Here I am now entertain me
On the nightstand: Sons of the Profits: There’s No Business Like Grow Business by Bill Speidel. Still. There's a lot of Seattle history to digest.Coming through the speakers: Nirvana, Live at Reading. Sleater-Kinney. That's so cliched though. Sturgill Simpson has also been on repeat recently. Repeatedly.
Day tripping.With a few days free from work around a weekend that coincided with my birthday, it was time for a daytrip. But where to? Something easy. Inexpensive.Olympia. The state capital. I was on the first bus out the next morning. Sleeping arrangements could be dealt with later.
Stepping off the bus was like stepping out of a time machine to the year 1993. The kids on the street were rocking flannels and ripped jeans. The parents… I don’t recall seeing any. It was the home of Nirvana and Sleater-Kinney and always had been and always would be.There was a friendly vibe to the day. The servers at the Spar Cafe helped break the “where’s the welcoming party” paralysis that greeted me when I stepped off the bus. The sun shined and shined and shined as I wandered the streets, the markets, the lake shore, and the embankments along that very southern point of the sound. A nap on the grounds of the capitol building brought out the faint hints of a sunburn, though the color was quickly washed away with the next shower. And the capitol complex! Sitting atop all that grunge was an architecturally rich collection of neoclassical buildings.
It wasn’t yet evening, but it wasn’t far off. Time to take care of those sleeping arrangements! I ended up in a bed and breakfast of sorts, an easy bus ride just outside of the city center. After a short rest, it was off to the Olympia nightlife.Dive bar after dive bar after dive bar. $2 Olympia beers -- I didn’t know that stuff was even made anymore. A terrible, rotten beer that I just couldn’t stop drinking. Given the city’s reputation as a great music scene, even now, I was determined to check out a show. Scott Pemberton. He was billed as a guy who did outrageous things with his guitar. Didn’t wear a guitar strap. Would sling his instrument around the stage. Sounds awesome, right? The perfect setup for a disappointment. The music was unimaginative jamming. A mix between a poor man’s jam band (as opposed to the rich man’s jam band) and a mediocre Austin blues collective. I was so bummed! Who knows what kind of weirdness I missed!
A few more unneeded pints of Olympia led to a morning that didn’t need to come as early as it did. I met it regardless, with that early 90s chill attitude and a new pair of sunglasses.More sun, more walking. I came across 114 Pear Street, a nice house in a regular neighborhood just outside downtown. Kurt Cobain’s old house. Nevermind was written here. I laughed. This, this little wood-framed slice of Americana, was the birthplace of teen angst, grunge, punkish rebellion, 90s weirdness, an entire generation’s movement, and a defining backdrop to my youth. I remember being in 8th grade, having to hide the album Incesticide in my closet from my parents. Mom and Dad weren’t too big on Nirvana back in 1994.
I continued to walk, now listening to Nevermind on my headphones. “On a Plain” came on. I thought back to the story about Kurt hating the polished sounds of the album. The multi-tracked vocals. The “oooo ohhh…” vocals of On a Plain echoed through my ears. Kurt was right. The album was very polished. I always just thought it was Kurt being Kurt. Difficult. But he was right. An edge was missing. I’d never listened to it that way before. Magic.The belly was starting to make noises. It was the kind of day where, you walk when you want to walk, you sit when you want to sit. If you get thirsty, grab a beer. Hungry? Eat whatever you want. I was thirsty and hungry, so I had a pint of Olympia to wash down a plate of biscuits and gravy. It was 3:30pm. I was content.Before jumping on the bus back to Seattle, I made a pilgrimage to the old Olympia brewery, just south of town. A nap by the brewery waterfalls gave way to a quick hike along the nature trail. I obviously appreciate a good Olympia as much as everyone else, but everything has it’s time and place. Olympia Beer’s is in Olympia, Washington. That was enough Olympia for the time being.It was late and Seattle was calling. I settled in to my seat on the Greyhound. An exhausted smile on my face. A touch of a sunburn. Happy birthday Chad. A fitting celebration.PS: Some friends were giving me a hard time about the terrible shape the backpack straps cut into my shirt. To prove that I haven't gotten fat, yet am just as ridiculous as I was when I was 16, I humbly submit the following...
PPS: Yes, I'm wearing pants.