Now that we’ve had our first couple warm days here in Seattle, I’ve noticed the gym has been starting to fill up again. Perhaps we’ve caught the first glimpse of our pale, mis-shapen and atrophied bodies under the first light of sun – a sight that would have us us all running for the elipticals.
So for those of you looking to get your gym on, I thought I’d share a new playlist I recently created to get the blood moving.
Enjoy!
After nearly two weeks on the road, it was great to catch up with friends here in Seattle on Memorial Day. During my time in New York last week, I had it in my head to have some friends over for a barbeque. Contrary to the weather reports, it turned out to be a fantastic day (read: sunny) with even better company. Highlights in photos below.
Trying to grill the perfect burgers, thickest I had ever grilled.
A varitable smorgasbord of delictable summar fare.
AmyZuck and Eric, part of my plan to sandwich myself between the best looking people possible at all times.
All in all, a great day out in the sun. Thanks to everyone who came out!
It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of the the east coast. People are simple and direct.You are rarely confused about who your best friends are, and are even less confused when it comes to identifying your enemies. And you will sabotage those enemies, often with the aid of the aforementioned best friends. It’s just how it works.
The Pacific Northwest, however, is a completely different ball game. In fact, it’s an obscure game no one wants to play. Like field hockey, or soccer. I’ve found myself time and time again surprised to find that when I ask others to do things or get together – the response “definitely” means anything but. In reality, the response is more like “I’ll just nod and smile through my teeth agreeing to whatever you say because I’m not sure how to interact with another human being. And oh yeah, the friends I’ve had since 7th grade are all I’ll ever need.” I know I know, it’s a lot to convey in one word.
But this creates problems in social affairs. While books have been written about the myth of “Seattle nice’” (Pugetopolis comes to mind), it is not my intention to add to that library through this post. Instead, I will illustrate the contrast between east and west coast with a story.
Last weekend I was in Manhattan on business. After a visit to Bumble & Bumble’s Joey the girl for a haircut (she’d call it a ‘hair style’, mostly due to her vision that I could have Daniel Craig hair) – I was hungry for a burrito. Famished in Tribeca, I found myself at the closest Qdoba I could find. My veggie burrito and I were sat there, alone on the bar stool looking out the window. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a girl eyeing the only open seat, one that happened to be next to me. Despite the fact she was mid-twenties, she had a kiddie meal. I heart NY.
Kiddie meal took a seat next to me, and I began the dialog in the most creative way I could muster…
“So, what are your plans for the rapture?”
(I wish the crazies would declare every day the rapture, because that was a darn good line. Ok, maybe I’m over-confident, but you have to admit it has a certain disarming quality to it, no?)
So from there our conversation bloomed – cities of origin, upbringing, Italian family life, Italian mothers, fashion faux pas, and careers. I ‘m so glad careers came last, by the way, I feel as though that is all too often the appetizer of getting to know someone, not the dessert.
And after about 45 minutes, it was time to go our separate ways. She was off to shop in midtown, I was off to do the same in SoHo. And so it ended…
“Hi, I’m Derek.” “Hi, I’m Vanessa.” And we left.
Now, keep in mind a few things. this girl could have answered my initial inquiry about the rapture with an awkward half-laugh and then bury her head in her iPhone. But she didn’t. She engaged. Also notice that neither of us had an agenda, an ulterior motive, nothing to be gained or lost by having a conversation – just a desire to get to know someone new. This interaction would never happen in Seattle. The default posture of Seattleites is far too closed off, anti-social, passive aggressive – the girl would assume that I was only out to start a romantic association with her.
The next night I was on Facebook. And low and behold a new friend request and short message came in from Vanessa. Mind you, she only knew my first name and where I worked, but that was apparently enough to find me among the over half a billion people on Facebook (props Zuckerberg).
And about 36 hours after meeting, two complete strangers, who share a love for franchise Mexican food, found themselves out to dinner. At 10:00pm. See, Seattle? That wasn’t so hard.
In an earlier post entitled Chemistry, I took a sharp view against online dating. It has been my opinion that is nearly impossible to have an automated process by which to establish “compatibility”. And in fact, I think even the word “compatibility” gets us further from the point, because it implies there is matrix of gives and gets – things we want and things the other person wants, and aligntment of those lists indicates a love connection.
Not so.
My buddy, who has been matched with nearly 1200 women on eHarmony, is living proof that compatibility and chemistry are very different things. And further, machines playing matchmakers are far more flawed than the commercials with shiny, happy couples would have you believe.
He canceled his membership. But before he went, he wrote them a letter. Take a read, hope you find it as amusing as I did.
Dear eharmony,
I have been matched with 1187 women at this point and have contacted…3. 3. There have been 3 women that I have found attractive,spiritually compelling, physically active and with an all around compatible personality. 3. Your matching system is incredibly flawed to the point that I have wasted time and money on what I had hoped would help me find someone to go on, at least, a couple dates with. Instead, I have talked to 3 women who were, to their credit not yours, fantastic.
