A Little Piece Of Heaven With A Hole In The Middle

I love bagels. I loooooove bagels. They serve as the lifeblood to millions up and down the eastern seaboard. But why, oh why, can't I find a good bagel in the Northwest?

Top reasons that Northwesterners who don't love bagels, should love bagels:

1. Made well, they're delicious. Elitist Foodies be damned. (Apologies to readers that might be restaurant critics.)

2. Bagels fit nicely in one hand, and possibly more importantly, travel well. One can be consumed easily on a crowded morning bus ride with hot cup of Starbucks riding shotgun in your other hand. The ultimate grab-and-go food.

3a. You can slice it and put on it pretty much anything you can put on a sandwich made from an overpriced boulangerie. Save some money in these hard economic times. And don't forget to lightly toast the two sides first.

3b. A favorite of east coasters (including myself, and especially those of Jewish descent (me) -- I'm not sure how this came to be, and will require some history/culture research if I want to know) is cream cheese and smoked salmon, usually known as nova or lox. Alaskan salmon (best in the world, I'm convinced) isn't exactly hard to come by in the Northwest, so this should be a no-brainer.

3c. Variety is endless. Sesame, Poppy, Cinnamon Raisin, French Toast, Pomegranate, Blueberry Muffin (what?!), and whatever else you can think of to put in the dough, someone's probably done it, somewhere. And of course, the Everything bagel. (Well, not really everything.)

4. There's a neat little hole in the middle. How many other things you eat can you say that about? So you like those fresh donuts from Pike Place, hmm? (Bagels and donuts are closely related: the dough recipe is slightly different, and bagels are boiled while donuts are fried - see next point.)

5. Bagels - good for you. Not the leanest food around, but covers enough bases (if you put the right stuff on it) to provide a good meal any time of day, and certainly not unhealthy.

So, all this said, where can a east coaster in bagel withdrawl find himself a decent bite to eat? The only place I know so far is near Pike Place market in Seattle, on 1st Ave., I think. This lack of satisfaction feeds an occasional desire to take my eventually-minted business degree and open a bagel shop of my own. I will do this with the simple mission to spread the word of perhaps the greatest food ever invented.

(Okay, so ice cream is pretty close, cut me a break?)

The Act of Being a Fan

(Warning! Sports-related post ahead. Sonics-Fans-In-Mourning read on.)

So I got my real induction into British culture on Tuesday night - my first football (otherwise known as soccer in the US) match. I was offered a ticket to the Arsenal vs. Porto FC match in Champions League group play. (Explanation: Porto FC is a Portuguese team, and this match was being played as part of the tournament that comprises the best teams from the individual .) Arsenal plays at shiny new Emirates Stadium in Northeast London, and the place is truly massive, say, NFL stadium huge. 60,000 showed up to watch Arsenal dispatch the defending Portuguese league champs by a score of 4-0. And it was great.

We had seats that were way, way up near the top of the stadium. At any American sports venue, you'll need binoculars to even see what's happening at that height. But due to the shape of a soccer field (about as long as an NFL field including the end zones, but much wider - NFL: 120x53yds, Emirates: 114x74yds) and an intelligently constructed stadium, you can see everything, from anywhere.

What really shocked me was the atmosphere as the game went on. Soccer is played over two continuous 45-minute halves, with discretionary time added by the referees at the end of each one. The clock, once started, does not stop at all until it runs out. This completely constant action is completely absent from American sports, which all stop and start with regular frequency. Aside from the occasional rousing chant or insulting (and usually a bit salty) song aimed at the other team, and cheering in reaction to play on the field, the place is otherwise comparitively silent. I go to sports games in the US and carry on conversations and hear the call of beer men walking the aisles, and so on. There's that dull roar of conversation. None of that here - everyone, and I do mean everyone, is totally dialed in to the action on the field. (No beer men either - I didn't even see people drinking in the stands, but I think that might be because it simply isn't allowed.) The tension was palpable, despite the dominating play by the home team. (It may have also been a byproduct of the very embarrassing home loss dealt to Arsenal last Saturday.)

Oh, and everything you hear about English soccer fans having sailors' vocabularies and not being afraid to use them is completely true. (Perhaps this is why there were no traveling beverage salesmen.)

