"Killi!"

There is a wooded area near my home that I walk in sometimes. This morning I was there, and I realized how silly the place is. two hundred years ago, the people living here lived amongst nature; their civilization existed surrounded by the woods. Now, this lonely patch of trees sits surrounded by human civilization. It is so backwards. 

The crows in this place are out in force today. These are the same crows that live in my backyard, of course, but here in the woods they seem different. They are in their element, and suddenly I feel that I am trespassing on their territory. The crows even look different here; their feathers shin a brilliant dark blue, something about the tree filtered light. They take on some regal aura. Watching these birds, I get the feeling that they have more comfortable pride when they are closer to nature. Around the city, they always seem discontent and angry, but here they get to be birds, rather than just annoying winged rodents.

Dance-off with our pants off

The Sun finally decided to leave it's house at about 4 this afternoon, like a pothead. It rolled off it's couch, wiped it's cheeto-stained fingers on it's hemp sweatshirt, and stumbled outside just long enough to say "watsup?" So today, the part of the Sun was played by Seth Rogen.

I enter the conference room at KEXP to find the mailing party already in progress. I wonder then how often actual conferences are held in this room so named for that purpose. Today we are stuffing envelopes with swag to be sent to those who donated during the pledge drive. Handling t-shirts and tote bags is much less hazardous than folding letters; no paper cuts. 

There are maybe six of us, and a few more trickle in. One of these is a woman named Nikki, whom I have met before. She is an entertaining, somewhat boisterous character given to random bursts of laughter, and writes live music reviews. 

The conversation makes it's way inevitably to live music, and people offer their opinions of some local venues. The recently reopened Crocodile is the target of some disappointed scorn, as are some other joints. "Are there any places in this town that you people do like?" jokes Tim, to my right. The air in this place is indeed jovial. 

This blog seems to have spawned a new verb. Now, when I go to KEXP, I am usually recognized as the Donut Runner. "Hey, get any donuts?" people might say. I responded to a like inquiry today with the word "figuratively". This confused both me and those around me at first, but then I offered, "donut running is just a general term for having little adventures." This makes sense. 

Where's all the food? (oh...)

Last Friday I returned to KEXP for the first time since the pledge drive. My task this time was (officially) to hand out swag to donors who personally came into the station that afternoon, but in the four hours I was there, maybe a dozen people showed up, so I passed the time by stuffing membership letters into many envelopes. 

The swag pick-up was in one of the live performance studios - boxes of two kinds of bags, and incrementally larger shirts, from baby sizes to extra large adult garb, sat arranged upon the floor where many a music legend and local indie kid alike have grooved and jammed. 

One volunteer is already there folding letters. She is a KEXP veteran, from deep in the KCMU days. We sit at a well worn folding table, stuffing envelopes and waiting for donors to trickle in. My swag partner (whose name escapes me at the moment; sorry, swag partner) and I pass the plentiful idle moments extolling KEXP, and she relates anecdotes about the station's past, from when it was operated out of a little mouse hole at the UW to it's various radical changes in format and programming. Relatively new as I am to the station, I feel like Luke Skywalker hearing tales of the Old Republic. 

This day is also the end to KEXP's stint in Austin, Texas as part of SXSW, so many people, including most of the regular DJs, are absent from the studio, basking in a much sunnier place than grey Seattle. As such, the station is comparatively quiet and depopulated juxtaposed with the bulk of my experience during the characteristically beehivy pledge week. Also because of this, I am thrown by the lack of free food sitting around. I then realize that a great deal of that food was spirited here by me, so if I want food when I come here, I'm going to have to bring it myself. Perhaps I will make a pie. 

"I'm high right now."

I watch this interview and continue to wonder, how does Barack Obama stay so level headed? He really is genuinely cool, and it's not a showy, practiced cool like Bill Clinton had, or an I-don't-care-at-all-about-what-is-happening / blissful ignorance kind of thing that George W. Bush wore so steadfastly. This is just the way Obama is.