Am I too picky? Well, I should hope so if I’m looking to be with this person for a lifetime. But, when I say that someone living an “active lifestyle” is of utmost importance to me and you match me with someone who describes themselves as “depressed and in need of medication” (yes, this happened), I feel like you aren’t really paying attention. Your 29 levels of matching blah blah blah seems to be…”ummm, do you live in the same city or, like, ummm…within, like, 50 miles. Yeah? Okay (sniff), we’ll just put you two together and hope you don’t (long sniff that seems to dislodge something both hard and moist) notice that we don’t really care. $29.95, please.” Who is doing the matching, anyways, a divorced chimp who is overly excited to see relationships fail just as his did?
So, eharmony, you have provided quite a service to this single, 30 year old guy: teaching me that love is not an odds game. I cannot trust my dating life to a website that cares more about its photo shoots of “successful couples”/”models who just met each other and are good at pretending to be in love” than whether or not I ever find Ms. Right. (but certainly cares that my debit card is about to expire, thanks for the reminder by the way). Instead, I should take my 30 dollars a month and pay a stoned gas station attendant to give my number to all the “hot girls that come in between midnight and 4AM”, because that will give me just as much of a leg up on meeting Ms. Right as your site has.
I’m certain that most of the women on this site are amazing women with incredible character. But, I didn’t sign up and pay to meet just any woman with incredible character. I signed up to meet someone who shares my interests, my faith, my hopes for the future and maybe…just maybe…I find attractive. So, before you put this back on me and say I’m the one with the problem, let me just say that I tried. I really did. I was open to each match and gave each woman a shot on first read. But, one woman answered the question, “The one thing I wish MORE people would notice about me is” with (and again, I’m not joking): “That my drug problem is”. THAT WAS HER ENTIRE ANSWER. And of the 1187 matches, I have at least 200 more of those stories. So, yes, perhaps I am an awful person for not connecting with anyone on here. You (and my conscience) can blame it on me. But, in reality eharmony, your system isn’t working. I think you know it, and lots of other people (including the girl with the drug problem) know it, too. So, let’s come clean, you and me. I’m very picky with who I want to spend my life with and you don’t really care who that is…as long as it isn’t anytime soon and I keep my debit card nice and up-to-date. Agreed?
In closing, they say that an infinite amount of chimps typing for an infinite amount of time will eventually write Shakespeare. The same is probably true for those chimps matching me with the perfect woman. But, I don’t have that kind of time. An my bank account can’t possibly keep up. Goodbye, eharmony, you’ve been my drunk, bitter married friend who says, “You should talk to her,” with every woman that passes.
Bravo, my friend. Bravo.
Last week I got an email from the property manager at my condo building. Therein, he mentioned a service crew would be through this morning to service our garage door. The mail mentioned they were to install some sort of metal hood to increase security – but I’m not sure if that’s right as I only really skimmed it.
As I rolled out of the garage around 7 this morning, I saw the workmen on ladders partially blocking the door. I downshifted and believed I was expertly navigating the tight corner between the wall and their ladder – only to hear the scrape heard around the world.
That was, of course, the sound of my car, being gouged along the rocker panel by a curled metal sheet. Frick.
Needless to say, this was not the best way to start the morning. I’m told it will take 2 days to refinish that part of my car. On the bright side, at least I can count on Mark over at Euro Tech Bodywerkes sending me a Christmas card this year.
I rarely have dreams that I remember. But last night’s was a hall of famer I’d like to keep burned into my cortex for a long time to come.
So I have this friend… she never pays for ANYTHING. Now you may be thinking a couple things after that statement. You may be wondering if she steals, or if she’s just so attractive the the weak-minded servicemen of the world rally around her every need without cause for financial retribution. It’s neither. She is unique in that she feels like she’s on a date at all times. It’s her belief that male chivalry and generosity holds no limits – and it includes any and all activity with one or more males present. So this means when she’s out to dinner with one or more male friends, she’s never making the reach for the purse when the check comes. And my goodness, we need to at least see the reach. Put some effort in, lady!
So back to my dream. I found myself in a coffee shop with this friend – and for some reason I felt compelled to make this the day when she would pay for herself. Now usually she’s an expert of the subtle maneuvers needed to ensure someone else will pick up the tab. If she’s in a coffee shop – she’ll order first and when the barista asks if there’s anything else – she’ll motion to me. That way, when I’m done ordering, the barista rings them up together and looks to me as the gentleman (and socially implied boyfriend?) to take care of it. Do this a thousand times later and you realize you could have gone for the upgraded sound system on your car after all, if it weren’t for all these extra drink orders.
This time I had a plan. I would use her indecision as a moment of opportunity to order first, and then quickly pay. I did, and then it was her turn. She stepped up, placed her order, and when the barista asked for the payment – she looked toward me. I lost it. I got up on a chair and started preaching to her about how us men only payconsistently for our girlfriends and love interests, and that we at least want to see the reach, and how she’s not the type of girl that gets everything paid for (like in that episode of Seinfeld) – I must have ranted for 5 minutes straight (which we know is about 10 seconds of real life, thanks Inception).
I woke up with a smile on my face. Tonight is definitely one of those nights where I’ll be hoping for a dream sequel.
