Everfree Northwest 2022, Seattle & Inbound: but I don't know what to do with those tossed salads and scrambled eggs · 8:09pm Oct 2nd, 2022
Monday, August 29th through Tuesday, August 30th
The home covid test has expired.
Somehow, this has to be my fault. After all, I'm not taking it at home.
It's way-too-early o'clock, because my body still doesn't know what West Coast time is. In fact, I've pretty much gone off the internal mainspring entirely: a combination of displacement, assorted sources of stress, not having eaten, and yesterday's hike up that @$#% ultra-hill couldn't have helped. I can't leave the hotel room for a few hours yet. But if I'm going to be up, then there's one thing I have to do, and that's... finding out if I can leave the hotel room.
Because there's a worst-case scenario. Testing positive for covid while three thousand miles from home. And if that happens, I'll have to isolate for at least five days. Which means paying for this hotel room over that same extra span, as I won't be able to transfer into any other. Also, I'll need to get all of my food delivered. I would expect an extra delivery charge for coming up that hill.
I have flight insurance, and it specifically kicks in if I can't board due to a covid diagnosis. I won't need to pay for a makeup trip home. But the hotel and basic calories -- that bill will come due immediately, and at a guess --
-- $1100?
That's the worst-case. If I test positive right now, I'll have to blog immediately. Ring the emergency bell for myself, because I am not ready to cover that degree of additional expense. I'll have to hope that people are willing to help, and there will be enough Ko-Fi tip donations to pay for it all. Because even if it's a mild case (and a hospital bill would finish me), I need to shelter somewhere. I really don't want this musty room to be it.
So I'm in the chat server, providing a horrible excuse for content. Step-by-step on the covid test. And this is the part where I checked the expiration date on a sealed box of government-issued tests, and it all ran out the clock on August 25th.
...okay. Let's research. Things don't always expire on the exact day of the warning. ("GIVE ME THAT BAG, YOU FOOL!") What's the window?
Turns out that the tests haven't been around long enough to really know how long they're good for, and the government played it safe by undercutting the date. Current opinion is that they're still usable for up to three months beyond what's listed -- as long as the silica gel has played its part and moisture didn't wreck everything.
Proceeding.
'Place the sample tube in the vertical hold platform.' Oh, good. It's missing a part. But at least it's a non-essential one.
Tickling brain...
Twenty minutes. Exactly twenty minutes to wait. Type on the server. Pace the hotel room. Burning through the last of the jerky.
Come on.
Not now. Just... not now.
There's this insult going around, when people see someone still wearing a mask. 'You've been traumatized!' Actually, I just give more of a crap about the person who yelled than they do about me. Which is probably a mistake.
(I have a response ready, too. It works best when delivered close-up. 'Actually, I'm currently positive with the Omega variant. But if you really want me to take this off...')
Traumatized? I'm not sure. But this thing killed my mother. Even if I live through a case, a hospital bill will finish me. At the absolute minimum, I feel I'm allowed to be nervous.
...twenty minutes...
...one line displayed in the results area.
Covid-positive would be two.
I launch an @everyone in the chat server. The emergency bell will not be rung today. I can still get sick during the flight back, but at least I'd be able to isolate in my own apartment. I'm clear for now.
Time to face Seattle itself.
I've already booked one stop, and did so well in advance. I'm going to MoPop.
Is this becoming a tradition? I go to an MLP convention, and there's a museum involved at some point? Tour the ship in the harbor at Baltimore. Canton on the way back from TrotCon. And now, we've got the Museum Of Pop Culture. I have to be there when they open, and that's at ten a.m. because that's the time slot I booked online. (Turns out I saved by doing so. $30 admission in advance, or $31.75 at the door.) But it's something I want to see, and I don't know if I'll ever be back here again.
It's located in what's apparently called -- City Center? A little park where the tourist traps gather. Oh, and also the hockey team. This is where the Kraken play, and they do so at Climate Pledge Arena because subtlety is dead. (I imagine at least one person per game screams something about the energy being burned to maintain the ice.) And this is also where you find the Needle.