Then I thought, is he high? There are some brief moments in the interview where he just becomes Barry for a second. That much discussed Special Olympics line? That's pot speech.

Wouldn't it be shocking but also impressive if he could go on television and be articulate while high? What if it came out that Obama has been high this whole time. Maybe he needs it, because otherwise he is awkward and shy. And wouldn't he kind of have to legalize marijuana at that revelation? 

I hear words I never heard in the Bible

After the lackluster protest, 2 friends and I schlep on down to this tiny little place called Cyber-Dogs. It is a vegetarian hot-dog joint that offers Internet, nestled next to the Convention Center. The place is packed with charm and character. The proprietor is a friendly and hilarious Russian lady who personally greets every customer like she's welcoming them into her home. 

As we enter, Edith Piaf warbles on the stereo, and The Wizard of Oz plays on a television. There is an ancient, but operational, tetris machine that also serves as a table. There are photos and posters of people like Tom Waits, John Lennon, and Audrey Hepburn covering the walls. 

One of my friends has come here to get a job. She chats casually with the owner, and it's like they are old friends. I order a hotdog, some kind of creation called a "Greek Goddess". When it arrives, the hotdog is not visible, covered in delicious humus and other toppings. It's really like "Humus with a hint of hotdog". The owner says she has a song to go with each hotdog on the menu. The one she plays for mine is "Hey, Good Lookin'" by Hank Williams. 

At one point, a man enters the shop and tries to interest the owner in selling some kind of all natural gummy candy snacks. She examines them, then my friend notices an ingredient that is derived from horse hooves. A quick conversation about vegetarianism ensues, ending with the salesman saying this: "What's wrong with eating meat? In the Bible, it says its okay to eat meat." My friend and I exchange a look and the man leaves, but not before saying, "Have a blessed day!" This illicits chuckles. 

The hospitality and atmosphere of the place make me feel like Rick Steves, as he will often find some little eatery in a small European village that has the character and humbleness of a family dining room. Cyber-Dogs is a great little establishment with delicious food and warmly friendly staff. 

Just tryin' to keep the customer satisfied

Catch the #41 bus from Northgate to downtown. The weather is bleak and British as usual, sucking the dexterity out of my fingers; I fumble with the fare, and the Limbaugh-looking bus driver frowns and passive-aggressively hands me  a transfer.

The bus is full of your normal salad grab of local humanity; there is a girl with pink hair over here, and some kid who looks like Michael Cera over here with some kind food in a Styrofoam box.

I sit in the middle upon the fulcrum on a bus of this length. It's like some purgatorial place, seeing and hearing the other passengers but not experiencing the ride same as them. 

After a sail down the I-5 river, I ascend from the bus tunnel onto Pine and 3rd. Coming upon 5th and Pike, the first evidence of a protest is a squirrelly man standing by a booth adorned with a sign that reads "LaRoachePAC". I see no one else, so I ask him if he is part of the protest. He says sort of, then tries to give me some literature and get me to join the PAC. I decline and move on.

Down the street is the actual protest. There are maybe 30 people a part of it or loosely attached, most clad in purple and/or yellow.

They've signs that read "WORKERS' VOICE TO STOP CEO EXPLOITS" and so on. Some carry giant 'reality checks'. A lady with a megaphone leads the group in chanting. A man with a large camera runs around, most likely capturing B-roll for some news network. Some communists try to invite me to a meeting.

Spontaneously, the group moves into the parking garage and heads for the elevator; I follow. An officious looking woman finds us and informs us that "This is private property. You need to leave." She is accompanied by two bicycle cops and a scrawny security guard. They insist again that we leave, but we all pack into the elevator and head for the building's lobby. 

I have a notebook and pen out through it all, and as I hastily jot down what is happening around me, I feel a happy, excited pang of journalistic rush. This is quite a feeling and I want more of it.

We are deposited in the lobby, where we again meet resistance. Another security guard shows up and tells us to leave. 

