Smell

Have you ever experienced a smell which triggers a unique olfactory experience? Try these and tell me if you can think of others.

Guy on the bus = Bowling Alley (must, beer, cigarettes, B.O., and grease)
Tire Shop = oil, rubber, and stale popcorn

Pantie Raid

I ventured out early in the morning after the latest snow storm hoping to witness the bliss of a uniform blanket of white. But upon returning home I was greeted by a less blissful sight. Panties was the theme and a string of cars the unsuspecting billboards. "Choke on my panties, sniff my panties, eat my panties, etc." The line of verbs continued for blocks, ending near my apartment. I paused, momentarily, wondering who spent their time doing this mischievous deed.

Hitting a Gull

An interesting thing happened the other day when I rode my bike home. Now it is no surprise when you hit a bird in a car...well maybe a momentary--What the *!#@. But have you ever experienced hitting another living animal on a bike. The scale of your vehicle is much smaller and the object feels much larger. Feels is the appropriate verb here. I was commuting home on my bike, pedaling uphill. Uphill non the less. A seagull is walking across the street. I innocently think nothing of it. As I get nearer I notice a car approaching from behind. I fully expect the seagull to deviate from our shared course, but instead it frantically walks like some stupid pigeon, never in a strait line, never fast enough. As a collision seems inevitable, it takes to flight. Oh...too late my winged friend. I plunge into the fowl midair. It is thrown violently to the pavement, narrowly missing the front tire. It attempts to take flight again, but is harshly pinned between the asphalt and my sprocket. Bump, bump, my rear tire runs squarely over it. It emits a painful squawking noise. My head spins quickly around attempting to confirm this anomaly which my brain argues just occurred. Before I can make sense of it all, the car behind me finishes him off, with an absolute BUMP, BUMP...tire, gull, asphalt. Now each day as I commute home I witness this winged roadkill pressed firmly into the pavement like a cartoon character.

Thursday...Plop!

As many of you know I commute to work by bicycle. Now, this crazy devotion to environmentalism can more accurately be described as me being too cheap to pay for the bus. The commute is faster, cost less, and is good for my health as well. All convincing arguments for such a choice. But as mother nature has demonstrated, commuting in the winter can be a daunting challenge. Now the biblical flooding, incessant winds, and snow have done little to prevent my successful two mile trek. Mother Nature is tricky though. She makes you think you are weathering the storm, then pummels you when you are over confident. I had grown accustom to traveling to work. After completing what could be more accurately described as a triathlon, than a bike ride, I am greeted to the heroic cheers of my coworkers. Every time she threw more at me, the more determined I was to succeed. And then she throws the curve. Thursday was a beautifully crisp morning. I was flying down the waterfront at top speed--a magnificent view of the Olympics to the west and no sign of the normal head wind. What a perfect day to commute. As I flew through the last intersection before work, I noticed a small contingent of coworkers on the corner. I began to engage the turn onto the pier, when the ice beneath the tires snickered at my feeble attempt to maintain control. A silent skidding noise...and the smacking of flesh on concrete--ice cold concrete. The pain noticeable, but the humiliation crushing. I sit for a moment in my own self pity, strew along the side of the road like an unfortunate possum. Then a coworker yells out, "Hey Levi...are you ok?" Great, now everyone that didn't recognize me in my commuting clothes are all too aware of my current condition. He meant well, but how embarrassing. I yell back letting him know I am fine. The group crosses the street, eager to check on me and make sure all is in tact. The coworker trailing the group inadvertently walks over the same patch of nastiness, and Blamo!, another one bites the dust. She lets out a squeak, throws the coffee artfully in the air, and smashes solidly on her backside. Now there are two of us, victims of the same peril. I begin to laugh and manage to direct a thank you towards her. At least I am not the only one. What a spectacle for the motorist trapped at the light behind us.

Living on the Frontier

Lately, I have felt that I reside on the frontier. Now, I am not arguing that Seattle has changed little from when Lewis and Clark first laid eyes upon this bay. Instead, I feel I live in what can be considered a frontier within the modern context. Of course, Seattle is a fully developed and modern place. But lately it has felt far more removed from the remainder of the country. Perhaps, this is the Alaska syndrome (where people from Alaska often feel more a part of Canada than the U.S.). The weather has been relentless, as it has been pretty much anywhere in the country. My apartment has been the victim of several power outages. When these occur, I find myself without heat, hot water, or lights. Of course this provides me an opportunity to enjoy a candle light dinner and read a book. This experience reminds me of living at some remote cabin, not within a metropolitan core. Then the Seahawks make the playoffs, and no-one around the country gives them a chance at winning. It is as if no good football can possibly come from this remote corner of the country, further reinforcing my notion of frontier. Don't get me wrong. I love living on an edge. People are free to be individuals, less influenced by the ebb and flow of national trends. You are free to challenge ideas and be more liberal in solutions...nobody cares if you flop. So the next time the lights go out, just remember how nice it is living on the edge.

Colorado from a Satellite

The NASA satellite photo of Colorado taken last week pretty much sums up what has happened to my beloved state. It may look like cloud cover, but it is not. My hometown of Glenwood Springs, just recorded 16" of new snow in the last 24 hours. Powder Day!

