They Travel In Packs. They Feel Protected.

If there were a doctor willing to prescribe me anything for whatever it was I had to endure with that room full of what have you's in DTLA it would have been: One week strict bedrest with healthy doses of baseball and period dramas, and six weeks in Seattle working non-stop on a matter you couldn't possibly care less about.

And what does that give us?

Well:

1. There were the clowns from the clowning convention that came to town almost on the heels of the first season of Portlandia, but like so much about Seattle, it kinda just missed it. Not unlike the Kombucha frenzy.

2. The agro old dude with the American flag  bandana in front of Trader Joe's yelling at me for reasons we cared not to ask. We asked Pony to run the fool over with her Subaru, but she was less than obliging.

3. There's all the hot guys. One of which I'm still yet to see.

4. Coffee

5. Odd comments about how nice the weather is, and how long it could possibly last.

6. Even odder pronunciations of the letter "a".

7. Climbing gear doubling as business casual.

8. The realization that in some place the colors of the trees may change, but little else does.

9. Complete lack of what would otherwise be described as diversity.

10. If I'm sober, you're suddenly less amusing.

There will be more, I'm sure, but I have to scoot and catch what I have now affectionately come to call the retro-hipster carriage to downtown Seattle.

Eau Reservoir!

A Lesson To All Who Suppose.

This morning all I could notice was the stench. The stench of skunk and weather that had all but gone bad. I was rocking Karl Lagerfeld not that anyone could notice. The circuitous route to the coffee, the one I mentioned previously, was punctuated by a homeless person telling me I was looking good, and myself responding 'I know, it's Soulland'. Sometimes I wonder if my life wouldn't be easier if I were in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban. Kinda rhymes.
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Yesterday we were able to watch the return of the Joey, Joey Votto that is, so bloody delicious and brooding he's in a different league and we still know who he is, when he comes, and when he goes. We did have to watch the Phillies, however, and Joey looked just about as disgusted as I was about the indignity. Waiting all that time to come off the DL just to play the Phillies? Fucking Hell.
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The Yankees on the other hand are back where they belong. On top. Finally scraping out a win in the series against the Devil Sprays last night. Luke Scott looked amazingly hot, but still racist. Especially when Derek was on first. Russell looked fiesty batting in three runs including a solo homer putting paid to those wretched villains questioning his batting average, and we've always said, and tweeted that Russell bats quality. I'm a little too nervous to twitter him about his views on the Separatists winning the election in Quebec. #Quebecois #Septemberbaseball
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I watched Varsity Blues last night. On Netflix streaming. It was everything we remembered. #boybutt

Best Place To Find Baseheads And Hot Women.

The Brain Trust at work have really been stretching themselves of late. Reaching for the stars as some might say. Yesterday, I can't be sure, but I'm pretty sure they were openly mocking the disabled contestants of the 2012 Paralympic Games. Specifically they were referring to the Oscar Pistorious row. Again, an actual news story from the day before, so their timing is still spot on.

Comments were profuse, ill-informed yet strangely confident, offensive, and confused.

At one point they even realized they should stop using the word 'bionic' to describe the participants of the games. Then they spent a few moments stammering, muttering, making the noises they usually make, wondering what the correct word was, after more than a few uncomfortable moments I offered 'prosthetic'.

"That's it prosthetic!" they reacted a little too enthusiastically to be considered tasteful.

"So glad I could help." I muttered back, but I really should have just spat at them thinking back on it.

Giants. I actually work with giants.

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Henri Deux.