I didn't sing a whole lot during the match - my clearly American accent stuck out like a sore thumb. It would have sounded wrong to me, and everyone else around.

Watching the flow of a well-played soccer match is nothing short of exhilirating. Back and forth, closer and closer, until that gorgeously placed cross into the box gets the diving header and is sent straight past the opposing keeper and into the net. The whole place then erupts. They sing, they cheer, they have merriment. (See: Seahawks' 12th Man for inspiration.) They live and die by their team. It's not unlike being a die-hard for an American sports team, but the act of being a fan in Europe has a slightly different job description.

All in all, loads of fun. More adventures to come.

Lazy Saturday (Some random notes.)

So, life in London has settled down some after a week of orientation and generally getting my bearings down. It's really a wonderful city, but that flushing noise you hear off in the distance is the sound of my bank account draining - ouch. The people are generally nice, if hardened city-types: iPod rocking, walking quickly, make no eye contact, and so on. I'm having trouble with the not-exactly-subtle fact that Brits drive on the wrong side of the road-- not because I have to drive, but because I keep looking the wrong way before crossing the street.

(I never want to drive in London. Ever. The whole of the city becomes quite literally one gargantuan parking lot and street-level transport becomes a guaranteed impossibility. It's difficult to describe the complete and total mob scene this city becomes during rush hours. Rail advocates, sing your hearts out. Metro/Pierce/Community Bus riders, I feel your pain, and then some. Sound Transit, get your act together and build some reliable trains already. But I digress.)

As I've written about before, I've grown fond of professional socc-- football. Now that I'm in a country that seems to take it seriously, I can fully indulge my fledgling passion for the sport. I've been offered tickets by some wonderful family friends to an Arsenal FC match, this coming Tuesday. I'll have pictures and a post about the (so I'm told) singularly unique experience of attending an English sporting event. I'm sure that I'm going to get a crash course in culture not soon forgotten.

The Days Are Just Packed.

So, I haven't had much time to do much of anything lately. This, however, isn't unexpected; it's the week before university classes start.

I'll have something substantial up this weekend. (I've got a few topics.)

I've Been Here Before...

Greetings from across the Atlantic, where it's....raining. Sound familiar?

No in-flight movies (overnight flight, so I wasn't too annoyed) because the system was broken, but the food was passable by airline standards (there aren't too many ways to screw up pasta) and we got in early.

And, predictably, unlike Northwesterners (and the rest of Americans), English folk drive on the wrong side of the road. Just as slowly, though.

Travels, or You Can Go Home Again But Everything Goes Haywire When You're There

So today is the big day - after a ridiculous week at home (more on this in a sec), tonight I cross the Atlantic and live it up UK-style for a few months. I've been sitting on my hands for weeks (months, even) waiting for today. And I'll come up with plenty of new material as I explore. I won't do a heavy travel log/journal thing, but I'll stick with what I've been doing (unless someone wants me to write something else?).

Back to the absurd week I've just lived. The best overview is by the numbers:

8 days
6 stores visited
3 power outages
1 fried circuit breaker panel (in its entirely)
1 tropical storm
1 oddly-behaving fox scared out of the garage


Here's the details:
I needed a wool coat for London, otherwise I'd look far too much like the foolish American that I am. (Subtlety works for me.) I went through stores all over my county until I found one. The power outages were caused first by an overheating main circuit breaker (the big one that shuts off power to the entire house), which melted some of the panel and caused a partial power outage for two days and required the entire panel to be replaced. Then the tropical storm caused another one. And another thunderstorm caused another brief one. Then the fox starting slinking around. Foxes are nocturnal, so seeing him out in the morning was slightly off-putting. Then as I was taking out the trash, I step into the garage and the fox bolts from a crawlspace and out into the yard. All I know is that I want nothing to do with that fox.

So, I guess you can go home again. But it's just not the same. Seriously. Now I'm going to find an apartment back west and never return. (Well...)

But in any event, it's off I go. More to come from far side of pond. Cheerio!

A Long Trip

So, now that summer is winding down, it's time once again to make preparations for that dreaded return to school in September. In the past, that meant packing up my things over the course of a week and then dragging those things across the full length of the country. The whole trip is usually a bit depressing. The worst moment is right after getting completely settled in at my seat and realizing that I'm basically on my own glorified flying school bus. Once the flight gets underway, I forget such things and zone out to music, watch a movie, or do a crossword. Once I land, however, I remember that I'm going to school, but that means I get to see my friends, and our de facto family will reunite.