BodyGuard

This one will get you. Another oddity to find on the street. I know you are all wondering, "Damn boy, where are you walking?" At first I thought this was just some errant building wrap that had been blown free of a construction site. But upon closer inspection, I found myself suddenly laughing uncontrollably. So funny on many different levels, it immediately conjured up images of Naked Gun (first laugh). Then I read it was reusable. Now I don't remember much from middle school health classes, but reusing condoms was one thing I believe they frowned upon. Middle school health class (second laugh). Then I got to the non-lubricated. I found myself pondering the difference between a Hefty Lawn and Leaf bag and a non-lubricated BodyGuard (third laugh). Finally, it is only six-feet in length. So for someone like me who is well-endowed, that means two full inches are susceptible to infection. (Fourth laugh, all the girls giggling at me describing myself as well-endowed...easy ladies). Finally, my rapidly processing humor subsides and I find myself continuing down the street. An awry grin on my face as I desert this casually discarded body condom. What will tomorrow bring?

Safeway?...to be determined.

Yesterday I was at Safeway. I saw this near the deli floor. I do not have a clue what independent floor testing and inspecting was doing here, or what the little tube in the right hand corner was for. Regardless, it made me rethink my deli meat purchase. This is not the kind of thing you want to see after all the recent e coli outbreaks.

Apocalyptic Christmas

Recently I took a journey home for the holidays. What a journey it was. My adventure took the storyline directly from the cliche holiday movie where the traveler overcomes innumerable adversities just to be home for the holidays. It started at 9am when my 9pm flight to Denver was canceled, something about a small blizzard. The earliest the airline could re-accommodate me was Christmas day. Determined to find a faster way, even if I had to drive myself, I booked another flight into Salt Lake. This would place me a mere six hours by car from home. But at the airport, my flight is delayed an hour. I book what I think is a reservation on Greyhound and fly to the capital of Mormon. Once there, I eavesdrop, trying to hitch a ride in a rental car. No luck, but at this point I am not expecting any. I finally make it to a hotel room by 11pm and inhale an epicurean delight at JB's (a lesser known equivalent to Denny's). To bed by midnight. I am up and off to the bus terminal by 5am for an early morning departure. I arrive to find 200 people camped out, apparently all bus traffic west is halted. The plundered vending machines hum and the smells of a refuge camp are intoxicating. The normal bus crowd ( ie the single parents and strung out crack whores) are intermingled with financially disadvantaged and a few stranded airline passengers like myself. Now apparently with Greyhound when you book a reservation it is not a guarantee that you will get on the bus that you bought the ticket for. Simply put you are buying yourself a spot in line. Now as I see how long the line is, I know I don't stand a chance of getting on my bus. So using line cutting skills that would make an Italian cheer I jump to the number three spot in line. One woman starts to complain to me, but I pretend not to understand English. In line I wait, fearful of losing my spot to the mortal need to eat or use the restroom. Finally, after six hours of standing in line they put us on a bus. On we go, finally. Wait, they want us on another bus. Off we go and on to another one. Finally the bus pulls out, our short blonde bus driver taking us closer to our final destinations. Establishing herself as Supreme Dictator, our bus driver Cindy goes over the rules. "My name is Cindy, not hey lady, you, or thing. There will be no consumption of alcohol or drugs aboard this bus. There will be no use of profanity or vulgar language. If you violate these rules you will be immediately removed from the bus. Thank you for choosing Greyhound, leave the driving to us." Surprisingly enough her crass attitude puts me at ease, at least I know we have a veteran behind the wheel. Next stop, Price, Utah in three hours. Three hours before I have an excuse to remove myself from the guy sitting next to me. Couldn't have guessed it, but a born-again Mormon about my age. I know things will go ok, if I can just avoid bringing up religion or politics. Then he throws me a curve, he starts talking about sex. He tells me about how his parent discussed the birds and bees as if this just happened yesterday. I am doing all I can to redirect the conversation, I then he just out a says he is a virgin. Good for him, all hope is lost find the iPod. Unfortunately religion comes next. Why is this damn iPod so buried. He asks me if I believe in God. Sirens going off in my head, avoid answering the question. Then he very calmly pulls a locking blade from his pocket and continues as if it were part of the same sentence, "this is my favorite knife." Finally, I find the iPod. Smile and nod, placing the ear buds so deeply in I am not sure they will ever come out. The Burger King at Price has never looked so enticing. Perhaps I am that hungry, it is my first meal of the day, or perhaps it is the possibility of fresh air and personal space. I suspect it is a little of both. A nice #5 meal deal and back on the bus, Cindy has threatened to leave us if we don't get it to go and eat it on the bus. I believe her. It is here we discover one of our tires is low. Off we go, hoping our tire holds. Cindy decided to check the tire one last time before we hit the next hundred miles of nothingness. Guess what campers we have a flat. So here we are in the middle of nowhere waiting for relay wagon to change our tire. It only takes them two hours to arrive and five minutes to swap the tires. At this point in time I am beginning to think I will never make it home. Off we go, and eerily enough the whole bus starts singing "On the road again", before Cindy stops that over the loud speaker. It is about this time I realize that my shoes and bag have been smearing around in some little shits bubblicious bubble yum. It is every where. Finally we pull into Grand Junction at 9pm. Now an employee of my father picks me up and drives me the remaining hour and a half home. But not before bus driver Cindy can give me a hug.