Sun's up.
Still have to wait. I want to check out in person, because I need to ask if there's a printer available. There is nothing approaching a 'business center' at this hotel and I've got to get boarding passes again. So standing by until the front desk --
-- okay, there we go. Suitcase is packed, and it is dense. I had to make sure my convention purchases fit in there, because hauling luggage around all day is going to be bad enough without carrying shopping bags too. Just barely managed to fit it all.
...do I stop and look for a post office? Mail the merch home? Am I over the weight limit on the bag now? What happens if I am?
Look it up. Penalty fee of -- $30, and I'd have to check the bag.
Okay. It'll probably cost me at least that much in postage, mailing coast to coast. I'll keep everything with me.
(I'm going to regret this. Really, really soon.)
To the checkout desk.
Hi. Here's my debit card. By the way, since I see you printing out my receipt, can you --
-- and your computer doesn't allow you to access email accounts.
Anyone's email account.
...o-kay.
The desk clerk recommends using a UPS store for the printouts, and that's actually a great idea. Overpriced, but I should be able to find a few around. Time to get going, though. It's a bit after 7 a.m, and I'd like to get breakfast because I didn't have any dinner and the jerky is now gone.
Siri? Which bus stop, and when do I have to be there?
...okay. Simple enough. It's two buses. The first one is close to where I got off yesterday, but at least I'm going down the hill. Towards where all the food is. And then I transfer to...
...why are there only two times listed for the second bus?
Because it's an early-morning line. And there are only two runs left for the day. After that, find another way into the city.
Oh. Really. We're doing this again. And by the time I find food -- if I'm slowed down at all...
...can't risk it. I'll eat in the city.
Down the hill. It's much easier this way, although the luggage keeps pushing at me from behind. I reach the bus stop with four minutes to spare and the last coin rolls ready to go, the driver is very nice about telling me where to transfer, and I wind up outside someone's house for thirteen minutes because that's the transfer point. Local mass transit has been a little bit weird.
Second bus.
Here we go.
Moving onto the highway.
Away from the suburbs.
Going up...
Lumen Field. T-Mobile Park. (I probably still can't get four bars.) The bus is climbing the slope into the heart of Seattle, and I'm momentarily surprised by the angle. The other shock is seeing trolleys. Actual trolleys, with power channeled down to them via hook line. Trolleys, buses, and light rail. All we need is personal rent-a-scooters and a pedal screw, and we are there. The rent-a-scooters turn out to be available.
I'm following Siri's assigned trail again. Mass transit directions to MoPop. And it's tall buildings on a beautiful sunny morning with lots of people on the streets, it's a big city and I have a metropolis flowing through my blood. Born New Yorker. (No, really. The birth certificate says Brooklyn.) I am not intimidated by cities. I'm becoming more comfortable with every ascending block.
Doing a lot of ascending here...
...okay. Step off. I am now looking for the train and, more importantly, something to eat. I should have enough time to find a place. It's sunny, it's pleasantly warm, and I can see a McDonald's on the map. Close and quick. So I'm off, pulling the luggage behind me again, and I am so comfortable with being in this city that there's a moment when I forget it marks me as a possible outsider and that is when everyone starts talking to me.
I go up the street towards the McDonald's, which is only serving people through a single window that looks out into the street. This creates an outside line. The homeless population is camped on all sides of it. And as soon as they see me approaching, they go right for the heartstrings, the budget, and everything else which could apply. I have a mask on, and the scent of alcohol and desperation still get through. It's overwhelming. I --
-- as soon as I take anything out, anything, the one coming in on the right might just swoop and --
...crap.
...turn away from the McDonald's. (No one curses at me. That may be more of a Manhattan thing.) Just... find the rail.
Okay. There's the entrance. Descend deep into the city. And here's the ticket kiosk, and -- none of the stops say City Center.