Not this year.

After spending the summer in Washington, I'll soon be traveling home for a few days before leaving for a semester in the United Kingdom.

I'll still be blogging, at about the same frequency (I hope), with new material about how the New Northwesterner lives on the far side of the Atlantic.

And while my friends settle in on their very first morning of classes, I'll be on an airplane, headed home, depressed to leave my friends but excited to see my real family for a little while.

Thunder and Lightning

Okay, so in my last post, I said I could do without summers on the East Coast. That isn't entirely true. I missed one little detail.

August is the best month of summer. Not because its baseball's stretch run, or back-to-school time, but for that moment of indescribable happiness that comes along on selected afternoons in August: the very moment the sun comes back out after a massive and violent (and most times mercifully brief) thunderstorm that brings sheets of rain and an impressive light show.

As the storm clears out, the sun emerges with brilliance and and smell (oh man, the smell) of fresh, moist, crisp air fills the lungs. Sometimes you even get a rainbow as icing on the cake. The temperature and humidity have both come back to within the 'habitable' range.

Man, I love a good thunderstorm.

But I'm realizing that it just isn't going to happen. It's Western Washington - rain capital of the country. Who could blame me for hoping, after the long and damp winters?

Where's the high humidity? 100 degrees anyone? Oppressive heat? Come on, summer, give me your best shot. Yet mother nature seems to have cried uncle before even lighting up the sky just once.

I miss my east-coast thunderstorms. They're like clockwork, happening at the same time (hence, the 3 o'clock shower) every day. It's the worst time of day for a run to the coffee shop two blocks over. It's the best time of day to stare out the window for a while. And it's always fun to see those poor corporate-types caught in the rain without an umbrella.

Mother Nature? A request. Thunder and lightning. Bring it.

Pleeeeeeeease.

Summertime

Allow me to set the scene.

It's late afternoon on a Saturday. A few people are over listening to the ballgame. The grill is firing up some freshly charred goodness, to be placed between a bun.

Ah, summer. What a glorious time of year.

If only the weather weren't so much like mid-spring. Come on. It's 65 degrees and mostly cloudy.

But this is the Northwest, so I guess people get used to it. (This is, of course, not to say that it never gets that way - it's been plenty hot, but not consistently for days on end.)

But why am I complaining? I'm a New Yorker, so to me, "summer" translates to "100 degrees, 100 percent humidity, the 3 o'clock thunderstorm, and enough ruined shirts to last a lifetime."

I guess I could do without it. Yeah, I could.

Bring on the burgers, and get outside!

The Local Watering Hole Destroys Society

It's Friday afternoon. It's been a long week. I get a call from a good friend, inviting me to join him and some others at the local bar for some well-deserved relaxation. I tell him I'll meet him there, knowing full well that my age prohibits me from certain beverages. It doesn't bother me - I'd just like to spend some time with some friends and shoot the breeze. A nice way to kick off the weekend.

Except that in the state of Washington, it's not going to happen. For anyone. According to them, minors underage scum like me allowed in the same room with alcohol pose a threat to disturbing the peace.

I remember my first trip out to Seattle, a few years ago when I was looking at colleges. My father and I had picked a restaurant for dinner a few blocks over and we figured we'd hit the chic-hipster-looking bar off the hotel lobby for a beer (him) and a soda (me). We sat down, ordered our drinks and a small appetizer, and chatted. So far, so good. The drinks and food came, and our evening was off on the right foot. Until we were accosted by a waitress giving me a funny look, asking my age. I said I was 18, and that I was drinking a soda. She then asked me to leave politely, saying that minors aren't allowed in the bar.

Uh, lady, the bar's 20 feet behind you. It's right over there. And I'm drinking a soda, remember?

No, she said, the bar. The decorative metal bar behind you that separating this area from the lobby. You have to leave now.

I wasn't exactly going to make a scene, but I was skeptical. So I asked her what the deal was.

She said that, in Washington, a minor underage scum can't be within the clearly defined area cordoned by the "bar".

