Man Made Lake

Adult Contemporary Seattle

'Spent the weekend in Seattle visiting Emily and WeWah. Bike rides through boutique villages. Picnics on Lake Washington. Rug shopping in the suburbs. The adult contemporary Emerald City.

In the next few months I see myself transitioning from a hip frugal college student to a full blown yuppie. That's right. Polo shirts and $30 cocktails. "Yuppie," at one point, standed for young urban professionals. But I don't think anybody associates the word "yuppie" with any particular age group anymore. I just think of disposable income coupled with bad taste. So I don't want to be described as a yuppie. It's not that I don't (or don't plan to) have bad taste. It's the age thing. And "yuppie" is just an insult these days.

I'm starting to lean towards "adult contemporary." According to wikipedia, "adult contemporary" came about as a way to describe radio stations in the mid 80s that played top 40 minus hip hop and "hard rock." In other words, music for total fucking muppets. Mindless mass media, rated PG. And that's gonna be me. I'm already starting to drink better wine and shave occasionally. What's next? I'll fucking tell you: vacations in the Caribbean, personal trainers, and pure bred dogs.

In the mean time I'm still an inquisitive young lad with his whole life ahead of him. Full of enthusiasm and misguided idealism, still voting democrat, I'm just the kind of self-deluded moron to post photos of Seattle's Howe Street steps on a blog that nobody gives a shit about. Enjoy me while I last.

Georgetown, Seattle

Seeing as how my man just vacated his Georgetown pad I thought I'd pay a little tribute to America's hippest neighborhood. I say it's the hippest because it will be forever stuck in the typically short-lived transition between legitimate slum and boutique village. Georgetown will never fully gentrify because nobody with money would live in a square-mile residential sanctuary surrounded by railroads, a polluted river, an airport and an interstate.

Roaring planes land every 30 seconds, air quality is terrible and, most importantly, Georgetown is separated from downtown Seattle by 4 miles of heavy industrial land. Nevertheless it maintains the distinct artsy-slum atmosphere: wildly painted garage doors, overgrown gardens, public art made out of garbage. Businesses have moved in but are kept to an uber-hip minimum: 2 bars, 1 coffee shop, a scooter shop and a Japanese grocery store. Best of all, the neighborhood is packed with beautifully decayed warehouses. And for once it doesn't feel temporary.