Life on the edge...

I strolled on to the plane today (easy SF to Seattle, no more of this trans-pacific bullshit), and I noticed that the woman in front of me had a newborn strapped to her. It looked not unlike a big, pink ham that she was wearing, and I would have been convinced of that if the little guy hadn't been screaming bloody murder as if he were on fire. The mother turned back to look at me as if she could hear me thinking 'christ on a bike, I really hope she can lactate Valium.' She said that she had just gotten off of a flight from Australia (the exact same one that I had poured myself off of just a week before, only sans baby), and was just making her connection to Seattle. She told me that she was 'a little on edge.' She looked it, and other than having a generally malevolent air about her she also had the complexion of a beekeeper's apprentice. I kept my distance. I wish I could sympathize. Alas, lots of my pals have babies or are in the process of making them as I speak. It changes a man, I swear. My friend Blasco has started calling shit 'poop' in emails to me, which is the sure sign of a broken will. My retainer started last week, and the drummer is expecting his wife to have a baby in the next month or so. Baby break will quite possibly become Lucas' partially funded misadventures in Mexico if all goes well. Speaking of being partially funded amidst a misadventure, I got a nice bonus in the mail last week. I fully support the encouragement of pain and suffering with jewelry.



So, it' not a bad spot to spend a few days. I've stayed in this hotel a bunch recently. They are pretty band friendly, meaning they have an enormous threshold for relatively unhinged behavior at all hour of the day or night. They also have a happy hour, for some ungodly reason, from the hours of 11pm-1am. I scored a corner room, which is a good deal larger than most of the others. Plus I can see three Starbucks from my desk.















There is not a thing wrong with a free bottle of wine as well (I'm starting to be a luxury free shit magnet). See where that gets you.















I'm getting into the habit of checking behind poorly made pieces of hotel artwork these days. My acquaintances over at Secret Wall Tattoos are always busy. In fact I recall the creation of a particularly large and rather vulgar mural behind an armoire in this very hotel. Damned if I know which room though...