Well, it's not like she made the law, so me and my father quickly finished our food and left, rather confused by the whole thing.

I wouldn't have even raised an eyebrow at a bar back home in New York - this is from experience.

Witness the Revised Code of Washington, Title 66, Chapter 44, Section 310, Paragraph 2:

"The Washington state liquor control board shall have the power and it shall be its duty to classify licensed premises or portions of licensed premises as off-limits to persons under the age of twenty-one years of age."

Now, from the same section, Paragraph 1 Clause A:

[It is punishable blah-blah-blah that...] "To serve or allow to remain in any area classified by the board as off-limits to any person under the age of twenty-one years;"

(Read the rest here.)

"Area"? "Off-limits"??! Who knew such a liberal-seeming state could be so puritanical about something like this? It's not like I'm going to jump over the bar and pour vodka down my throat until the bartender tackles me.

I want to know why Washington state thinks that I am unable to control my behavior just because I was born after a certain date. I want to know why Washington considers me to be a petty criminal if I want to spend time with my friends.

The real crime here is the terrible prejudice committed by Washington's law that labels any and all minors to be out-of-control hell-raisers with an insatiable lust for booze.

I could go on to say that ridiculous laws like this are the underlying cause for high rates of underage drinking (they are) and other nonsense, but that's not what I'm getting at. I'm not explicitly advocating for lowering the drinking age, but that's also beside my point.

The stigma that this law creates denies meaningful interaction between members of a community or neighborhood. My parents would tell me stories from their college days about the bars they went to with their professors once a week to have an intelligent conversation over an afternoon beer. I read about how the local pub was once the center of its community, a place for all to gather, confirmed by a recent visit to London.

I'm even denied entry to music clubs every so often, because I'm under 21. I'm going for the music, stupid.

See what I mean? Washington's liquor law destroys society.

Marooned

I had a peculiar dream a few days ago that went something like this:

I've reached adulthood and I'm successful. I have a really nice big house. It's comfortable. Life is good. Then, on the tv, there are reports of an as-yet-undetermined natural disaster about to strike my very neighborhood. I call loved ones, tell them I need shelter for a while. I pack up the important things in the car (you know, health records, old pictures of family, my laptop - stuff I'd rather not lose), and hit the road.

Then the dream really started getting weird.

Instead of traffic funneling at least somewhat smoothly onto the highways, its total chaos just beyond my street. No one is moving, horns are honking, and I'm sitting in deadlocked local traffic for hours. There is no way out. Inevitably, the as-yet-undetermined disaster strikes, and everything in its path is obliterated.

Then I woke up. It was just a dream, I told myself.

The next day, I realized that this was no dream - for some, this could be an unfortunate reality someday. I got stuck in traffic in my dream because there were no highways to take people away. No airports. No trains.

Citizens of the islands of the Northwest, be warned. It could happen to you.

What happens when a modestly populated island has to evacuate in the face of natural disaster? Some of these islands have thousands of people. Many islands have no highways, and only one road through to the mainland.

Some, like Block Is. (Rhode Is.), the bulk of the San Juans (Wash.), or Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket (Mass.), don't even have that.

Sure, maybe they have small airfields, but how many people have airplanes? Commercial air service at small airports is a dying industry, so that's not exactly a safe bet.

So, get on the ferry. The slow, lumbering ferry.

How do thousands of people get off a ferry-access only island in a short period of time? It seems like its asking for trouble.

Now, people living on islands without a reliable link to the mainland is hardly new, and certainly not a northwest-specific trait. But Northwest Islanders take pride in their self-isolation and cutoff from assistance from impending disaster. The Washington St. Ferry System is huge, but its still ferries. They're slow, weather-dependant, and can't hold thousands safely at once.

I even heard that Vashon doesn't even have a real hospital, only an emergency clinic.

And it's not like the Northeast, where the only real imminent natural threat to population centers is the occasional low-level hurricane making its way up the Atlantic coast. (Oh, and did I mention what happens when the oceans rise due to global warming? Wait. That's not natural. We did that. Never mind.)

The Northwest won the geological lottery, situated strategically on the national capital of tectonic activity. We have earthquakes, volcanos, mountains, avalanches, and unusally depressing weather.

