San Freattle Washifornia

White king salmon at the Pink Door

Seattle is the 800 pound gorilla of Northwest cities, always following the next big thing--lumber, fish, airplanes, grunge, the tech bubble--discarding the old for the next wave of hype. The previous wave's inhabitants are welcome to stay, but are requested to get out of the way of the newbies with their better ideas. In a way it's so big and California-esque [with freeways and suburbs and a central business district that's dead at night] it sometimes feels like you're not even in the Northwest. As though you need to head out of the city to refresh your memory that there are old growth forests and volcanoes out there to explore. Unfortunately those plans have been put on hold for us until Sunday because of the persistant rain. It's really not a bad rain, as it never is, but it reminds us of those days we first moved here thinking how wonderful the winters were since it only rains and doesn't dump snow and how pleasant the summers are with light rain and low clouds off and on to cool things off. And then after some 18 months of this crap you just can't stand it anymore. The monotony of the weather makes you want to cut your flesh to simply experience something different. Maybe that's why there are so many tatooed and pierced folks up here. As a species we need some aweful natural disasters every so often to contrast with the good times, I supose. Meanwhile, the salmon is excellent, the wine is superb, the air is clean, and people are friendly--though sometimes annoyingly faux-friendly. All-in-all, it ain't too bad out here.