Seattle, Week 1

I’ve grown really comfortable with the closet-sized apartment we’re in, I think in much the same way cats and dogs feel secure when caged. With all the stress with the move and the sorting out of the aftermath, I would probably bust out of my skin if I had too much space to move around in. Above is a picture of the building, shot at 9:45 in the evening. Yeah, the sky stays light for a long time. Below is the place during the day.



The plan was to hit the ground and dig up long-term housing. But at some point Tuesday or Wednesday Lia mentioned staying in the building we’re in, with sincerity in her eyes, picking up a one bedroom or something for a while. I loved the idea.

We’re right here on the outskirts of downtown, in a bustling center of trendy food, chic stores and hip people. I’ve become addicted to my barista, and yes he and they are different from each other as well as the quality of their drinks. I nod heads with familiar faces, have made nice with the managers of the property and I love having the biggest REI store in the country right across the street. But no sooner did I grow really comfortable with the idea did Lia about face.

Now the panic is on in her eyes for housing that is up to par, yet cheap, if not free, you know, how everything is in Romania. And like our last adventure house hunting, Lia cycles through excitement and hysteria at our many lack of options. That’s right, “our many lack of options.” There are many rentals available, but they’re hidden. They don’t have For Rent signs up here dotting the lawns like in LA, instead opting for Craigslist, word of mouth and ESP.

About my bike, you know, the one the hotel valet dude drove into both the ceiling of their parking structure and into the top of my car?


I looked it over with the hotel management, and aside from the torn seat and break levers and gear shifters being spun around the handlebars, it seemed to be in great shape. But when I took it to REI for a once over, they told me it was totaled. Sure enough, they showed me where the frame was cracked. DNR – Do Not Ride/Resuscitate!

Crap. I loved that bike – had it since 1992. The hotel managers, Chris and Alex, have been really cool about everything and I knew they’d take care of me, and in kind I did my best to find a pre-owned bike instead of a new one for $600. And I found it. Viola – my new-to-me Trek 4300 Aluminum bike with front shocks and in my size - $250. Lucky all around – it fits me like a glove, is tough as nails and was in my mits within 2 hours of my telling them about it. That's me riding it home below.



The car? That’s gonna cost $2800. I’m still waiting for them to get back to me on that – they will either pay for it cash or refer it to their insurance company. I don’t care either way. The valet who did it is still working there, and I'm glad for that. Imagine how he felt when it happened. Freaks me out to put myself in his shoes. Still, I would have paid anything to have seen the look on his face when the sound of snapping metal and scraping paint bit into his ears. I remember when it happened, Lia and I were so tired we just giggled our way through the whole thing. Stuff is funny when it's not your fault, and someone else is footing the bill.


Many of you know my friend Dave, pictured above with Lia and I the day before we left. Maybe two days before, I don’t remember. Anyhow, while in Italy a few years back, he told me how much he hates cranes, the tall lanky reachers used to build stuff. So Dave, these are for you. The church below is across the street from from the apartment, and I figured if Dave hates cranes, he’s really gotta hate cranes with a church. It's like Diehard, on a bus.



Lia’s not too keen on the new job already. She had issues with it since the whole process started with them, but now she’s really got her panties in a bunch, as surprising as it is that they can bunch any further. Seems they’ve got her embedded with Microsoft, and she runs over there with no notice for reasons that aren’t that clear to meet with people who are even less. That wasn’t part of the deal when she negotiated the job. Lia hates to get lost while driving, yet she puts so much effort into getting lost I just don’t understand. I’ve had to talk her home three times now.

And the whole thing has her so stressed that she’s so worn out she can’t stay awake for long. God bless her. She was so tired last night that she fell asleep in mid sentence. Imagine her with her mouth all hung open, right in the middle of “I want to live in a big hou . . .”.


So tomorrow we’re off looking for a place to live, unless she wakes up wanting to stay here, which won’t bother be, and she can explain it to me while in line for my morning cup of Seattle’s blood.

Moving To Seattle

The concept of moving, as in relocating to another city, was a heavier notion when I was younger. Though I moved faster and more easily then than I do now, the decision to leave LA this time took far less fortitude. In fact the decision made itself.


Lia and I both agreed throughout the moving process that it didn’t seem like it was really happening. Right up to the house being completely empty, nothing seemed different. Even as we drove away, it just seemed like another day. I do remember feeling dumb for not playing guitar with Mike downstairs until the last day, when he picked up one of my guitars and started playing some fantastic music. He's a great guitarist and I could have learned a lot from him.


And still, now that we’re settled in our temporary place in downtown Seattle, we feel this looming threat of having to return to LA, like we’re on vacation and all our problems are waiting for us back in The Shit. Or maybe that if I misbehave, I could be sent back.



The Move

With the move being paid for by Lia’s new company, having to haul boxes and tables and stacks of bricks up and down stairs was never on my mind. Something else was, though, and it didn’t rear its ugly head until I heard one of the movers slam one of my Klipsch speakers on the floor, face first, twice within 15 seconds. Someone else’s sticky little fingers were going to be all over my stuff, and that was something I hadn’t planned on worrying about.


