My entire squad died on the first mission. It’s gonna be a great sequel. Continue reading X-COM 2
Category Archives: mur
Federal Property
Today I had two goals. Walk downtown to get my ORCA discounted bus pass and fill out the application for a new social security card. Naturally, walking in a new city alone, I packed my pocket knife. I never really got scared walking in Memphis because I know how to walk in that city – rarely. So far, walking in downtown Seattle doesn’t require that much situational awareness but new is new. I may be Memphis as fuck but it never hurts to have backup. Continue reading Federal Property
Mecca
I almost walked by. The bar on Google maps I was heading for was closed for repairs so I just started strolling. Checked out the block with Safeway and a yoga studio on it. Took another turn and saw the sign for The Mecca. Given the name and prevalence of Asian cuisine in the area I almost dismissed but something made me turn. The door has two martini glasses crossed behind a high ball glass. Yeah, that’s my jam.
The all-day breakfast was a pleasant surprise also. This could be my everyday joint if the food tastes good. I’m already drinking an Irish coffee that warms me to the soul. The waitress/bartender is the perfect type of don’t-give-a-fuck nice person that gets to you when she gets to you. A patient smile and tired eyes are the only thing she’ll show the customer. I’m at the worn Formica bar running the length of a shotgun diner. There’s burn scars from coffee pots and miscellaneous scratches and dents that only comes from years of consistent use. Most of the people trickling in are disappearing into a room left of the door. I spotted a pinball machine in that direction that warrants further inspection.
Oddly, this breakfast diner qualifies as a dive bar also. It’s not pretentious or overdone. I would guess they keep the same chill vibe no matter what time of the week and then weekends are jam-packed with yuppies looking for hangover cures. The place I originally started toward is labeled a dive on Google but the fact it’s listed there has me inherently suspicious of its qualifications. This place is hidden in plain sight on a busy street near a tourism hub and only lucky looky-lous and those guided by locals get to experience this blast from the past.
So far the food is good. I know this is a place I’ll come again. If for no other reason, they serve a $6 waffle.
Downtown Walking
Tomorrow I will get up early and go for a long walk downtown. First, I’ll hit the Metro Transit office where I should be able to get a discounted rechargeable bus card. Until I’m employed all bus rides should only cost me $1.50 instead of the usual $2.50-$3.00. From there it’s only about six blocks north to the Social Security office. Hopefully they will be able to help me with my name change/health insurance paperwork.
If all of that works out I can take the weekend to find something fun to do. There’s pretty weather predicted for Sunday so hopefully I’ll find a park or something to enjoy. I’m also considering a bus ride to Ballard. I wouldn’t mind having a beer at Cafe Mox again. Starting Monday, I’m a writer. Whatever that means.
Sitting Pretty
Today I have constructed a desk and chair. Simple tasks that changed the entire landscape of my home. For the first time in over a year I’m sitting at a desk typing on a keyboard. A posture that’s the bane of office workers across American translates into a coveted work space for me. This is the desk where I will be a writer.
But first, I must assemble my bed frame. If I don’t give my cat something to hide under soon she might die of exposure. Such is the way with cats.
How Much Again?
How do you handle sitting at the bar watching people leave one dollar on a 2-drink order? I feel like there should be an underground signal we use to identify these patrons. Non-tippers are the worst but under-tippers are their own kind of bad. If you don’t know why the convention is a dollar per drink then I’ll tell you this – it’s not generosity. It’s because that person just handed you a drink. Period. It’s the unspoken convenience charge for you getting to drink in public. Because here’s the truth – bars have a right not to serve you. And if it were my bar, I’d tell people who don’t tip my staff not to bother coming in again. I think denying service to bad customers would result in a better class of patronage. If you don’t have the money to tip, don’t go out. It’s that simple.
