Olympia, WA -
Here I am in a booth at The Brotherhood, a few too many drinks deep on a night where a mild depression has set in at the notion that I have decided to consider employment in such hideous places as Southern California and the Mid-Atlantic.
Why, God? Why?
But it's not just that. Romanteek, one of Olympia's allegedly premier bands, is set to take the stage any minute now, and I have been meaning to hear them ever since I was informed, just over a month ago, that their front man was one and the same as the lovely and talented (both vocally and fashionably) Greta Jane, whose jazz quartet I frequented throughout the fall on Monday nights at The Royal Lounge.
But in the meantime I have been studying up on the Washington state budget cuts in preparation for some face time with the leadership tomorrow, and drinking far more hot toddies than is in my best interest, especially given the relative dearth of my supper tonight.
Alas, some moments are give to you, not you to them.
Late last week I meant to post on the relative wackiness of the Olympia streets these days. Oly, like no other city I have experienced, goes in extreme phases of craziness, and last week topped the charts, or at least those charts that have recorded the days since my arrival in these backwaters late last summer.
I think that some of the explanation is due to the fact that clusters of teenagers run away from home for a few days until the money runs out and the weather turns cold, but this last week it was as if the crazy bus made a stop on the corner of Capitol Way and 4th Ave. and told its passengers to get out for a stretch and a cup of coffee, then sped off never to be seen again.
Good luck to the bus driver, bad luck to those of us who spent more than a passing amount of time in the coffee shops and on the sidewalks of downtown. Christ.
But now with the weather turning cold again, the undesirables have found their way back to the warm confines of their parents' houses, not matter how undoubtedly shitty they may be. But, fuck, its cold out here tonight, and anywhere has got to be better than the streets.
Lastly, I'd like to briefly touch on the NBA. The old Seattle Sonics are on a bit of a hot streak, which is, ironically, making me miss the guys. How hot would it have been to see a young and spunky group of Green & Gold running off a win streak in the more than palatable Key Arena?
But mostly, I wanted to shed a tear for the trading away of Johan Petro, which happened nearly a month ago. My favorite Sonic of the last two years is now a Nugget, riding pine under the stressful watch of George Karl.
I wish you well, Johan, and may you enjoy a round or three of the playoffs this year.
Three cheers for France, and all its wonderful citzens!