Well *I* Think That's Romantic

Husband's Coffin Kills Woman on Way to Cemetery

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: November 11, 2008
Filed at 3:34 p.m. ET

SAO PAULO, Brazil (AP) -- Police say a woman has died on the way to a cemetery when a traffic accident hurled her husband's coffin against the back of her neck.

Police said 67-year old Marciana Silva Barcelos was in the front passenger seat of the hearse when the accident occurred Monday in the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul.

Barcelos died instantly.

Her 76-year-old husband Josi Silveira Coimbra died Sunday of a heart attack while dancing at a party.

The driver of hearse and Barcelos' son suffered minor injuries.

http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/world/AP-LT-Brazil-Coffin-Kills-Widow.html

House of the New Rising Sun

Knew this was going to be a historic moment in American history, no matter what the outcome of the election. I had remarked that I was going home to watch the election returns with a bottle of single-malt. Ultimately, I didn't get a chance to stop off and get any scotch, had to make due with my Canadian blend of (economic) choice, Black Velvet. But first, I decided that Election Night was the perfect time to go see Oliver Stone's W.

After a Black Velvet and Red Hook warm up, I went down to the Uptown in Queen Anne. Shortly before I got there, I got a call from my friend Jim, who was up from Renton to watch the results at The Showbox--only to find the place packed (could've predicted that--), so he was looking for something else. He joined me a few minutes into the movie.

As for W.: not bad. Not Stone at his outlandish best, but the movie was entertaining and looked great. Once again, Stone took known actors and had them disappear into characters that are very familiar to us. Val Kilmer became Jim Morrison, Gary Oldman was uncanny as Lee Harvey Oswald, and Paul Sorvino as Kissinger was worth the price of admission. Here, Richard Dreyfuss could get an Oscar nomination as Dick Cheney. Certainly, this isn't the reverential portrait of Bush that the right would enjoy, but the movie doesn't vilify him either. All in all, a good movie that was perfect for Election Night.

After that let out, we went across the street to The Mecca. I had my favorite, the hot turkey sandwich, with a Long Island to make my point. Jim had his phone on during the movie, so when they declared for Obama at 8:15pm (halfway through the movie) he let me know. He was an early Obama backer, so he was happy. We talked politics over a few beers, then he went downtown to try to get into The Showbox, while I headed home to continue the drinking as I watched CNN and Northwest News deliver the numbers.

I was in a good mood all day and into the night. I've never been a big Obama supporter--I was for Hillary right up til the end (and not just because I think she'd be a good president: I've always thought she was hot. Hey! If guys'll vote for McCain because they'd like to see Palin in a bikini, I can have my Hillary-lust). But I knew this was going to be like 1960, or a Democrat's version of 1980. Twenty-eight years later (hey: that's a good movie title...), I honestly feel like it's morning in America. So this is why everyone liked Reagan so much.

If anything, it was over much to quickly: usually they don't declare the candidate til around 1:00am in the morning. Here, they just waited til the polls closed in California, then that was settled. No suspense, but no real show, either. Meanwhile, on the local front, it looks like Christine Gregoire beat back that used car salesman, Dino Rossi (actually, he's a real estate salesman, but you get the idea). He's a sore loser (and I do mean Loser), so this'll no doubt drag out, but I don't think he'll have the grounds to take it to court like he did (unsuccessfully) in 2004. That means that Washington will remain the only state with a chick for a governor and an all-chick delegation to the Senate (Patty Murray and Maria Cantwell). Unfortunate that that's a distinction, but if it's only one state where that's the case, I'm proud that it's Washington.

The Human Zoo

Last night was fucking great. I'm all about the freak element in our culture, and nowhere is that going to be more in evidence than on Hallowe'en. It was Friday, payday, and I wanted the weirdest of the weird, in the weirdest way. And so I front-loaded myself on Black Velvet and a few Red Hooks, donned my black leather jacket, packed my MP3, and headed out to Seattle's own East Village: Capitol Hill.

The bus ride down wasn't too bad, saw a few people in costume. I was Twittering Tom Waits lyrics, wondering what everyone else was up to. When I hit Broadway, the party was in full swing. I myself wasn't in costume, other than my usual Joey Ramone look. But everyone else was, much to my satisfaction. I'm too self-conscious to start snapping pictures of people, though I was tempted when I saw a couple coming down the street, decked out very impressively as McCain and Palin.

First off, get a bite. Stopped in at Pagliacci's for a cheese slice and a Red Hook. Chick at the register was done up as Alice in Wonderland, with a bottle sticking out of a pocket of her sky-blue dress labelled "Drink Me." I seem to remember, from that same chapter, a small cake that said "Eat Me", though that might have been construed as work-inappropriate.

Up Broadway, past the Harvard Exit. Then back down, looking for a place to get a drink. I settled on a place I'd seen, small bistro called Bleu. Saw that there was sidewalk seating available, so I stopped in. Place was...intimate. Meaning, small and crowded. Atmospheric, though, so I could dig it. They didn't have anything on tap, that I could see, but with a glance at the drink section of their menu, I quickly opted for a Manhattan.