Siri?
Use the rail, she says.
But it doesn't go there. Twist in the code? What am I supposed to --
-- good: security over there. Just go up. Hi. I'm trying --
-- oh.
There's a monorail.
Which staircase down is that?
...
...all the way up to street level.
Via staircase.
Now we're going a few levels above the street, because the monorail runs between buildings and past apartments and offices. It's an overhead system, and it makes exactly two stops. Leaves from a mini-mall, arrives at City Center, repeat as necessary. This is the Seattle Monorail, and I vow to potentially murder anyone who links a Simpsons musical number. There is a monorail and the elevator which leads to it is out, so I'm going up the staircase. Lots of flights. While towing the luggage.
You are not making a good impression, Seattle. Just sayin'.
Monorail station, just to the side of a department store. I have to break out the debit card for a one-way ticket. (I'm not sure where I'm going after the museum: one-way is enough. There's no roundtrip discount anyway.) A video banner displays an advertisement for the local Department Of Corrections, and did you know that prison work is an outdoor job watching over happy people who smile all the time because this is the best place they could ever be?
...get in. One of my tokens rides with me. Picture. Watch Seattle go by from minor elevation, I can see the city passing and here comes the Needle and we're heading directly for this weird-looking structure and then the monorail goes through MoPop.
There's a channel carved out of the upper levels for it.
Still something of a shock.
A robot greets me as I step off the monorail. Because Seattle.
Welcome to tourist trap City Center. At this hour, most of the stands selling souvenirs are closed. But the Armory, which hosts the eateries, is -- partially open. Namely, there's a Starbucks serving. Everything else opens later. And there's wifi, and I can sit down for a few minutes. I have to eat, and a quick scouting shows City Center is surrounded by A Lot Of Nothing. Nowhere else to go.
...well, it's Seattle. Realistically, I couldn't escape Starbucks forever.
One pastry. One drink. Pineapple Passionfruit, and I am naming it exactly because it is among the worst things I have ever forced myself to keep drinking.
Check in on the chat server. Check in on apps. The commercials know where I am. I get an ad for an erotic art festival. Can't quite stay a few extra days to catch that one.
Back outside. Walk around the area. I'm at the base of the Needle, and a quick look at the posted prices tell me that's all I'm ever going to see. They want $39 to ride an elevator to a high place and then go back down. I paid to go into a high place already. That's close to midnight, and it's mobile. Also, I've done the Empire State Building. The Needle can live without me.
The Artist's Playgrond is right next to MoPop. Twenty happy minutes of just watching kids on the most twisted slides ever.
I find a bench outside the museum. A shirtless man goes past me. There's a rubber ball hanging in front of his face, suspended off the hat's brim. He keeps punching the ball. Shortly after that, someone else strolls by, looks at me, and screams "CHECKMATE!" A normal day in the city.
Ten a.m. approaches. A line is starting to form. Find a spot, go inside, ask the front desk if they'll hold my luggage so I won't make a racket in there. Not an issue. (One thing about Seattle: everyone in a position of authority was extremely courteous.)
Welcome to MoPop.
Where they have everything related to pop culture.
And they're just not going to show you all that much of it.
There are people who argue that less is more. Show only a little, and people will appreciate what they've got. MoPop is a lesson, and the scroll bound for the internal Princess says 'more = more'. Because I booked the first arrival window. The website says that the museum (three floors, not that much overall square footage) can take up to five hours to get through, and I'm out of there in about ninety minutes after seeing everything.
Everything there was to see. Because MoPop has a lot. They've found pieces of modern culture from all over, and they keep it safe.
They have so much, and they just don't feel like showing any of it to you.
The first floor... that's the Science Fiction Hall Of Fame. I was expecting bronze busts. I get pictures and a few exhibits in a room which takes up less space than my apartment. And most people are only recognized via a small circular portrait on one wall. There's barely anything else on display, especially when compared to the sheer count of names.