Not totally unsurprising, but good validation nonetheless for my fellow coffee-obsessed Seattleites. Ever wonder how the people of Seattle have time to juggle their day jobs with all the hiking and spelunking? Well, that’s where the $36 latte budget comes in.
Perhaps most interesting, though, is the data that Mint.com is collecting about buyer preference and spending habbits through their free personal money management service. Very smart, guys.
In an effort to build our rockstar lifestyle cred, Andrew and I hopped a plane to Chicago yesterday morning. We were in town for the KIN sponsored show with The Dead Weather down on W Monroe.
This was the first time I had traveled with Andrew, which was as fun as you’d expect. For instance, running through the Minnesota airport on a tight connection with someone that runs 75+ miles a week really puts on the pressure. I managed to hold back my quasi-Asthmatic deep hyperventilation sesh until I could get in the postage stamp-sized airplane bathroom. As far as I know, Andrew would still rate me as “below average” on the President’s Fitness Challenge scale.
Anywho, a funny moment occurred as we were walking toward the cab line at O’Hare Airport. Andrew remarked, “Wouldn’t be great if someone was here waiting for us?”. Without hesitation I retorted, “You mean, like a driver?”
This is what Andrew pictured.
This is what I pictured.
Sign #27192 that life in Seat 1B may be slowly killing me.
Tonight I landed in Portland, Oregon. I’ve been here a couple times before, but never had a chance to feel the vibe of the city. All of my past trips were day trips, on the plane in the morning and back that evening. My days were spent in whichever agency’s natural wood infused, sushi laiden boardroom happen to be popular at the time. My excursions outside those 4 walls was never more than for a trip to the local Stumptown Coffee Roasters (which is delicious, by the way).
But tonight was different. Since I have an early start tomorrow, I’m actually in town the night before and planned to get the full Portland experience. And that I did.
I checked into the Ace Hotel, which is a combination hipster haven and deer lodge – not quite what to make of it. I elected for the “upgraded room” – which later I found out meant the bathtub was actually inside the room rather than down the hall. An upgrade an indeed!
The room was filled with irony – right down to the turntable used for spinning vinyl. Hysterically, the record player was hooked into an iPod dock. Steve Jobs is rolling with laughter from inside his aircraft grade titanium walled bedroom right now, I’m sure. After popping on the latest Shins album – I was ready to get my Portland on.
Suddenly I wondered why I had forgotten to buy any flannel in my life – and for the first time I also felt compelled to get tattoo sleeves. Ok, perhaps not.
Walking out of the very slow, pull cable, elevator I passed the basket-bicycle rental and head out the door. Walking amongst Portland people was an interesting experience. Before today, I’d swear Seattle would get top billing as the city which is most unlike New York. Today, Portland has stolen that title. Not only do people dress casually, they are downright ready to hit the bike trail. Women can’t be bothered with makeup or with a leg shave, they have mountains to climb and caves to explore. Get your spelunk on early, ladies, because this east coast guy is not going to take you out to dinner.
I ended up at a steak house for dinner, and did the classic single-guy business traveler thing and ate at the bar. Having a good rapport with the server at the bar is key. He always has an interesting story to tell. This guy came straight out of a western, or at least the way Back to the Future III depicted the old west. He had a ruffled tuxedo shirt, bow tie, vest, and the little garder arm band thing. I’m still wondering where that garder came from – my mind wandered to what this guy’s home life might be like until I realized there’s really no way for him to have one. This guy is a fixture. He knows everyone, and they know him. This is his social network.
Well it’s time for me to retire to my beaver lodge-inspired comforter. Actually I’m not even sure it is a comforter. Is this the right time to go down the hall to the common phone and ask the front desk what the thread count is?
I spent this past weekend catching up with the family in Syracuse. I visit relatively infrequently these days, usually around three to four times a year. It’s interesting, the less frequently I visit, the more accutely aware I become of change… or lack thereof.
Syracuse is absolutely timeless. Nothing ever changes. Sure, the chain restaurants on Erie Blvd will come and go, and there will be a new best car wash to use (“we promise, this one is really touch free”) – but the people, sights, and happenings remain largely unchanged.
I arrived in late on a Friday night from Seattle. After a much needed Taco Bell run for some fuel, I found myself plopped back on the couch watching TV with my parents, just like a Friday night would have gone when I was fourteen. Funny how things come full circle like that.
The fam is good, I think. I mean, I’m finding more and more reading glasses spread throughout my parents’ house and cars these days, and Dad says he has problem hearing voices in large groups – but I think they too are otherwise unaffected by the passage of time.
In true Italian form, Mother found herself spending an equal amount of time doing household chores, laundry, and getting ready as she did spending time with Dad and me. Like I said, nothing ever changes and I think it’d be uncomfortable to have it any other way. Besides, when else would Dad find time to play Halo?
This trip was a surgical strike for me, in on Friday night and out on Sunday late afternoon. But before I went, of course, Grandma called everyone to order for a Sunday dinner. Sauce all around.
Which reminds me, what’s with the old Italians always pluralizing and non-pluralizing words in the wrong direction? Here are some examples:
But that’s the fam. You know how it goes, readers. You know how it goes.
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