Came across this great blog a while back, called VintageSeattle.org
It calls itself a "High-Resolution Visual Historical Blog" and features some really great old and new photography and postcards, all capturing Seattle's fascinating history.
The interior and exterior photo's of Georgetown's Ranier Cold Storage campus are some of my favorites so far.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Adventures in Commuting
So there we were, sleepy and half listening to the radio.
Our morning journey down Interstate 5 was going much the same as most mornings. In between yawns and thoughts of going back to bed, Anastasia and I made jokes about our silly dog. We talk about our dog a lot. Probably too much.
About ten minutes into our commute, we caught up to a dark green Geo Tracker. It was a soft top missing the rear cover, so we could easily see the driver and a passenger in the front and something in the back. The something was about as tall as the two people in the front, but covered with cloth or towel.
"Is that a dead body?" Anastasia asked with a little laugh.
"Yeah, I think so," I joked.
We smiled at each other because ha ha yeah right, but then, as we kept looking at the something sitting in the the other vehicle, our smiles shifted to a sort of suspicious half-grin.
"That's definitely a person," I said. "Look how the head's bobbing around with the bumps in the road."
We watched the body as it bobbed around, looking quite dead. We noticed the head was resting against a stick of some kind, like a broomstick, jutting up from the rear cargo hold of the vehicle. It didn't look comfortable at all. Looked like it was just there to keep the head from flopping over the back of the seat. And then the fact that the head was draped, at least from the back and sides, with a towel or something...
"That really does look like a dead body," I said.
"Should we call 911?" Anastasia asked. The mere idea of it seemed preposterous -- calling 911, telling them we're headed south on I-5 and that there may or may not be a dead body propped up in the back of a dark green Geo Tracker, license plate number...
Anastasia had the cell phone out as we changed lanes and drove up on the left side of them for a better look. What we found was a young man in the back seat -- pale, unhealthy complexion, eyes closed, mouth hanging wide open.
"Can't tell if he's dead or just passed out," I said. But what about the broomstick holding his head up? It looked like it'd be pretty painful to someone with a pulse. And the towel over his head?
As we got behind the Geo tracker again, we saw the guy's head finally move, like he'd just woken up. He sat forward, looked to either side of the vehicle and then reclined back against the broomstick.
And we laughed and laughed.
Because we almost called the cops on dark green Geo Tracker for having an ugly, sleeping passenger.
Our morning journey down Interstate 5 was going much the same as most mornings. In between yawns and thoughts of going back to bed, Anastasia and I made jokes about our silly dog. We talk about our dog a lot. Probably too much.
About ten minutes into our commute, we caught up to a dark green Geo Tracker. It was a soft top missing the rear cover, so we could easily see the driver and a passenger in the front and something in the back. The something was about as tall as the two people in the front, but covered with cloth or towel.
"Is that a dead body?" Anastasia asked with a little laugh.
"Yeah, I think so," I joked.
We smiled at each other because ha ha yeah right, but then, as we kept looking at the something sitting in the the other vehicle, our smiles shifted to a sort of suspicious half-grin.
"That's definitely a person," I said. "Look how the head's bobbing around with the bumps in the road."
We watched the body as it bobbed around, looking quite dead. We noticed the head was resting against a stick of some kind, like a broomstick, jutting up from the rear cargo hold of the vehicle. It didn't look comfortable at all. Looked like it was just there to keep the head from flopping over the back of the seat. And then the fact that the head was draped, at least from the back and sides, with a towel or something...
"That really does look like a dead body," I said.
"Should we call 911?" Anastasia asked. The mere idea of it seemed preposterous -- calling 911, telling them we're headed south on I-5 and that there may or may not be a dead body propped up in the back of a dark green Geo Tracker, license plate number...
Anastasia had the cell phone out as we changed lanes and drove up on the left side of them for a better look. What we found was a young man in the back seat -- pale, unhealthy complexion, eyes closed, mouth hanging wide open.
"Can't tell if he's dead or just passed out," I said. But what about the broomstick holding his head up? It looked like it'd be pretty painful to someone with a pulse. And the towel over his head?
As we got behind the Geo tracker again, we saw the guy's head finally move, like he'd just woken up. He sat forward, looked to either side of the vehicle and then reclined back against the broomstick.
And we laughed and laughed.
Because we almost called the cops on dark green Geo Tracker for having an ugly, sleeping passenger.
Monday, August 6, 2007
In the Immortal Words of Paula Abdul...
He's a cold-hearted snake.
Marius (my ball python) bit me again. I forget, after a while, how much it hurts when that happens. But then it happens. And I remember.
It's a quick kind of pain, which is good. It doesn't linger like a burn or a punch to the groin. Just a quick "Yowza!" and it's over. Then there's the blood. His teeth aren't very big around, but they are many and they're long enough to puncture the skin pretty good -- so the bleeding is pretty immediate. Kind of like getting a shot (well, more like many shots at once), but without a nurse's kind finger to press a cotton ball to your skin.
Anyway, I was reaching into his tank and trying to take hold of the rear quarter of his body, to let him out of his tank for a while. I feel bad when he's just sitting in his tank for weeks at a time. So, occasionally I get him out, let him explore other parts of the bedroom. This time, however, he mistook my hand for a tasty rodent and there they are -- a couple of bandaged up fingers.