But what there is...
I get into the chat server again, because I just found the Jack Vance display. One of his manuscripts is here. Handwritten notes. GGA is a tremendous Vance fan, and... I wish he was here right now. Sharing this with me.
One display freezes me for several seconds.
Indy's hat.
That's...
...it's an item from a prop shop --
-- no. It isn't. That hat belonged to Indiana Jones, because the kid in me insists on it. That hat has absorbed magic. Shut up.
And this is a typewriter. It belonged to Isaac Asimov, and it finally stopped steaming. He had writer's block once. Worst ten minutes of his life.
I move around. And there's a horror exhibit, fantasy (and that's the Cowardly Lion, that is the costume from the Oz shoot), and here we have a proton pack and ghost trap, and this is a history of hip-hop exhibit, this room is hosting indie video games and women of punk get a case or two, there's a giant empty space with a huge video wall showing concert footage and what hits me about it is that it's so empty.
Most of a floor is dedicated to Pearl Jam. Afrofuturism costume design has a feature display. Want to talk about Hendrix? Guitar fragments. Authenticated. He liked to smash them.
But comics are represented by a single issue. As in 'one'. For all comics. And there's a D&D case. The original box set, and that's all. Collectible card games? Look at these nine cards. For just about everything in the museum, there could be more. Tiny samples, and... it's not enough. A teaser. A taste. Come back later and maybe we'll rotate a few things. Except I can't.
...mostly teasers. The only way Pearl Jam could have a more comprehensive hall is if they had the band under glass.
Also, Nirvana. Because of course. The graveyard of bands who died because Nirvana killed their career is missing.
I enjoy so much of what I see. I get pictures. But there could be so much more. The room exists. The collection certainly does. And this is just... a taste.
Why?
Season subscriptions, of course. Come back any time you can fly 6000 miles.
Ninety minutes. A peek into the gift shop, where a beautifully-articulated Coraline figure fails to gain $50 from me. And then I'm out.
I saw all there was to see.
So where do I go now?
How about the waterfront? The marketplace? Pike's Place? I'd love to get a good look at the Sound, and the bus stops are right there. Siri? Which one am I taking?
...monorail.
Again.
...the mall is now open. I can take an escalator down.
Head towards the water. Tow the suitcase. And -- oh dear gawds, is that a downslope. Staircases take over again. Ramps bring you down to the water, and the Pike's Place market is crowded corridors of little shops and antiques and craft vendors who rent space by the table and now I'm thinking about my mother again. I have to keep moving. Getting hungry and thirsty. Close to lunchtime and to continue the theme of the trip, I still haven't really eaten. I am hunting for salmon and asking for advice from the Seattle natives on the chat server. A place called Ivar's is being recommended. Fish and chips, near the Aquarium. But there will be salmon.
And then I find nirvana.
The real thing.
We all have our weaknesses. One of mine is having gourmet taste buds and a dollar menu budget. Especially for sodas.
I looked around a corner near the Pike's Place market, and heaven opened the gates.
Heaven is a dedicated open-air ginger beer bar.
...that's not fair. Ginger beer... I chase that through brands and mixes, and nothing's ever good enough. (Stewarts had a legendary blend. It burned the throat as it went down. Then they stopped making it.) I'm three thousand miles from home and you're telling me there's a bar which sells nothing but flavored non-alcoholic blends?
...clearly it must suck.
Let's go in. How much for the largest glass? Twenty ounces for $7.15, huh? Fine. I've been rolling over food budget for days. I'll take your blood orange. Why? Because it's my favorite soda flavoring and I can't get anything good there either.
Thank you.
One sip.
...
...I'm going to move here.
...okay. I can't afford that. I know I'm hoping to move if the lawsuit somehow resolves in my mother's favor and the settlement/award allows it, but the goal is to live somewhere less expensive. Seattle is a price hike on everything. There is no human way I can --
-- besides, I can't just walk down to the bar three times a day at $7.15 per glass.
