Seattle.

I was in Seattle yesterday. I like it there. The dishes are not nearly as dirty and the water is harder, making clean up a breeze. I was done before I started.

I went to a wine tasting and have to say that most of the reds had tart berry fruit and the whites had remarkable acidity. I stayed at the Ace Hotel, which I am told was much cooler years ago, and offered a woman $100 to leg wrestle some putz at the bar. She refused, which in the end I was happy about

I ran into an old friend of mine I was regretting not knowing how to get a hold of. I have her card now.

This morning I woke up sleeping like Michael J. Fox in back to the future, something I used to practice as a kid. In that flick he had his arms behind his back, knees neatly askew. I didn't quite pull it off, my face pressed into the arm of a friend's futon, leaving a dent and welt that is only wearing off now. His daughter was playing video games and his dog sat on my head.

Now I am sitting at a coffee shop drinking coffee that tastes like dishwater. The worst part is that the coffee here is notorious for it, but I bought some nonetheless. It is my medicine.

If you ever get a chance to go to Salumi you should, but be warned that you will sweat pork for days. Le Pichet is one of the coolest restaurants I have been to, and I still wonder why I haven't gone to Harvest Vine. The Greek place we supped at was excellent, and I love that, like any good town, there is an "old guard" in Seattle that looks out for each other.

A fat man just ran through traffic twice because he forgot something very important in his car. Soon he will be drinking coffee that tastes like dishwater.