Many people already don't understand why a person would want to own a snake. Then, when you tell them it has bitten you, well, the mind automatically screams "snake bite!" -- and the question of why becomes that much more urgent and reactive.
Thing is, it's not Marius' fault that he bit me. And contrary to the silly title of this post, it doesn't mean that he's dangerous or mean. He's simply not gotten enough socialization (my fault) and is responding to an innate feeding instinct. That said, I am trying to sell him.
I'm not trying to sell him because he's bitten me a few times, but because I feel I can't properly care for him any longer. He needs a home with a reptile enthusiast who will give him more attention that I can. Right now it just feels like I'm maintaining him, in that I'm feeding him, keeping his water fresh, his tank clean, but beyond these necessities, he's not getting a lot of attention from me lately. And if we decide to have kids one day, well, he won't be getting much attention at all. I'd like to give him up before that happens.
Anyone know of a place to take him? Or of reptile enthusiasts who might be interested in him? That's the idea right now. Give or sell him to someone who knows what they're doing. He's an adult so giving him to a novice who doesn't know much about snakes is out of the question.
Marius (my ball python) bit me again. I forget, after a while, how much it hurts when that happens. But then it happens. And I remember.
It's a quick kind of pain, which is good. It doesn't linger like a burn or a punch to the groin. Just a quick "Yowza!" and it's over. Then there's the blood. His teeth aren't very big around, but they are many and they're long enough to puncture the skin pretty good -- so the bleeding is pretty immediate. Kind of like getting a shot (well, more like many shots at once), but without a nurse's kind finger to press a cotton ball to your skin.
Anyway, I was reaching into his tank and trying to take hold of the rear quarter of his body, to let him out of his tank for a while. I feel bad when he's just sitting in his tank for weeks at a time. So, occasionally I get him out, let him explore other parts of the bedroom. This time, however, he mistook my hand for a tasty rodent and there they are -- a couple of bandaged up fingers.
Many people already don't understand why a person would want to own a snake. Then, when you tell them it has bitten you, well, the mind automatically screams "snake bite!" -- and the question of why becomes that much more urgent and reactive.
Thing is, it's not Marius' fault that he bit me. And contrary to the silly title of this post, it doesn't mean that he's dangerous or mean. He's simply not gotten enough socialization (my fault) and is responding to an innate feeding instinct. That said, I am trying to sell him.
I'm not trying to sell him because he's bitten me a few times, but because I feel I can't properly care for him any longer. He needs a home with a reptile enthusiast who will give him more attention that I can. Right now it just feels like I'm maintaining him, in that I'm feeding him, keeping his water fresh, his tank clean, but beyond these necessities, he's not getting a lot of attention from me lately. And if we decide to have kids one day, well, he won't be getting much attention at all. I'd like to give him up before that happens.
Anyone know of a place to take him? Or of reptile enthusiasts who might be interested in him? That's the idea right now. Give or sell him to someone who knows what they're doing. He's an adult so giving him to a novice who doesn't know much about snakes is out of the question.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Mystery Music
I was sifting through the music on my work computer today, looking for something to listen to that I hadn't heard in a while. Came across a series of "Unknown Artist" folders. Opened them up, gave all of the opening tracks a brief listen until I knew who it was, but then came upon one album that was not only really captivating, but also completely unknown to me as to who it was.
I listened to the entire album, thinking, Who is this? I must know! I had almost gotten through the album twice when I decided to do a bit of investigating. The file properties didn't tell me anything but there was the date -- I presume the date on which the album was ripped to my computer. I thought back -- back to March of 2006. Did that help? No, not at all. So, I mentioned it to a coworker and then had her give it a listen.
"Oh, that's Cloud Cult," she says. "I think the name of the album is Happy Hippopotamus."
Well, whattaya know. My mystery album is a happy happy hippo.
(I looked up the album online and found that it's actually called Advice from the Happy Hippopotamus.)
The snobs at Pitchfork seem to have loved it. They gave it a 8.3 rating, a score very few albums receive no matter how good they are. From Pitchfork:
I listened to the entire album, thinking, Who is this? I must know! I had almost gotten through the album twice when I decided to do a bit of investigating. The file properties didn't tell me anything but there was the date -- I presume the date on which the album was ripped to my computer. I thought back -- back to March of 2006. Did that help? No, not at all. So, I mentioned it to a coworker and then had her give it a listen.
"Oh, that's Cloud Cult," she says. "I think the name of the album is Happy Hippopotamus."
Well, whattaya know. My mystery album is a happy happy hippo.
(I looked up the album online and found that it's actually called Advice from the Happy Hippopotamus.)
The snobs at Pitchfork seem to have loved it. They gave it a 8.3 rating, a score very few albums receive no matter how good they are. From Pitchfork:
There's a state of mind in which infancy and mortality meet. Death, its inexorability, and our fear of it render us as helpless as when we were toddlers. Many of us fill the resulting tremulous mental gap with religion ("our Father..."); others with work, love, or grown-up childishness like golf; and you and I, perhaps, with pop music. Cloud Cult bandleader Craig Minowa is obsessed with this space-- with infancy, mortality, and, alas, infant mortality-- and his grandiose fourth album, Advice from the Happy Hippopotamus, occupies it with messy, expansive, computer-ok indie rock.
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