Why do people do this to themselves? What is so alluring about living on a low-access island? I would equate it with something like living in Iowa without the cornfields.

But I guess I'll never really understand this one.

Is The Grass Greener On The Other Side?

Well, yes and no. It really depends which side you choose.

I'm fresh off a short vacation in which I covered all three Pacific Northwest climates: The constant gloom that haunts the Pacific coastline towns of Oregon (west of I-5), the dry oven that bakes south-central Washington (east of I-5), and the pleasant weather stuck in between (anywhere on I-5).

Of course, this is only true during the period of time commonly accepted here as "summer", as the definition that I was brought up on (summer is Memorial Day to Labor Day on the East coast) doesn't seem to apply here.

Especially on the North Oregon coast, where the weather was startlingly reminiscent of what I've come to expect of late September or early October, even despite the warm temperatures. It was a little difficult to enjoy the natural beauty of the dramatic Pacific coast in thick fog and mist.

Or in the Cascades, which have clearly been baking in high and dry weather for quite some time, despite the patches of snow at the Mt. St. Helens observatory some 4,300 feet above the sea level I had just driven up from. (For the record, the views there are spectacular and give pause to the incredible power of the events of 1980, but I was very glad to get the heck down from there and back on the highway. I'm not afraid of heights; I'm just not used being in open space quite so high up.)

The drive west on Oregon Route 6 through the Tillamook (rain)Forest was a lush dark green, through to the quaint little town of Tillamook. Washington Route 504 from Castle Rock up to the Mt. St. Helens observatory at Johnston Ridge (52 miles of rolling hill climbs - my '99 Taurus is a tough little trooper) was different, through high forest of a lighter shade of green. And I must not forget the crown jewel of the city of Portland, the overwhelmingly gorgeous International Rose Garden for which the city is nicknamed, although green grass faces some tough competition from the bright hues of the roses. (In full bloom right when I visited, no less. July 4th was the right day for it.)

Here in the Northwest, it really is greener. But there's a catch: I miss out on my favorite time of year, Autumn in the Northeast. Here, the green just keeps going. Back east, the leaves on trees explode into hundreds of reds, yellows, and purples, all at the same time when September blows in. It's natural beauty in its own right.

It may not be a towering mountain range that dominates the landscape there, but that's not what people go to see.

So is the grass greener on the other side?

That all depends on what side you started on.

Sometimes, There's Places I Don't Miss

If you build it, they will come.

The kids built it, and just like that Iowa cornfield, they certainly came.

Sad.

I read the New York Times quite a bit to get a taste of the news from back home. Now, this sort of thing wouldn't happen in the specific town I live in or its surrounding towns (they're actually fairly liberal and this sort of issue could be resolved with a chat in the town administrators' offices). I love baseball; I've said that before. So when I read something like this, it is infuriating. Parents have a knack for screwing up a good thing; this is greatly magnified by the fact that this dispute occurred amongst the uptight, antidepressant-popping control freak adult citizens of Greenwich, Connecticut.

The question: would Northwest parents have the sheer arrogance to repeat something like this, or would stopping kids from having their fun cause them to think twice?

There are plenty of good, legitimate times for parental interjection. Drugs, unacceptable public behavior, teaching responsibility, and so on.

But I often wonder what it might have been like in the times where parenting meant giving your kids room to grow on their own. That era is long forgotten. It is this sort of story I will remember when I have decisions to make about future children of my own.

Current parents, ask yourselves: How did it get to this? Have we failed our children?

Someday, I'll be a parent too. If they build it, let them come. Maybe a little bit of the magic from that Iowa cornfield will rub off on them, too.

If These Roof Shingles Could Talk...

...they might ask for an umbrella. And a wind breaker. And a parka. And not nearly frequently enough, some suntan lotion.

This is my first summer in the Northwest, so I'm entirely unaccustomed to the fact that spring doesn't really end here until well into late June and that it's light out until well past 9pm.

But the oddities haven't been confined to this part of the country - it's everywhere. Here's some highlights:

- Record cold in Western Washington including several inches of SNOW in the Cascades, stranding three (understandably) unprepared hikers on Mount Rainier (one of whom didn't make it - may he rest in peace and my thoughts and prayers go out to the family and loved ones)

- Wisconsin and Indiana have become a very large, very unfortunate aquarium resulting from damaging rainfall and subsequent flooding with more rain on the way.

