Yesterday, noticed more than a couple people waiting at bus stops that were closed due to the lines that served those stops being on snow routes.
This morning, I notice that the bus maintenance people are helpfully clearing snow from the same, closed, stops. I pity the sucker that thinks they are open because they’ve been cleared.
When I first saw the SLUT off its tracks, I assumed it was weather related. It turns out to have just been a really stupid person, driving without attention to the road before them, or the light that had been red long enough for the train to cross most of Mercer.
I’m sure I could look up the weight of the train, the weight of her car, and measure the distance from impact to final resting place, for both vehicles, but I don’t have a clue what the standard engineering formula is for determining how much of the energy required to lift the train out of the tracks, nor how to determine how much of that energy was imparted by impact from the car, and how much was its own momentum. Or the train’s rolling resistance on pavement.
But my guess would be ‘pretty darn fast’, as an answer to how fast the car was going.
I’m thinking about trying to replicate one of my favorite GHP mashups, Bus Stop Runner, as a karaoke song tonight. It won’t be an exact replica, since the mashup cut’s and jumps around, but I think I can make it work as a straight sing-along; the tempo of Bus Stop will have to be adjusted in parts, and there’s at least one part where Shoot The Runner is in a chorus, while Bus Stop is in a verse, but it’s all fixable.
Where people will stop for you in the crosswalk, and then take the time to roll down their window and yell ‘fuck you’.
The north Seattle Scientology center near my old place closed up a few months ago. As I was driving past last night, I noticed that the new tenant, a psychic, seems to keep the parking lot full of customers, where it was always empty under the the Tom-Tom’s.
Their long-standing facility of 99 on Queen Anne has been closed for a while now too.
They have a new place, behind the crack mc-donald’s downtown, that appears to be in the elevator lobby of a building. When I went by the other day, on my way to visit OccupySeattle, the guy was actually using an e-meter at his little card table in the street.
After 15 years and one bank failure, I finally finished the switch to the credit-union-lifestyle, and closed out my account at Chase, formerly Wamu. There were two people working the branch, but only the guy who already had a client could close accounts, so I just sat there waiting, while the other teller twiddled her thumbs. When it was my turn, the guy made no attempt to retain me a customer, nor ask why I was leaving, a simple “cash or check?” and it was all done.
Went and saw Frank and friends at the Jazz Alley last night. He brought rhythm guitar and violin, a sparse setup on stage of three little sound cubes, only the violinist having a pedal to fiddle with. They started out fast and just kept getting faster. He is truly amazing when he gets going. It was a very funny and energetic show, with covers of Led Zepp, ballet, and opera, alongside the expected Django renditions. Every once in a while, they’d thrown in a synchronized physical flourish, like little faux ballet moves during the ballet cover, and guitar-kicks during the rock numbers. Which is not to say it wasn’t a jazz show, with intimate audience interaction and banter with a recognized regular in that oh-so-knowing tone of who-remembers-when-best-oh-weren’t-those-the-days. He had this funky little tuning device on the end of his guitar, looked almost like a prism, and would change colors between red, green, I think yellow, and blank, as he played.
Foodwise, the spaghetti and meatballs was it’s usual tasty, but for whatever reason, our waitress never gave me a chance to order dessert, oh well. I suppose if I’d really had to have some key-limey-ness, I could have stopped by Whole Foods on the way home, but I was hurrying to get my Chocolati fix on.
You could tell it was these ladies first kayaking trip on lake union. When the seaplanes started landing, they started freaking out, screaming and yelling in literal panic. Now I will admit the pilots like to cut as close as they can, but this guy isn’t touching down anywhere near as close as I’ve had them land next to me.
I ended up winning one of the ‘date with a sounder’ charity auctions. I’m not sure how date-ish they expect things to get, when the prize package is tickets for 4, but we do get to meet Brad Evans (one of my invitees says, “he’s my 3rd favorite sounder!”) after the game. I am slightly tempted to rent a super-fast lens, but will see what I can do with what I’ve got, and restrain myself. Should be an interesting experience.
I don’t remember how long ago it was that I made the reservation, but when it came up on the calendar, I did what the google told me to do. I did not lead myself wrong. I’m quite fine with recent rise in gypsy-jazz style bands, what the kids are calling “hot club jazz” these days. Connie Evingson has a very jazz singer-y voice, smooth and strong, and a very good match for the material chosen.
