array of blood-tainted spikes. KALI MAAAAAHHH!!

I stared her down, completely unafraid of what she may try to do. She probably sensed as much, but I'm gay; no soul to harvest here. Not up to the challenge of fucking with one who is basically the right hand of Satan, she muttered something under her breath and walked away. What, you didn't know about us gays being the collective embodiment of all evil? Seriously? Wow, get thee to a church.

Anyway, I have never liked this one because I've always had to remind her not to be so douchey to me. By way of my looks or complete avoidance, she gets the message (if she were walking towards me on the same side of the street, I would find some trash, throw it at her and cross to the other side). But something I did today really must have gotten to her. She really wanted to convince me about the "energy of my field" of some bullshit. Coming back into the chart room, she was hunting for delicious babies when I said, "oh hey, (name)". Turning to me, she said, "it's nice to see you without those headphones!". I thought of all the five minutes total I've interacted with this lady over the past 7 months of working here and said, "yeah, I'm trying to engage my field of energy". She was pissed. SUPER pissed. She went to my boss and tattled on me.

Going into my boss's office, she sat me down and said, "I hear you and (name) are having some sort of disagreement?" I was befuddled. This dumb lady (not my boss, the other one) walks around every day pushing her opinions on everyone, harvesting souls and eating babies. How could I possibly offend her for throwing her hippie bullshit back in her face? I explained to my boss the "energetic field attention" crap and my boss immediately laughed. "Oh, she gave you that one, huh? I got it once too." Relieved that my boss wasn't taking this lady seriously, but still worried I was in trouble, I asked, "am I in trouble?" My boss smiled and told me to finish my work, that I was in no trouble at all and could I please interrupt the lady to go back and speak with her. My boss being basically the left hand of Satan, this lady was in for a rude awakening. I'm off for the weekend, got some soul harvesting of my own to catch up on.