The Spellout

Art, Culture & Unavoidable Spite

Category: Seattle (page 1 of 51)

What Kind of Man Gets Published in Playboy?

Many Glasses of Work

Ooh, I did! Twice! But only online, and in the “On Campus” section. I reviewed two bars: Seattle’s College Inn Pub, which I’m indifferent to, and Las Vegas’ Double Down Saloon, which I love enough to marry just as soon as them librul ‘merica-haters make it legal. Alas, the Double Down Review is lost, but I managed to sneak a PDF of the College Inn review before Playboy took it down. Here it is, mostly for my own benefit:

Playboy.com On Campus: College Inn Pub

Sadly, you can’t click through the photo gallery to see the picture of Lorien that I suck in there. Yes, I put a picture of my girlfriend in Playboy. I have no shame.

Full Tilt Robotics

imageI’m trying out the WordPress application for Android. I put it on my phone in anticipation of all those future occasions when I might be tempted to write a Spellout entry in the midst of something interesting.  That interesting thing will never happen to me,  however,  as long as I’m fucking around with my phone and not living my life to its hands-free fullest.  Paradoxical.

By the way, this shot was taken at the very recently opened Ballard location of Full Tilt Ice Cream,  where I have been making recent efforts to elevate my pinball game to merely awful. They have about ten pinball machines now and two standup video games, but the manager told me they intend to get the total number of machines up to 15 or so.  Full Tilt’s Ube ice cream is a poem.

Last Call for Seattle’s Last Call?

The Armistice
It’s called “The Armistice” — and I should be able to enjoy one in the wee small hours.

Attention, Social Drunkards of Seattle: I don’t give a shit if you vote one way or the other on I-1183, the Costco-sponsored legislation that would put hard liquor in grocery stores. (For the record, I’m against it for a number of reasons, many of which are detailed in the Stranger’s slate of endorsements. It’s simply a poorly written initiative.) However, I can get fully behind Seattle Council Resolution 31308, explained here in a recent email from the staff of Neumo’s.

WANT THE BARS TO BE OPEN LATER, POSSIBLY EVEN 24 HOURS?

Please write, email, or phone the Liquor Board and express your support for City of Seattle Council Resolution Number 31308, a resolution requesting that the Washington State Liquor Control Board amend State Administrative Rule WAC 314-11-070 and create a new section to allow local governments to petition the Board to change service areas within local jurisdictions.

The Washington State Liquor Control Board has entered into the initial stage of rule making to revise WAC-314-11-070 During What Hours Can I Sell and Serve Liquor? The City of Seattle filed a petition with the board requesting a change to WAC-31411-070 to allow local governments to petition the board to establish extended service hours within their local jurisdictions.

The rule currently prohibits the sale or service of liquor between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m.

Please forward your initial comments to the Liquor Control Board by mail, email, or fax by December 1st, 2011.

By Mail

Rules Coordinator
Liquor Control Board
PO Box 43080
Olympia WA 98504

By Email
Rules@liq.wa.gov
360-664-9689

Neumos and Moe Bar strongly recommend the WSLCB make extended hours of service possible. As busy and predominantly late-night Seattle businesses on Capitol Hill, we believe it would help many safety concerns night life is faced with. It would help eliminate the 2 a.m. push out, which is taxing on SPD, benefit cab service and increase street safety. In addition, it would have a positive impact on the city of Seattle from a tourism and general economic standpoint.

Thank you for you consideration!

Neumos

Me again. I know you have reservations about 24-hour bars, but listen: I used to live next door to several of 24-hour establishments in Las Vegas, and there was no terrible fallout: children frolicked in their shadow, cops were able to deal with their problems without coming out in force, and God-fearing folk walked by them daily without incident. All this resolution will do is remove a pressure valve by putting an end to that last call push-out — which if you’ve ever been in Belltown around that time of night you know to be a jubilee of belligerence, irresponsible driving and projectile fluids. Let’s help Seattle to say goodbye to all that.

Come to the Ballard Seafood Fiesta! ¡Olaf!

Ink in Triplicate

The Ballard Seafood Fest is the dowdy sibling among Seattle’s summer street parties. It doesn’t float on an ocean of Paul Allen’s pocket money like the South Lake Union Block party does. It doesn’t offer a smorgasbord of indie screamers like the Capitol Hill Block Party does. And it doesn’t have its own language, customs and currency like the West Seattle Street Fair does. (It really is a way of life over there, isn’t it? Like the Amish, but with bigger beards.) But the Ballard Seafood Fest does have one thing those other festivals don’t: A tremendous goddamn mesquite fire pit with salmon — salty, wonderful salmon — frying on top of it like the delicious pink dupes they are. Plus, there’s a coveralls fashion contest, a hyuuuuge beergarden, some fairly decent live music and the feeling of being a nice big fish in a small pond. (I don’t care what band you’re in, dude: Capitol Hill doesn’t know you’re alive.) Bonus: The usual street food suspects come out to play (why, Ballard Brothers Burgers, imagine meeting you here), and the bars on Ballard Ave. are nice and chill in the afternoons. That’s where you’ll find me, my darlings, with a hint of eau de salmon on my person. Get all the details here.

In Praise of the Seattle Sun

Duel in the Sun

I’m looking at you, bright eyes. I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t help myself. You make me so very happy. You, with your white-hot complexion of hydrogen and helium (with trace amounts of oxygen, carbon, neon and iron), your irresistible magnetic field, and that special way you move me (differential rotation! Oh, just stop it — no, don’t). All these things add up to a romance. You’re a star! Well, yeah, of course you are. You know what I meant.

Seattleites don’t take the Sun for a fact. It’s always a special guest, the performer that’s never listed on the playbill. Before I moved here, I’d never imagined that the rising Sun could prove a surprise. From October to April, the weather forecasts are unenthusiastic about the Sun’s chances: “Cloudy with sun breaks.” “Times of rain and sun.” If the Sun shows, hey, great. And it’s because of this — the silver-gray curtain that hangs over this city some two-thirds of the year — that Northwesterners seem to prize and respect the Sun more than anyone else I’ve known. Even the Incas didn’t go this nutty for five lousy minutes of sunshine.

I’ve seen it happen. I’ve been buried deep in florescent-lit office buildings when someone runs into the cube farm and hollers, “Sun!” We leaped out of our seats, run down four flights of stairs like they were two, and poured outside with big, goofy grins. Spreading our arms like sails and turning our closed eyes to the furnace, we’d try to soak up as much Vitamin D as we could before the clouds slammed shut once again. And we rarely felt shorted. Any amount of sunshine was welcome and relished.

After I went freelance in 2008, I thought I’d be able to enjoy twice as many of those sunny moments, but it didn’t quite work out that way. Without someone else around to exhort me to run outside, the temptation to stay inside and work all day is strong. Sometimes I’ll do the Spalding Gray thing: I’ll sit by a window with my MacBook and allow the sun to creep across my lap, “warming my writing hand.” But that’s not the same as going outside to worship the sun — to open your arms before the light of the world, and to allow those life-giving atoms to filter through your clothes and skin.

This isn’t the most eloquent or poetic ode to your brilliance, my beloved Sun, but it is heartfelt. I was going to fill up this letter with genteel song lyrics and hard science, but you’ve heard all that stuff before, perhaps as often you’ve heard these feeble words of gratitude. Nevertheless, It’s good to have you out there, and I’m sorry for all those years while living in Las Vegas that I cursed you as a jackhammer. It was just the dehydration talking.

I would continue this mash note, but you’re shining like crazy right now, and I’ll be damned if I allow my writing hand to have you all to itself.

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