Haven't had one in forever. I don't go in for mixed drinks much in general, I'm a beer-and-a-shot kind of guy, but every so often it's nice. Pretty stiff, too. They even gave me the overpour in a side shot glass, so it was like having a Manhattan with a chaser. So I sat out on the sidewalk, sippin' whisky and vermouth with a cherry, watching all the passers-by.

Then I was off, headed down to Pike and Pine, which is something like St. Mark's Place. Wanted to check out The Comet, Seattle's most quintessential dive. Unfortunately, they wanted a five-dollar cover for some bands I never heard of, so I passed. Thought about The Mercury, for the real freakshow, but I figured that was gonna be packed and pricey and I wouldn't be able to get in anyway--even though the DJ there had a Rubik's cube on display, which I knew I could solve (always good to impress the establishment). I was gonna check out Wild Rose when I remembered a place right across from Value Village that I'd been meaning to try. Found it, a place called Purr--and since I like cats, that sounded like just the thing.

When I asked, the guy at the door said there wasn't a cover. "You're good," he said, waving me in. Nice, since I hate being carded, though it's to be expected at clubs these days. Anyway, I needed a bathroom, so I went in and made my way to the back, where I assumed the restrooms were.

Well. I can attest that Purr is the gayest bar I've ever been in--was last night, anyway. I've never had much of an interest in the gay male scene, though I think that lesbians are WAY hot, so I can't write off the queer scene entirely. Wasn't prepared for this though. Well, I wanted weird, so I got a little slice of Seattle Pride on display. I could only wonder what I'd find in the men's bathroom.

Guess I'll never know, as I was alone in there. I was relieved, as I relieved myself. Then out to the bar, and got myself an IPA, found a table near the door. There were a few chicks on hand, and they caught my interest. And I mean real chicks, not the crossover variety, and there were plenty of those on hand for a convenient side-by-side comparison. Which, as inebriate as I was getting, made for a very diverting bit of cultural anthropology.

Felt weird being surrounded by gay men. I can't say that I was perfectly comfortable, but I wasn't uncomfortable, either. I mean, there's nothing wrong with being gay, and I didn't think I'd be making any new acquaintances, so I had nothing to worry about. But it did occur to me that I was someplace that would welcome my company, even if they did know I was straight. If I bumped into someone here or brushed up against them as I moved through the crowd, they wouldn't take it as something hostile. They might take it in all the wrong way nevertheless, but a bar fight wasn't likely as a consequence. And I had to wonder why the doorman waved me right in, when from my seat I could see that he was carding everyone else. Was it that I looked old enough that I was safe, or did I look gay enough to be a regular? Just my luck, I find that I'm sexually attractive after all, only I've been hanging out in all the wrong places. Well, thanks-but-no-thanks, I finished my beer and headed out.

Thought about going up to the Madison Ave Pub, which is also gay, but I go there every so often because they have an NTN hookup, and I used to be a mad NTN player. That, and they have dishes of unshelled peanuts at all the tables. Free gay peanuts and some trivia. No, I decided, I wanted to head back toward downtown, get a drink or two along the way, but I wanted to keep that hour-long bus ride in mind, not get so blitzed that I passed out on the ride home. There was a place I'd tried before, kind of low-key, with a neon sign in the window that read Booze. Sounded good.

Found it a few doors down from Toys in Babeland. Name of the place is actually The Honey Hole, and for a minute I had to wonder if there was any association. Apparently not, since despite its name, the place wasn't gay at all (at least not by the standards set so far in the evening). And, just like I had to wonder that Purr had chicks tending bar, if this was a dyke bar why they'd have two guy bartenders. Well, if I wanted the dyke scene I should have tried my luck at Wild Rose. I didn't, figuring there'd be a cover and I couldn't get in. That, and I have this trepidation that I'll get 86'ed by some dagger bouncer, tossed like a frisbee head-first out the side door into the alley, my hat thrown out stereotypically after me. Now THAT'S a Friday night, actually. But no, not tonight.

The sign said that Long Island Iced Teas were on special for $5. There's another drink I haven't had in a while, so instead of a Fat Tire (best I could see on tap for a bitter, unfortunately) I went for that. Two stiff drinks on top of those beers, I was feelin' mighty fine. Took a picture of the big print they had on the wall of Keith Richards. My kind of place. Also saw some guy who made my night: he was done up as my hero, Hunter S. Thompson, the white hat, tan sunglasses, and cigarette holder, everything. Perfect.

Walked out of there and down the hill. It wasn't raining, the night was clear and chill, the way Hallowe'en ought to be.

As I walked through the Convention Center, I took a photo. Doesn't do it justice, it looks really nice at night, all lit up. That, and I was in a hell of a good mood.

Caught the bus back no problem, got in around midnight. Could've stayed out a little later, but I'd been up since 6:30am, so I didn't have all the energy in the world. Got back to the apartment, got a Red Hook and ate leftovers, falling asleep on the couch watching Comedy Central. Finally dragged my ass to bed around 5:30am. Woke up today feeling great, in a much better mood than I've been in for weeks. Revitalized. But no hangover to show for it, fuck it all. What am I doing wrong?

Well, there's always next year. Or tonight, for that matter.