Lia wouldn’t trust Dr. Jarvik himself with a stethoscope, but would trust a Romanian auto mechanic to perform open-heart surgery on her in a gas station bathroom. So when she found a Romanian guy, Marius, with his own moving company operating out of the Valley, he was a shoe in for the job. That’s not to say I didn’t like the guy, he seemed very trustable. But he showed up three hours late, and arrived with two of the skinniest Mexicans I’d ever seen, one of which was sweating cheap tequila. Apparently cheap tequila makes ones hands slippery, and thus makes holding on to heavy speakers all the more difficult.


Aside from my speaker hitting the floor, things went relatively smoothly. As Lia grew anxious about the little things that went awry, Marius told her that with moving, one should expect things to go wrong, and that a smooth move is sort of a dream. I would have been slapped for suggesting such a thing. But coming from another Romanian, it was law. But what he didn’t say, was that problems during a move happen much like dominoes falling, one smacking into the other into the other.


The movers being three hours late and the cleaning crew being a half hour early didn’t pan out. The cleaners – an old school Mexican man and a fat Mexican woman between 25 and 60 – were sloppily smearing dust around the house when Lia realized their work wasn’t cutting it, and she told them in three different levels of attitude, ranging from miffed to pissed.


Well, do the math – old school Mexican man + attitude and scolding from a skinny white chic = trouble.

At some point we noticed the cleaners were gone, and two wet spots on the wood floor, one right in front of the door and about the size of J-Low’s ass, and another in the hallway about the size of Paris Hilton’s. I was busy with the movers bashing a refrigerator down the stairs and I didn’t stop to investigate further.

Lia came to me fifteen minutes later saying she had something to show me. She lead me to the spots on the floor, and pointed to deep wood stains. Just before their hasty retreat, the cleaners, sensing hey weren’t going to make a dime on this sloppy job, and lacking any sort of legal recourse or established business in this country, as well as senior’s bruised pride, had wiped some nasty chemical on the wood.


I tried sanding it that night, but it required serious tools and experience, and even then, how would I paint it to match the rest of the floor? That’s why we didn’t leave for Seattle Thursday morning as planned. I had to find someone to come and professionally fix it. Ironically, the cost to fix the floor was the same as what the cleaning crew had asked for. Is this what robbing Peter to pay Paul means?

My father stopped by Thursday while Lia was out getting her nails done. I hadn’t seen him in a while so that was nice. We ate one last time at CJ’s, a greasy spoon around the corner. We spoke about terrorism, and illegal immigrants, and the future of the country. We didn’t discuss the move.


By the time Lia and I got the car loaded – jam-packed actually, inside and up top, it was 7:00 in the evening. We snapped one last picture with our downstairs neighbors Mike, Paris and Dylan, and hit the road – already exhausted.



The Drive Sucked.

I did my last three years of college in Colorado, and used to make the drive home to LA often, sometimes just for parties or my mother’s cooking. That was 14 hours and toward the end I could do that drive no sweat. Lia and I made the drive to Seattle before, and we did it straight, with Lia shouldered much of it.


But if I’m not rested I can’t handle long drives. Lia, rested or not, has this unnatural ability to stay awake. The irony is that though I can’t keep my eyes open behind the wheel, I can’t sleep in a moving car either. I’ve never had an acid trip as bad as a long car drive when I’m tired. It’s horrible.

I pointed at most every hotel I saw begging for an hour’s real sleep, but Lia insisted on driving straight through. Then, after 19 hours on the road, there were questions about where we were going to stay when we got here. Lia had made arraignments with her company to pick up keys to our apartment. But after a few phone calls, things were up in the air. It turned out we had to stay in a hotel. With two cats in the car, we had to get creative sneaking them in.



http://www.hotelmaxseattle.com

We stayed at a place called Hotel Max. I thought The W Hotel was trendy, but The W didn’t come complete with condoms and a petite-size vibrator under the Bible drawer. The valet guys were cool taking care of the car, which had attached to the roof my golf clubs, a pack full of our personal belongings and my mountain bike. And we didn’t get caught sneaking in the cats, both of which were completely freaked out by the trip.


And, it was Lia’s birthday. As tired as we were, we showered and went downstairs where we were told was the best sushi in the city, a restaurant called Redfin. Of course they were going to tell us it was the best, and we were so tired we would have eaten anything just to go to sleep. Turns out, that with all the sushi Lia and I have had, Redfin was the best sushi we’ve ever come across. Mind blowing.

We slept great, got the keys to the apartment and snuck the cats out. We waited for our car to be brought around by the valet, and waited, and waited, and waited. Lia walked to the corner and looked down the street, then she disappeared. I waited, and waited, and waited.

Remember the bike on top of the car? Yeah, the valet dude drove the car through the short entrance, not the one with the high door, smashing my bike, breaking the rack and driving it into the roof of my ride.



The manager was apologetic, and offered to buy us a round of drinks. He took pictures, I took pictures, and he assured us the hotel would be taking care of it right away. And I think I’ll be having the ginger Manhattan.


Our apartment is small, but Lia is taking to it pretty well. It’s nice, with a window view across the alley to Lia’s office. I’m tired after my first day in the office at my job, and the TV show Age of Love is getting good, so I’m gonna go.



More to come.