Note No. 32

December 18, 2009

I have a tiny notebook that I carry almost everywhere with me. It continually mutates, kind of like Uga the Dog. That is, there is Tiny Notebook I, Tiny Notebook II, Tiny Notebook III, and so on, though I’ll admit: I am not sure which one I am currently using. I lost count years ago.

Each one, however, is roughly 4-1/2” x 3-1/4” (114mm x 82mm) and filled with scrawlings that range from Web site names, to Chinese fortunes, to recipes, to directions and addresses, to thoughts. The last item is the most personal of the bunch, because most of those thoughts are things that I would rather ascribe to characters than to myself and so, if you were to look at these thoughts (which you would NOT, unless you had drugged me and stolen my tiny notebook to flip through during my moment of violation), you would see a check mark signifying that I had transcribed said thought into my ever growing database of thoughts that will maybe possibly one day make it into something publishable.

Upon flipping through my tiny notebook yesterday, however, I came across a few unchecked items. They were musings from my trip to Seattle last month and included a poem. Poetry is a rare medium for me but this one is an ode (and a hokey one, at that) that seemed appropriate for a place that I found to be constantly contradicting itself. It was the first time I remember visiting a place whose identity I never quite grasped. I am sure a native Seattleite could tell me differently but after a mere week there (with fabulous ambassadors showing me the way), these were my impressions.

I hope they’re not too far off the mark.

“Oh, Seattle!”
A punk writes poetry in a cupcake shop.
41 seconds to your view at the top.
Coffee. Cigarettes. Bourbon on the rocks.
Organic soup. Woolen socks.
Hike to the mountain. Kayak on the lake.
Pump it top volume. How much can you take?
Clam chowder served up hot in a bowl.
Under that bridge sits the famous troll.
Starbucks. Nordstrom. Microsoft.
Sell your home. Move to a loft.
The Hill. Ballard. Where do you dwell?
I’ve got a baby carriage. Can’t you tell?
Thai food. Sushi. Fish ‘n’ chips.
Visit Yelp for more city tips.
Observe all day from your window seat.
Later at the bar, order it neat.
Don’t be a stranger. Just say Hi.
He’s pretty nice for a hipster guy.
You’ll never pin it down,
This rock ‘n’ roll town.
So just be yourself, whoever that is:
Glamour. Grunge. Computer whizz.

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