I kind of took a vacation over the last week or so. I say “kind of” because unless I lock away my camera, my laptop, and my phone, I’m always working in some capacity. Don’t get me wrong, the smaller projects give me a lot of joy, but they are work. Either I’m pursuing a story because I’ve got an assignment or I’m thinking about how I can spin something I’m doing into a paid story, or I’m saying, “Hell, this will take me five minutes. I’ll take care of it” about some non-story related project.
But I lightened my load tremendously. I went out a lot — for me — including a few days on the Washington coast. Getting out of my house, out of my neighborhood, out of my usual venues has helped with a case of summer blues — which should be against the law anywhere in the Pacific Northwest… and yet.
Here’s where I’ve been (mostly) playing of late. As always, there are a few Amazon links included, if you click through and shop, I get a little something and for that, I’m grateful. On with the show.
The Olympic Peninsula remains my favorite place on the planet. We spent a few days out at Seabrook with a good friend — we walked on the beach, took a lot of photos, ate snacks, read books, watched Miyazaki movies, took naps, walked on the beach some more. Harley the Dog got to spend some serious off-leash time on the huge stretch of sand that is Seabrook Beach; he was totally into that, though he’s hesitant about the ocean. The weather was perfect, the wind was still, and the surf was warm enough that I took my shoes off and walked in the water. I know a handful of people who don’t love Seabrook for it’s weird Pleasantville vibe, but it’s convenient, the walk-to services include a market that doesn’t have jacked up coastal prices and there are great shoulder/low season prices. We drive there via Aberdeen — Kurt Cobain’s home town, and it never ceases to surprises me that the motto on the Welcome to Aberdeen sign is “Come as you are.”
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Doug Mack has a new book out called The Not-Quite States of America: Dispatches from the Territories and Other Far-Flung Outposts of the USA. While at the beach, I spent a few happy hours sprawled on my bed reading about the weird politics and cultural complexities of the US … territories? Is that the right word? Doug is an unashamed tourist and history nerd; I’m sure that’s part of the reason we’re friends. I haven’t finished reading the book yet, but I’ve been giggling much of my reading time. This is Doug’s second book, I liked the first one too and I’m not just saying that because I like Doug. Also, dude, the US is weird.
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I finally got my hands on a copy of Steven King’s On Writing and have been wondering what took me so long. It’s short, too the point, and King’s advice, though targeted at fiction writers, is just as valid for us nonfiction folk. He’s got no time for writers who don’t read or won’t invest in learning proper grammar; you can’t break the rules until you know how to use them, after all. If you write and haven’t read this yet, well, what’s taking you so long?
One of my editors asked me to write a gay Seattle piece, sending me into a tailspin of doubt about my qualifications. (Stand by for detailed navel gazing on this topic.) I tried to pass it on to a local LGBTQ writer, but no go. “If you can’t take it, I’m gonna fly up and do it myself.” Editors are busy, yo. They want new writers, I promise you, but sometimes, they need to get shit done and they count on known producers to do it.
That’s the backstory to how I ended up at Mimosa’s Cabaret hurling cash at drag queens. (My show tickets were free, it’s $25.00, food and bar tab not included.) At one point during the rousing performance of an accelerated Chicago, I completely suspended disbelief. It felt like I was in a Broadway theater watching a full throttle production.
The small crowd was mixed, the bachelorettes, half a dozen gay couples, a young woman and her mom, a pair of obscenely good looking Australian tourists. No one is safe from the wit of Mama Tits, the mistress of ceremonies. “Thank god you’re here,” she said to a lesbian in the front row. “I love the lesbians. Plus, if we need to move anything, we have your Subaru.” I always want ask drag queens, especially the towering ones, to grant me a wish. I want them to be my fairy godmothers because I believe they have special powers.
Take note if you decide to go — the website calls it brunch. But it’s really lunch ($13.00 for the respectable buffet) and a show. You’ll want to plan a full three hours. Also, when you come out wanting coffee, Cupcake Royale is right across the street.
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Here’s hoping you find yourself in places where you can be who you really are. What lightened your load this week?