I can't.
I'd be bankrupt within two weeks.
But what a way to go --
Listen closely, people.
They ship. It's expensive as @$#%, but they ship. I am dearly hoping to find a way of penny-pinching which gets me one four-pack of 32oz bottles at Christmas. A once-a-year treat, and I probably won't make that goal. I doubt I'll even get close.
But if you live close enough to go, or want to take the chance...
That is the best I've ever found. Anywhere.
Best $7.15 I spent on the entire trip.
Bliss.
If you're in range? Go.
The Sound is so beautiful.
The wind is cool. The waters ripple. I can see all of the ships sailing about. There are tours, and I could just sit on a boat and allow myself to be guided across the waves. It's something I want to do, and I hold onto that dream right up until I see the boats coming in and going out.
It's not the cost. I have enough. It's the fact that the boats are close-quarters packed. And this whole day...
...I've been just about the only person wearing a mask.
On the boats? 'Only' would kick in immediately.
*sigh*
...maybe a little worried.
I have to descend a lot of outdoor stairs in order to reach the waterfront. Bit of a challenge, with luggage. Pass the Aquarium, because I've seen aquariums before, thank you. Hike down to Ivar's, and... nice long line. That's a good sign, because it shows a dedicated audience for a fish-and-chips paper boat eatery. There's a little shielded area for sitting down, and there's a homeless man with a shopping cart just outside it. His cardboard sign is asking for donations to be put towards marijuana.
Points for honesty.
Salmon boat, please.
It's pretty good. I've had better for fish and chips overall, because I was in London when I was six and when it comes to taste, I remember. But I've never had salmon this way.
Sit by the water. Think.
I still need the boarding passes. To print them out.
Siri? Where's the nearest public library?
And that's the next mistake. Because I have to walk there.
Welcome to Seattle, me. Welcome to its single most distinguishing feature.
Not the water. Not the volcano off in the distance. Not the air or the greenery.
The sidewalks.
It starts as a slow slant.
The slope increases.
Gravity starts to exert.
I'm towing luggage. One arm is behind me.
One shoulder socket feels like it's going to tear loose.
The slope increases.
...is this Seattle or Scranton?
I'm on Madison Street. Moving from 1st to 4th, because I need the library. And the slope just keeps increasing. When I eventually reach the library, I will enter on the first floor and leave from the third -- on the same block. This is the single worst public sidewalk angle I've ever seen. Seattle is on a hill. Lots of hills. In fact, Seattle is partially on Seattle, because there was a fire once and part of the new city were built atop the old. (You can tour the Underground -- but the reviews say it might not be all that fun, and I'm hauling luggage.) It increased the slope. And my legs hurt, my feet are aching, the luggage is getting heavier by the step and the slope is still increasing.
There can't be any overweight people in this city. Not unless they're getting around by palanquin.
Up and up and oh dear gawds, what do you think I am? An ibex? Blitzschritt would laugh at this slope, and it is currently laughing at me. This angle...
...library.
It's huge. It is the block. And I go in, I ride up the elevator to the public computer area with three police officers who ask me where I'm from because I have a suitcase with me and I just look that frazzled. I explain the situation. They understand completely.
...computer area. Metal floor. The luggage wheels are making a racket. Head for the help desk.
Hi. This is my situation. So I am way out of town. I'm perfectly happy to pay for printing. But I'm not exactly local. So if there's a guest pass available --
-- oh, thank you.
I find a computer near the help desk, because I may have to ask for aid if the system is weird. The person who was behind me steps up to ask their question.
They have discovered absolute proof of aliens having landed at Roswell and need to print it out.
They just lack the funds to do so.
...no, they are much smarter than the person at the help desk. Can't possibly explain how this works to them, even when their skin hue is suitably dark. Wouldn't even talk to a lighter person. But the printout will say all. So just set them up with a credit line and All Shall Be Revealed.
