Airport to Nebraska
Woke up to a nice day.
Too nice to stay inside.
So I decided on a scooter ride.
Don't feel up to a bike jaunt.
About the time I got the scooter fired up, I began wondering if the appointment I made for it's latest service was today or yesterday.
So, after a short trip to the bank for deposit of our socialist welfare checks, I pooted on over to Big Peoples Vespa shop.
It was today.
At noon.
It was ten.
So I dared Anonomann's wrath and the possibility of a re-occurrence of the Seattle Symphony related incident of vehicular intimidation by ascending the dread Queen Anne counterbalance and attending Starbuck's for a brief session of coffee, croissant, and watching all the girls go by.
Got back to the scooter store by noon, then had to wait for an hour or so.
Walked around Georgetown and saw many sights.
Bought some 78 vinyl in the form of some contemporary composer's music.
Gotta keep an eye on the competition.
Several jun...antique stores and amusing things made from the fore-almost mentioned
found materials.
Plus there are lots of interesting old houses in the neighborhood.
Charming and artistic.
I could almost hear the bulldozers plowing it under to make way for some more ugly soulless, new construction.
"Tagging" is a felony but the law apparently doesn't apply to vandalizing a neighborhood with cheap architectural graffiti.
Saw a sign that said "Eat" "Felafel"... I suppose, if you ate too much.
Any way the yellow felafel truck was surrounded by a cedar fence apparently because the fascists downtown are up to their usual harassment tricks.
There was a sign in one of the local businesses that said "The Felafel Truck is not a crime.
And it's not.
Saw a cute little restaurant called "Hanger" had a cedar fence around with an arbored gate and a windmill in the form of a Piper cub in a garden .
Anyway, the scooter store is located at the corner of Airport and Nebraska.
So there you have it.
Too nice to stay inside.
So I decided on a scooter ride.
Don't feel up to a bike jaunt.
About the time I got the scooter fired up, I began wondering if the appointment I made for it's latest service was today or yesterday.
So, after a short trip to the bank for deposit of our socialist welfare checks, I pooted on over to Big Peoples Vespa shop.
It was today.
At noon.
It was ten.
So I dared Anonomann's wrath and the possibility of a re-occurrence of the Seattle Symphony related incident of vehicular intimidation by ascending the dread Queen Anne counterbalance and attending Starbuck's for a brief session of coffee, croissant, and watching all the girls go by.
Got back to the scooter store by noon, then had to wait for an hour or so.
Walked around Georgetown and saw many sights.
Bought some 78 vinyl in the form of some contemporary composer's music.
Gotta keep an eye on the competition.
Several jun...antique stores and amusing things made from the fore-almost mentioned
found materials.
Plus there are lots of interesting old houses in the neighborhood.
Charming and artistic.
I could almost hear the bulldozers plowing it under to make way for some more ugly soulless, new construction.
"Tagging" is a felony but the law apparently doesn't apply to vandalizing a neighborhood with cheap architectural graffiti.
Saw a sign that said "Eat" "Felafel"... I suppose, if you ate too much.
Any way the yellow felafel truck was surrounded by a cedar fence apparently because the fascists downtown are up to their usual harassment tricks.
There was a sign in one of the local businesses that said "The Felafel Truck is not a crime.
And it's not.
Saw a cute little restaurant called "Hanger" had a cedar fence around with an arbored gate and a windmill in the form of a Piper cub in a garden .
Anyway, the scooter store is located at the corner of Airport and Nebraska.
So there you have it.
posted by Lane Savant at 1:58 PM
7 Comments:
Yes, sir, we do have it,
and damned lucky and grateful
to get it I tell you.
I suppose if we all ate more
Felafel we would have more
empathy toward our middle
Eastern adversaries, enit?
Actually, there was a Felafel
shop there on the University
Ave back in the 60's, and
I gobbled some. It wasn't bad.
As I understand it, the
Isrealis eat that mashed up
mess too. Have you ever eaten
it? It is better than Vegemite,
for sure. That is some foul
stuff. I lived in Georgetown
in about 1952, before we lived
in Ballard, not far from the
train yard, and the great
engine barns. I used to have
to walk across that, or I
chose to do so, in order to
get to the Elementary school
south of there. Art Buttkus
grew up there. He went to
Cleveland High; never graduated.
Got in trouble with the law,
joined the Army, got drunk,
stole a plane, didn't know how
to land it, so crashed it in
a mountainside; got three years
at the prison in Monroe for it.
I was walking across the
trainyard one morning, and the
tracks moved, switched or some
thing, and it caught my tennis
shoe in it. A train was coming
so in a panic, I pulled my
foot out of the shoe. The train
did a number on the shoe. I
had to hobble home with the
pancaked shoe. My mother became
very upset, and decided I
needed a whipping for my
stupidity. She used a belt on
me. I refused to cry. I was
a tough kid. She hit me harder.
Still I did not cry. The belt
buckle fell apart, and she
got even madder. Finally she
sent me to my room for the
rest of the day, missed school,
read comic books all day, and
drew pictures of trains, and
tanks and jets; Korea was still
going on. For most of my life
I dream about Georgetown; don't
have a clue why; may have lived
there in a previous life. Living
so close to Boeing field did
not impress me much as a kid;
didn't really notice it. There
was a Boy's Club, or community
center near our rented house.