A leader of the protest goes to the front desk, saying we've got an appointment with AIG, and asks to go to the 16th floor. The security continues to deny us, and eventually we voluntarily expel ourselves from the building. The group moves back onto the sidewalk and chants for about 15 more minutes. I rather wanted to storm the castle, but the others don't seem to share this sentiment.

A man is on the megaphone now. After leading the cries for awhile, he says, "We'll be back. We'll be back for AIG!". Perhaps if we show up again in greater numbers, there'll be some castle storming to be had. 

The crowd disperses, and the sidewalk returns to normal. As protests go, especially here in Seattle (the protest capitol of the country, if not the world), this indignant gathering was rather lifeless. It's going to take much more than this to effect change. 

Keep the Customer Satisfied

Tomorrow I am planning to attend one of several dozen protests that are happening all around the U.S. in response to the corporate greed and mismanagement that led us into this economic disaster we currently find ourselves in. The straw that broke the camels back and spurred these protest was the revelation last week that AIG, one of the largest recipients of federal bailout money, planned to, and already had, in some cases, pay millions of dollars in bonuses to their employees, many of these the very people whose money hunger and stupidity got us into this mess in the first place. Now, enough of the public feels like it is time for proverbial torches and pitchforks, hence the aforementioned widespread protests being planned. 

To learn more about these protests and where the nearest one is to you, visit this site. The Huffington Post is calling on citizens who attend these events to write about it and take photos and then share. I am going to the protest at AIG in downtown Seattle. I shall scribe an account and photograph things, and then post both on this site and submit them to HuffPo. 

Here is the location of the AIG office in Seattle.

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More Adventures

Though I am no longer doing donut runs, I will be volunteering at KEXP in the future. Additionally, I continue to have adventures are around Seattle, and I want to write about them and share, so I shall hence forth use this blog to relate these tales.  Though it does not pertain, I shall keep the name Donut Runner. Here's a poster to make it official: 

Days 6 and 7

After a week of sampling the goodness from Top Pot and Might O, I am changed. My former concept of what a donut is supposed to be has been completely demolished. Forget Krispy Kreme. I've lived my life thinking that I know what a donut is, but I had no idea. Mighty O, for example, has organic donuts, which I guess sounds like an electric Humvee. Perhaps I'll put it another way. Before the revelation, I put donuts in a category with cake; that is, they were strictly an indulgence, a thing you eat because you are more impressed with the novelty of eating something that is not at all good for you. It's sort of that Caligula inside of each one of us that will eat things just to feel dirty. Now that I have seen the light, I stack donuts right up there with apple pie; it's dessert, but it doesn't require a special occasion to be enjoyed; eating it is occasion enough. 

My volunteering schedule for the pledge drive is over, and I am kind of sad, but also incredibly enriched. I've made friends, tasted some great food, and been privy to the inner workings of one of Seattle's most beloved institutions. I look forward to volunteering again in the future.

Day 5

At 11 am, after the sun has busted up the fog party, I am at Jimmy John's in downtown. There is a conveniently placed loading zone right in front which I park in. The sandwiches are ready I head back to Dexter and Denny. I am hungry and eat 5 sandwiches. Mistake. 

I have also volunteered to do data entry for 3 hours, which consists of transcribing phone pledge sheets into the computer. Someone is giving massages in a live performance studio. This strikes me as odd and kind of charming; KEXP is just that kind of place. I imagine some kind of technical snafu that accidentally broadcasts the sounds of someone's massage. This kind of craziness would not be to surprising during the mania that is pledge week. 

Being a long time, religious listener of KEXP, I am still a little stars-struck when I see some of the DJ's in the flesh. "Omigod, John in the Morning is totally eating one of the donuts I just brought!" "Wow, Kevin Cole just touched my shoulder as he passed me in the hallway! (giggle)". A tiny kernel of me still feels a bit schoolgirl about it all.