...I am a magnet today.
I get the boarding passes printed out. Leave. The U.S. Court Of Appeals is just across the street. I would like to appeal for a more normal walk.
Let's look at the city map. What's around to see? Oooh, this looks pretty. Waterfall Garden Park. One of the city's little secrets. A quiet spot with an isolated garden, and an artificial waterfall streaming down. Also, it's the original founding site for UPS. And it's downhill from here.
Siri?
I start walking again.
Someone stops me. I'm asked for directions. Because I'm not a native, but in any city, I move like one. Also, it's a thing.
...sorry. I'm a stranger here myself. But I do have a map on the tablet's screen, so...
Down we go. I overshoot a bit, because Siri is becoming confused by some of the smaller streets. Graffiti starts to show up. A burnout on one side. Initially, I hit the wrong park, and more homeless people stare at the luggage as I pass.
...sorry. I'm so...
...if it helps, I'm one bad month away from joining you.
I've thought about that. Best Cities To Be Homeless In. Seattle was not on the list.
Waterfall Garden Park.
There are small seats and tables. Both are sticky to the touch.
Someone's turned off the waterfall.
I just sit there for a while. Applying hand sanitizer.
I have to go back up the hill now. All the hills.
People are making suggestions for things to see on the chat server. But I never got my body onto west coast time. My plane doesn't leave until close to midnight, and I have to be awake for all of the wait. I'm already tired. The hikes aren't helping. Neither are the hills.
...y'know what? I have to go back up again. No choice. So as long as that's mandatory...
It takes about an hour of touring streets and shops, and I get to find the Seattle Pinball Museum. They do not have the greatest machine of all time, which is the Addams Family table and shut up. But they do have Earthshaker.
Eventually, I get back to Rachel's.
Cherry ginger beer, please.
So now we're up to the best $14.30 I've spent.
In time, I get back to the light rail. Slowly make my way out of the city, stop by stop. I pause at Rainer Beach for a good long while, because there's something in me which loves a shore town. Someone else asks me for directions.
Walk around the little places. Take in the sights, the scents, the feel of the place. Because I may never get back, and...
...we'll talk about that. There's going to be another blog following this one. It's about next year. The possibility, or the futility. And there's also going to be a survey. When it comes to next year... I'm going to let y'all decide what happens. It's very much about you, after all. None of this happens without you, so... let's open up the vote.
But in a distant now, I eventually reach the airport. Back at SeaTac, via the light rail. No playing around with Last Bus Out, especially when I need to be there at least two hours before flight time anyway.
Go through security. I have my luggage weighed. It's under the mandatory check line, and only felt like it was six hundred pounds. There's a bit of a fumble as I try to make sure all backup batteries are with the tablet. Inspection is passed.
...and I still can't get food. Because none of the restaurants here take cash.
...that salmon is going to be doing Work.
I wind up playing multiple fun games. One of them is called Find The Seat With The Working Outlet, and I swear they're underpowered because it takes a hour to get back ten percent. Another is Dodge, Dodge! This is both the maskless and the few people I see with MLP merch. Shirts, mostly. I'm not clear just yet.
Wait it out.
Nearly midnight.
Plane is boarding.
Plane has stopped boarding.
...a woman fainted in the entrance tunnel.
They bring her out in a wheelchair. She's disoriented, but responding.
Get on the plane. Find my seat. We take off, and there's the Needle, all lit up in midnight glory. It's more fun to see it this way.
I fall asleep.
The return stop in Chicago is distinguished by an inability to find breakfast. I wind up with a single soda and, in the worst decision of the trip, I risk the cupcake vending machine. The product has the texture of Nickelodeon goo, and the machine honors my $6.99 purchase (FOR ONE CUPCAKE) through playing a jingle. The cupcake is semi-solid taste bud death and it's the jingle which makes me hate that company forever.
(I offered up a challenge after I got back. I found the jingle. I linked it in the server and asked people to tell me how far they got. The median was under ten seconds.)
