Things to do on a snowy night in Seattle (when you’ve got the house to yourself with your sweetheart is stranded at work overnight because Seattle has NO clue how to deal with one whole inch of snow):
• Share your cigarettes with the old, weathered guys hanging out on the corner by the 7-11. It’s cold, they’re jonesing, and you’ve got plenty.
• Go see Edie Carey and Holly Figueroa at the Tractor. Enjoy the fact that it isn’t packed for once (because everyone is afraid to drive anywhere since no one here knows how when it’s icy). Have a big pint of cider. Bliss out listening to modern-day sirens, and per usual, remember how much women your age just plain rock. (I mean, seriously, how cool are we?) Enjoy the biggest hug ever with Holly because you’ve finally managed to meet over two years of hit-and-misses.*
• Tiptoe home, because salting the sidewalks is apparently an undiscovered art, and walking uphill on ice is quite the endeavor. Dig how empty the city streets are: hear how every step you take echoes intensely. Listen to how different the big, cold winds sound up here on the coast: more like the UK than in Chicago or Minneapolis.
• Make a warm, roaring fire. Eat tomato soup and grilled-not-cheese in front of it; finish with a cup of hot, mexican cocoa. Pet the pug on your lap. Love bell hooks to death and thank the universe for having her in it.
• Be glad you cranked the heat in your bedroom before you went to bed, since in a 100-year-old house, insulation is very much not the order of the day. Climb under the warm, flannel sheets with your dog AND your cat (who often has to sleep outside the bedroom due to Mr. Price’s allergies and general disdain of all things feline), and sleep in the middle of the bed, monopolizing it completely just because you can.
* One of the many reasons I love the net is that it makes the formation of mutual admiration societies a million times easier than usual. A couple years back, when I was in the midst of the first big writing of the book, I made a journal post thanking some of the musical artists who were getting me through the process, and Holly was one of them. As it turns out, Holly, unbenownst to me, was also a journal reader of mine, and tossed me an email. Very cool when that stuff happens. She’s local, and I very, very much need to take portraits of her, but we’ve had some bad luck until now hooking up, so it was great to finally meet. Her physical energy is like her music: it just comes off of her in these crazy waves of intensity.