But this could all be fixed if we utilize my primary plan. Force all American children to work at least 3 months in the service industry at the age of 18. Not only would it create a more polite society but people would start to understand the value of getting food and drinks in a public place where they don’t have to lift a finger to make anything or clean up after anyone. An added benefit is that career servers and bartenders would have an endless source of intern-style proteges to do the things no one likes doing. Clean the bathrooms, take out the trash, do the dishes. You know, all the things your parents do for you as children. Who knows, this could spurn a whole new trend of respecting our elders too. It would certainly prepare more people for adulthood.
Can I run for office on a platform of a mandatory service draft?
I’m Gonna Die
As I traipse around Memphis with no car and very little energy I have one overwhelming thought running through my mind – Why did I do this? All of the things happening in my life sound like good things when you say them out loud.
“I’m moving to Seattle.”
“I visited the Grand Canyon.”
“I’m flying my cats home with me on Tuesday.”
The responses I get are unanimously encouraging because that’s how you react when someone does something massively life-changing. Unfortunately these platitudes are hollow as birthday wishes on Facebook. Most people are just thinly veiling jealous resentment or straight up apathy.
So I smile and let them tell me about their road trip or the time they visited the Canyon. All the while I’m repressing a constant state of panic that no one takes seriously. I spend my time keeping the quiver out of my voice and fighting back tears. I’m fully convinced that this venture is going to kill me. It’s the only logical answer to this much fear. I’m going to die in the pacific northwest.
No matter how great my fortune seems right now the cold hand of terror is gripping my chest. I can sense my own mortality and only the convention of human existence keeps me going. Those who have gone before me continually assure me I’ll be fine. I just ask them to recall the last time they voluntarily abandoned everything familiar to live completely alone with no solid plan for the future. The most common response is a knowing smile and pat on my shoulder.
I’m never gonna survive this life. But I’ll go down swinging.
Makes Me Want To Stand Still
It’s almost a week since I drove out of Memphis and yet I’m right back here again. I decided that flying my cats on a plane is easier (for all of us) than having them in the car for 4 days. The motels I used did have options for pets but I would have felt bad leaving them in the car for an hour at the Grand Canyon. Instead they are going to cuddle next to each other in a bag for the most terrifying 10 hours of their existence. Unless the plane crashes, they’ll survive.
I wish I’d finished closing up my old apartment before leaving. I did 93% of the work and that seemed like enough at the time. Coming back, it feels like I could have done more. Fortunately I have help. Here I have people that come to my aid almost without having to ask. It’s what family does for each other around here. In Seattle, I have absolutely no help so if I want something done… ya know. Whenever I need something, my primary solution is to just do without. If I still need it the next day – order it from Amazon.
Given my disposition, it’s a risky startup. While the independence I gain each day I survive fills me with overwhelming happiness, the risk of falling into a deep depressive episode remains very real. All it takes is one crisis I don’t have a fix for and I could plummet into a pit of self-disgust and worthlessness. Fortunately, I take my meds and do my yoga. After that it’s just one day at a time.
Driving Back To Portland
I didn’t remember I had use of my center rear view mirror until 45 minutes outside of Portland. Why, you might ask, am I driving back to Portland after making the daunting trek across the country only stopping to eat, sleep and see the Grand Canyon? To see a show of course. Symptoms are playing at a club near my friend’s place.
I need internet at home. It’s the last link in this chain of support I’ve rigged up. I’m on the west coast, I know what I want – now I just have to do it. Driving South for the first time this week, I decided it would be poignant to cue up the Dead Soldiers. The twang in Teddy Gene Mountain echoed off the evergreens around I-5 and I caught myself welling up. By One More Last Goodbye I was bawling like a baby. The Soldiers encompass a musical style that can only be described as Memphis. It’ll take me right back every time.
I’ll be there again this weekend for my official goodbye. It’s not that I won’t ever go back, I just know it won’t be for an amazingly long time. I can already tell that this side of the country is my new home. I know who I am and I get at least 6 months to figure out what I’m going to do with that.