I just spent a surreal weekend in Seattle. It was by turns a typical break there for me - getting rained on, going to Everyday Records in Capitol Hill - and perfectly not the ordinary, by far. Of course I managed to check off everything on my list, a feat which I rarely if ever achieve, but my list was four items long:
1) Eat Indian food. Check and check. I always eat at the same place, half a block down from Nordstrom rack where there is an atomic orange-colored mango lassi and a terrific and authentic all-you-can-eat buffet.
2) Buy a longer bass cable. Accomplished, although I did have to wait until noon until the bass shop opened. Figures. Musicians. I was suffering the effects of too much #3...
3) See live music. Preferably, rockabilly. Preferably, the Dusty 45's. Why? C'mon, you remember the slight obsession I was working on in the fall. Why do you think? Flaming trumpet. That's all. When we first arrived at the place the Vinyl Avengers (one of the many, many incarnations of the members of the aforementioned 45's) were playing, S. and M. nearly pulled me out of there bodily. The band was doing swanky jazz standards to match the late 50's steakhouse vibe the place rocks, and frankly they were a smidge ... Let's say disappointing. I made the girls stay, and by the last set they were impatient and I think rather bored. I'm sorry, ladies. It was so fun to be dancing and tipsy and to be greeted by the boys as if I were a good friend. Next time I swear I will either go by myself or forego the pleasure in a fit of martyrdom. I could go on and on, but I will leave it at the fact that I had a sufficiently good time to be grumpy while awaiting the bass store opening, and to be peaved when the guy behind the counter was in my opinion patronizing. S. said I was paranoid. I was hungover.
4) Try something new. This time was the Pink Door, the location of which I feel both reluctant to reveal so it won't be overrun, and also hyperexcited to spread, because if you are reading this, you are the type of person to love this type of place. Relaxed atmosphere, INCREDIBLE food - S.'s gnocchi were outstanding - a trapeze act, a burlesque act, pink tulle everywhere, and the cutest skinny, messy, vintage clad bartender with a perfect hand for a cosmo, which I hardly even drink anymore.
I could go on and on, but if you want deets, I guess you'll have to email me or something because I really don't know how to describe all the best parts - eyeliner powder the color of poison, being remembered by the boys in the band, going to Red Light Vintage and finding that there was vintage that was too large for me...
Anyhow, I have an irredeemable crush in a huge way on the city of Seattle in general, and in a certain trumpet player and a certain hostess in a red velveteen dolly dress in particular, and I had to come back to freezing temperatures, sleet, and a power outage at the airport. It's already fading away from me, even tho 24 hours ago, I was dressed to kill with M.A.C. Viva Glam I and my new ShadyLady poison colored eyeliner, eating handmade pappardelle, flirting the hostess and the bartender in equal parts, and feeling invicible. And tomorrow, instead of a cafe with back issues of Vogue Italia, I have to trudge to the corner to buy some coffee to make - myself.