-A massive heat wave, one of the earliest on record, took on most of the Eastern seaboard and has broken since.

So, it's been an interesting last 7 days or so. I'd rather be in cool and damp than hot and humid - anyone who has experienced the dog days of summer at any length on the east coast will surely agree with me.

But what happened to June? It's one of those months that is supposed to be warming, and a foreshadow of the summer to come. If this June is any indication, it's going to be a long, cold, dark summer.

I'll admit that the weather here takes some getting used to, and I've been okay for the most part. The real big change is that the seasons are fundamentally different - rainy and dry seasons that change when they want to versus clearly defined spring, summer, fall, and winter.

And having come back west from a short break on the east coast well prepared for warmth and abundant sunshine, I find myself turning the heat on in the house and wearing sweatshirts all day.

Barbeques? Sunshine? Sports? Lounging around?

Only in my wildest dreams...

Ask The Experts: The Readers

I'm planning an upcoming adventure in south-central Washington. I know nothing about the towns of the east slopes, so I'm putting out a call to the experts: knowledgeable and experienced readers. What are interesting towns to visit and things to do there? I'm thinking the general vicinities of Ellensburg, Yakima, Tri-Cities. Suggestions and tips greatly appreciated!

New State, New Sport

First: full disclosure. I'm going to write about sports. But don't tune out - this isn't going to be some team-bashing manifesto. (The Mariners are terrible underachievers. See? All done.) Moving on.

Second: I'm a hardcore baseball guy, born and raised. I've been a member of the Yankee faithful since a very young age (go ahead, get the jeering out of your system). I love the game and all the facets that make it great (history, strategy, elegance, etc.).

Third: I've never been much of a soccer fan. I didn't know much about it, except that the World Cup is played every few years and that I played in the local town league when I was 7 but quit because I really wasn't a fan of being repeatedly kicked in the shins for an hour every Sunday morning.

Fourth: Thanks to a new town and its new team, I've become quite a big fan of the world's game.

Enough with the list. The Seattle Sounders FC, the Emerald city's shiny new "football club", will be Major League Soccer's next expansion franchise to begin play, as part of the 2009 season. And when I read the initial announcement in the local paper for the first time, I was intrigued. I ran threw my entire knowledge of soccer. Let's see....I know the name Ronaldinho from the '06 World Cup...I saw replays of cheap NHL-esque hit the French guy put on the Italian guy to get ejected from the final...I know that you can't use your hands...David Beckham is pretty important, I think...Yeah, that's about it.

Then I hit the computer. ESPN's main website has a navigation bar at the top of its screen, and I clicked on "Soccer". Little did I know that it would be the beginning of something "beautiful" (Those who follow soccer will understand the reference...if not, read on, I won't make you scour the internet for it.). I made the quick and earth-shaking discovery that essenially EVERY SINGLE COUNTRY ON THE PLANET has its own league and most continents have multiple championships as well.

Europe has its UEFA championships (two large tournaments, Champions League and UEFA Cup and its upcoming national team-level Euro 2008 tournament), Africa has its own World Cup, and North and South America have their own championships as well.

And then there were the domestic leagues. The English Premier League. The German Bundesliga. The Italian Serie A. Mexico's Primera Division (links to page in Spanish). Japan's J-League. These leagues are part of the cultural DNA of these countries. But if soccer seems to be so popular everywhere else, why am I not seeing highlights on Sportcenter?

I discovered the Fox Soccer Channel hidden deep on my digital cable box and watched the movie "Once in a Lifetime" about the success of the New York Cosmos (does the name Pele ring a bell?) and the North American Soccer League in the 1970's. They sold out every seat in Giants Stadium in New Jersey. I've been there - selling out that place is nothing to sneeze at and requires you and 81,000 of your best friends. What happened?

Long story short, the popularity was short-lived and that league folded in the early '80s.

So what does this have to do with the Northwest, you ask? Glad you waited so patiently.