I hung out there and wowed them
with my artistic prowess; hell
of a sketch artist and
cartoonist in them days.
My grandparents were renting
an apartment upstairs at the
home of Art Buttkus's parents.
Hell of a soap opera. Old
Walt Buttkus drank a lot.
He came upstairs one day
and picked a fight with my
grandfather, whom he called
a commie; which he was and
I was proud of it. Pop knocked
old Walt down, and the cops
were called. But they just
gave drunken Walt the lecture,
and told my grandfather to
keep his fists to himself.
Lots more stories connected
to the Georgetown year, but
hey, save them for another
time. Seems like every time
you visit some neighborhood
in Seattle, I used to live
there. We moved a lot.
Used to have fears of coming
down the Queen Anne
counterbalance and losing my
brakes; hell of a ride to
the bottom. I did get
picked to lead the discussion
for COLD SOULS this Sunday
at the Grand Theater. Sorry
you'll miss it. That's what we
get for living 40 miles apart.
Glenn
Woke up to a cool day.
Some clouds and 49 degrees.
The heat wave is over
for now.
Decided to go to work
since I really have no
other options.
Heard both the Beatles
and Pink Floyd on the way
in on my morning commute,
which pleased me since I
play a favorite group game
each morning.
The 28 minute commute allows
for 5-6 songs, and out of
them I must score with one
of my top 5 groups, or my
second 5 groups. When there
is not hit for me, I call
it a flat-assed day.
Aren't you glad you asked?
I also give a greeting to
the (4) 76 stations I have
to pass. It creates routine,
and structure, and something
to grasp in the chaos of
this world. One of my students,
who used to be in the
Sheriff's department in Hoquiam
brought in a backpack filled
with articles and books on
Big Foot; should be some
interesting reading. I think
I mentioned he poured several
plaster casts of footprints
there in Gray's Harbor County
back in the 60's and 70's.
He,also, was assigned to
investigate all reported
Sasquatch sightings. He claims
that he turned in 4 dozen
reports over 10 years, most of
which were hidden, not revealed.
The Sheriff was scared that
this data, like UFO sightings,
would generate too much interest
and unrest in the population.
The student lives in Copalis
Corner, and if he lives (is
fighting lung cancer), he has
invited me to come over and
go with him on a late night
Sasquatch hunt or three.
Now that is way cool, enit?
Glenn
Hallo, Lane!
You bought some "78" vinyl records for "contemporary" music. How contemporary can something be on 78s, which became obsolete at the start of the 1950s???
Yes, you earned Anonomann's wrath for patronizing Starbucks; aren't there any other coffee houses on Queen Anne that are not part of that vile chain???
There are scooters and scooters; your Vespa is a motor scooter; the LL is thinking about taking her foot-powered scooter to Dubrovnik (Croatia), on the Adriatic coast, where we'll be from 4 to 18 October, as I can only stay in the EEC (of which Germany is a part) for a max of 90 days at a stretch, and because Croatia is in a non-violent feud with Slovenia over a
boundry which is a river, Slovenia has continued to veto Croatia's admission to the EEC -- a plus for Croatian tourism, at least in my case!
Tschüß,
Anonomann (+ LL, who, as always, sends regards to all)
Hallo, Glenn!
Art B. was very lucky to get only 3 years for stealing (and crashing) a plane; he could have gotten a death sentence in the crash!! Few people live after crashing a small plane into a mountainside!!
Glad your Grandpa was a member of a progressive party; great lineage!!
Tschüß,
(Likeminded) Anonomann
P.S. Glad to read a self-composed comment under your name (and picture) rather than a cut-and-pasted collage from encyclopedie!!
O.K. Anono, 33&1/3 I noticed it when I went to play it. It's been awhile since I've played anything but CDs.
Not impressed by the music. Basically the same old stuff.
Sounds like you had a great day to yourself.
Hey, hey, ho-ho, and tweedlie
dee, it is goddamned Friday,
and happy is me!
Thanks for your comments
there Anonomann. Yup, my
old Pop was a progressive
through and through. I was
reading dialectical materialism
before Dick & Jane, reading
Dalton Trumbo and John Steinbeck
before James Fenimore Cooper.
My elementary school teachers
didn't know what the hell to
do with me; bless their ignorant
old hearts. In about 1951, when
the HUAC proceedings were being
televised, I remember my grand-
being named as Communists.
It caused a lot of trouble for
my uncle, who was drafted in
the Army during Korea. At one
point I wrote a letter to him.
I was like 8 years old. I drew
a cartoon of Eisenhower being
chased by Donald Duck, and one
week later two FBI men came
to our door, demanding to talk
with this little red sympathizer
Butch Buttkus. My mother had
answered the door. She screamed
at their flushed faces,"He is
only an 8 year old child. Get
the hell out of here!" and
slammed the door in their
faces. They did not come back.
They used to sit outside my
grandparent's home in various
vehicles, and his phone was
tapped for several years. It
was an interesting time to
grow up in, the Joe McCarthy
era, those fabulous 50's.
Glenn
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