I strolled about in the snow on the Hill, camera in hand, from about 11:30 until 1:30.
I noticed that they had a couple el cheapo mandolins at Capitol Hill Loans, and taught the guy who worked there how to tune ’em. One sounded good, one sounded bad.
Then, my fingers burning with cold, I thought a nice Guinness at Kincora’s in front of their fire would hit the spot. On my way I peeped in the window of Aurafice to see if Joe or Odin was working – alas, no. It was Paige the first time and then Ally, a few minutes later. I stuck my nose in Bill’s to see if Tod was there, but apparently he was still at work.
When I made it down to Kincora’s I looked in the window, saw the fire, and looked in the window for a second to see if I knew anyone. I didn’t, so I paused to think about it for a minute.
A middle-aged woman with full, graying long hair and no makeup wearing a jean-jacket and a girls’ long-underwear top came hurrying out and addressed me with familiarity. “Why there’s a good lookin’ guy standin’ out here in the snow!”
In puzzlement I looked around, and then at her; I hadn’t ever seen her before in my life. She was addressing me. I made polite noises. “Sure is snowing,” I said, though it had pretty well tapered off.
“Well, it ain’t snowing as hard as it had been,” she observed.
I turned to go.
She rapidly took a step up to me and said with a nudge, “So, buy me a drink?”
I blinked in surprise and didn’t know what to say. I’d pretty much made up my mind not to go in before she came out. Into my pause she said, coquettishly, “I got something for you…”
I laughed nervously and said, “Uh, well, that’s very kind of you, but not today,” using my standard panhandler dodge. I beat a hasty retreat back up the hill, leaving her muttering by the door to the bar.
I still wanted a Guinness, so I doubled back over to see if Clever Dunne’s was open. As I descended Denny Way toward the overpass, I heard and saw a small crowd of people cheering and shouting at the intersection of Denny and Olive.
The steep slope of Denny was closed to traffic and had been transformed into a sled and snowboard hill. A young man with a shovel was helpfully moving snow into t he center of the run. Another man at the base of the hill directed traffic as cars nosed up the overpass. Snowball snipers appeared on the roof of an adjacent apartment building and pelted the sliders. A yellow dog chased a couple in a garbage bag, barking. Black-denim-clad Crass punks rode a shiny tin snowshovel.
A slender, well-dressed man with close-cropped grey hair rode someone’s skateboard deck without wheels, laughing. A black-haired hipster, his pea coat caked with snow, ducked my camera; his pal, in absurd and hairy poncho, took a pratfall. As I left, a young man appeared with the upper half of a hardshell Fender Tolex guitar case; running, he bellyflopped down the street.
My toes grew cold, and I retired from the field.
Love the panoramas, Mike. My contributions to the Seattle snow day pictures are here and here.
This punk is one of my sledders.
And Anne watched that bus hit the pole.
I think I came across the Denny Way sledders awhile after you left.
Looks like it, Jeff. The default pic you have selected shows where I was standing, against the sign on the fence at the top of the hill.
It’s a blog, blog, blog world.
But if either of you had a barfly pitch a proposition atcha, you kep’ it shut. It’s the early bird, right?
This takes the cake for best snow post of the day. Unlike you, though, I may have had the beer with denim jacket lady, for no other reason than the chance to sit by the fireplace at Kinkora’s.
Tom, are you a married man?
I considered rolling by the Comet and then your corner to check on the shoes, but cold toes got the better of me.
At the Comet the dames woulda just grabbed you in off the street and refused to let you leave until you bought them all beers and admired their appendectomy scars.
Hey hey HEY now!
That’s my home bar yer casting aspersions on!
And as far as I can recall, the muttering there is generally neighborly and I’ve never been asked to inspect a lady’s scar on the premises.
The Comet is all right with me. I always enjoy losing terribly at pool there, and occasionally you can spy some lost fossils who have felt bereft of a home ever since Ilene’s tanked out.
Me, I was at the Deluxe today. It’s prime real estate if only for the commanding view of the Broadway/Roy intersection, where various pedestrians were hilariously slaughtered by wildly spinning SUVs.
You know, the other place ex-Ileners (although to me it ever was and shall ever be Ernie’s) washed up is t’other bar-fireplace combo hereabouts, Ye Canterbury, up on 15th. I thought about fleeing my new friend to there as well, but my house is in the way, so I didn’t make it.
No one offered or asked for drinks today. Also, I didn’t think to check the powerline – I just assumed the shoes were for decoration.
Should have had Viv go down there and kick some denim-lady butt.
You know, you’re right; I was thinking of the Rendezvous for premier barfly-scar-scoping.
The Canterbury would have indeed been an excellent choice, though a touch uphill for you. Had Murph and I remained at the Golden Inca, that’s where we would have gone.
I miss all the good stuff. Sledding, near-adultery…nothing like that ever happens to me when I’m on cap hill. Well, it snowed a few years ago but no one tried to pick me up. Well, not that actual morning.
I’m very excited for everyone, with the snow and ice.
fleeing in panic does NOT constitute near-adultery.
This is why we are such a good couple. I don’t knock down the old graying bar hags that try to pick up on my hubby, and he doesn’t kick the asses of the aging lecherous male shoppers at Safeway who seem to think it’s okay to offer me rides home. As it stands we are both very good at fleeing in a panic.