Day 4

By the time I left my house today, a belligerent, dark storm cloud had begun to harass the blue sky. 

On my swing around Greenlake, there is a group of geese marching across the street, and I have to swerve to avoid them. They weren't even in the crosswalk. The lead goose shoots me an indignant look as I zoom past. Hey, use the crosswalk next time, or better yet, just fly across the street; you're a bird! 

Just after 4 I am at Mighty O. The girl behind the counter recognizes me and says, "I'll see if they're done with it", meaning the donation of 2 dozen donuts. She goes into the back, then returns. "One of these days," she says. It's not quite ready. The sun is struggling to maintain a happy face as the big, angry cloud punches it in shoulder. The donuts are ready, and she says, "We ran out of lemon ones." That is perfectly okay. It's kind of like saying "For your sixteenth birthday, we got you a Lexus, but it's not blue." 

Top Pot is ready and I'm back at KEXP, a building that is now painted in just the faintest fresh coat of familiarity. I grab some pizza and a donut, but there's really no place to idly eat, save the front lobby. 

Last task of the day is to pick up dinner. The donation is coming from this place in downtown called Wild Ginger, which I have never been to; all I have is the intersection. It is getting dark and there is much traffic; many cars are executing the daily dusk ballet, slipping briskly out of subterranean parking garages. I circle the block several times looking for Wild Ginger, not finding it. Finally I park and search for the place on foot. Then it starts raining. I'm staring at the place where it should be, but I don't see it. I'm walking by a window when I look in and see a fancy restaurant. I look above me and there is a tiny, unilluminated sign that says 'Wild Ginger'. Very easy to miss. They have a giant box of dinner waiting and I put it in the van. 

Back at KEXP I grab some if the food I've just delivered. It is Chinese, sort of - it's spring rolls and rice and noodles - but it isn't quite right. It's not bad, it just tastes kind of antiseptic, like it was concocted by robots, without any human involvement. It lacks that human touch. 

Day 3

Today was overcast, as usual. My volunteer plate was full with a lunch run, phone duty, and finally donut delivery. 

Close to 11 o' clock I find my way down to Belltown to pick up a multitude of tiny sandwiches and fancy brownies from a place called Macrina. I park Galactica in a public lot that has the personality of an inner city basketball court, all crumbling and tattooed in urban art, grumbling of better days. The food donation is several trays and a couple trips across the street. Macrina, a little bakery, is packed, but when I comment on it they inform me that its actually slow compared to their normal patronage. The van is loaded up with lunch and I'm back up north to KEXP. 

I arrive at the studio and lay the eats out on the designated table in the hallway. There is a sheet of plastic on the floor running the length of the hall, which makes sense; working and volunteering at KEXP can cause one to eat quite voraciously and without much regard for whether all of the food gets into one's mouth. 

Grabbing a sandwich and a donut, I sit in the front lobby, awaiting phone-related instructions.I hear that the website for making online pledges has been down today, but listeners are making up for it by phone. Some more phone volunteers trickle in, and soon Kelly explains to us how to take pledges. 

We start our shift just as the website is deciding to work again, so things slow way down on the phones. Things are not completely lifeless, however, and I pick up the first call. We have these sheets in front of us which make things very easy, especially for a telephonephobic like me. I take the name, pledge amount, and other appropriate deets. We are in the conference room, which is definitely the largest space in the building. There is a large, flat-screen tv at one end with a webcam view of the DJ of the hour, Stevie Zoom, in action. A corresponding camera sits atop the television bringing our image into the DJ booth. 

The next three hours pass with sparse phone activity; most people will pledge electronically if they can. We pass the time with conversation, eating of food, and spontaneous bursts of dancing. 

This blog is getting noticed. Today a number of people said to me "Hey, you're the donut guy!" It's gratifying to have one's work recognized. 

It began raining around 2, which I'm told leads to more pledges, and indeed this is the case. I take one last pledge before 3, then hop off to get donuts, drop them off, and then home... nap.