SUFFER WITH ME.
There's a Brussels Griffon waiting at the gate. Staring at me. Because of course this ends with a griffon.
The plane is at overflow. We're all offered free baggage check, and I take it because I don't have to worry so much about waiting on the home end. Board on time. Flying home.
Less clouds. Many roads. Lots of farmland.
Familiar sights.
Coming down.
Coming down fast.
...isn't this a little too fast?
I see the runway, but we are dropping and --
-- the plane... bounces.
It is not a good landing. It's one of the worst landings I've ever walked away from. The plane touches down just past the start of the runway, and it hits hard enough to get jolted back into the air again. Try to imagine what this does to everyone inside the plane. There's a few shouts of shock, more of pain, and when we finally slow to a roll, the pilot gets on the intercom and personally apologizes. We're also told to be careful when opening the luggage bins, because our stuff may have shifted. Strike that. Has shifted, along with several internal organs. But those will probably go back. Eventually.
The luggage carousel I need is one over from the oval I was told to use. The bus is so crowded that the viruses are suffocating for lack of space. And then it's Penn Station, which has taken out all seating from every area because gawds forbid anyone rest while waiting for a train.
It's 92F when I get off the last train. It's a long walk home, and I was not expecting to make it in 92F after several days of perfect Seattle weather.
Uphill to get back. Always. The slope doesn't look so bad now.
Third-floor walkup.
...key still works.
The air conditioner has been off for several days, and opening the door lets the heat punch me in the face.
Home.
It was a long trip.
I am glad I went. (I know some of you have doubts.) I'm not sure what to do about next year, but -- that's what the survey is for. And now, let's reach the mandatory part of this voyage.
Boring Vacation Pictures.
I don't want to paste too much here. But I did bring tokens with me. Things which, in all the world, only I own. Proof Of Presence. So... here's part of an exhibit at MoPop.
Look a little more closely.
As if Harem was the first person to ever sleep through Pearl Jam.
My program, badge, and the official tote bag from the convention shop.
Monorail ticket, flyer, and the Daniel's Broiler takeaway menu from the Hyatt.
Just about the sum total of my merchandise purchases. There were two other items, but I got them from the leftover merch budget after I got home. One of them was the Daring Do book set. The other... will be discussed in the survey blog, because it just got complicated.
(So yes, Mono and I were within a few feet. No proximity-produced explosions went off.)
Look closely...
From the inside of the writer's room at the Hyatt.
Horrible view of the Sound.
And lastly, at least for now...
Monorail Robot.
I'm going to work on the survey now, and then get the next blog up. Once it's ready, I'll add a link here.
ETA: link to next blog.
Link to Google survey.
Please prepare all the vote ways in which you wish to tell me I'm an idiot.
Hey, Batman listens to Nirvana, so.
GREEEEEED
While at University in Manchester in the 80s, there was an aincient pub down the backs somewhere that at teh far end of the bar, had removed the use of space for 4 seats to install this singular example. Given I cant drink alcohol, I spent the money on that machine. Faster than I couldve drinking.
Ok, How did Pinkie Pie get her signature on that tablecoth?
It's interesting that some people would try to use that line as an insult.
According To The Internet
There were approximately 500,000,000 cases of the Spanish Flue. At the time, that was about 1/3 the population of the world.
Covid 19 has had about 623,500,000 cases worldwide. Given the increase in population, we've got about 2,000,000,000 cases to go and about 2 years to get there.
This doesn't even count Bubonic Plague.
WW2 is the only war in history that killed more people than died from disease.
Putin still has a shot though.
Glad to hear you did have some fun. Thanks for the overview.
5689961
He's well-known for hating punk.
5689994
He may have a sense of humor, but we must allow Batman his poor taste in music...
He is, after all, The Man™️. Like punk? A Batman who likes punk is a Bruce Wayne who reforms Gotham.
I've never had it, but I've heard I should