Turns out I made the discovery of "The Beautiful Game" at just the right time. America's Major League Soccer is a young league with a growing fan base and with it, growing popularity due to media coverage. I can now catch a few MLS games a week on TV, and the quality of play is really not that far behind European standards, although something tells me it wasn't always that way. And wouldn't you know it - Seattle has been granted a brand new expansion team, subsequently named (by an internet fan poll in which I voted) Seattle Sounders FC. It's got a nice, classic-sounding ring to it, and the name Sounders has some history - Seattle's team in the NASL was called the Sounders, and there seems to be a development league team that still plays that inherited the name. The best part? A new team in a new sport that I can cheer on from my new home in the Northwest. (I won't be ditching my Yankees for the M's anytime soon. Sorry.) It's a new tie to my new place. And I'm positively thrilled. The Sounders new web site has a countdown to opening day next March and I can hardly wait.

And now Sportcenter has a soccer highlight in its Daily Top 10 once or twice a week, in what must surely be the signals of a new popularity of American soccer. Important international matches (most of the late stages of the recent European Champions League) are televised live on ESPN2 and Fox Soccer Channel. Gatherings of local fans are gaining some steam, meeting at a local bar to watch the game with fellow football supporters. People have said that soccer is destined to be popular in America; it's no longer 'if' but 'when'. I hope that they were referring to now.

Go Sounders!

Please Look When You Cross The Street; I Don't Want To Hit You But I Will

Some say that Northeast drivers are crazy and they complain too much. This is true in any and all cases. Others say that Northwest drivers are polite and courteous. Also almost universally true.

But come on. Even Northwest drivers surprise me.

I'll lay this out in scenarios.

1. A small group of teens decides to cross the street, nowhere near a crosswalk.
The Northeast Driver: keeps going, and curses at the kids out the window for crossing outside of an intersection.
The Northwest Driver: slams on the brakes surprising other drivers behind to allow the kids to cross safely.

Okay, I'll go for broke here: if I'm crossing the street, I stop at the curb and look both ways like I was taught in kindergarten, lest the result be my untimely demise. This is undoubtedly part of a east-coast upbringing. If I'm driving, I learned that crossing outside of an intersection is the pedestrian's problem (and technically jaywalking, a ticket-worthy offense, although the number of jaywalking tickets handed out each year can probably be counted on two hands), unless they're already in the street. So when I'm walking with friends around town in the Northwest and they cross the street without looking or anything, I fear for their lives. When they see me hesitate at the street curb, I get funny looks.

So: Northeast drivers - quit your complaining. Northwest drivers - complain more so I don't rear end you for being polite.

2. The speed limit tends to be a general outline, but no one in the Northeast (and much of the rest of the East coast for that matter) takes it quite so seriously as people in the Northwest.

It was a shock to me that people on most roads (Interstate 5 being the main exception, but still not by much) actually observe posted speed limits. Here's a little math for you:

Northwest Limit = Posted Speed Limit + 5 mph.
East Coast Limit = As Close To 80 As You Can Get While Not Getting Caught Speeding.

It's no secret that east coast drivers tempt fate every time they start a car. But in the NW, its entirely a different driving culture. People slow down on roads to let people cross. No horns, no cursing. People actually drive the speed limit. I could get used to this, but I'll always have a soft spot for hurdling down windy narrow 2-lane parkways at 75 in the middle of the night.

Finally, Advertising That Confuses Only Selected Audiences

Someone please give the PR folks at Pemco Insurance a medal or trophy or something. They deserve it for their absolutely brilliant advertising campaign.

The Seattle-based company (that operates almost entirely in the Northwest) has come with an ingenious ad run that highlights the quirks and niches of the alternative breed of people that inhabit the upper-left corner of the country, with its hilarious (and startlingly accurate, to my knowledge) Northwest Profiles, running the tag line "We're a lot like you."

Now, I would normally not include myself in the demographic implied by the "you" in the tag line. However, after having a good laugh browsing the website that supplements the TV and radio ads (if you thought those were good, check out the website, www.werealotlikeyou.com , I sent the link to my dad in New York (something we do regularly with funny links and assorted nonsense) who was....(wait for it)....entirely unamused.

I realized, to my own surprise, that he didn't think that the site wasn't funny, but that he simply didn't get what it was talking about. The humor flew entirely over his head. And this was slightly shocking - a real strong sign that I was slowly and surely becoming a Northwesterner. Not that I had a problem with that.

Now, I may not be intimately familiar with many of the types that Pemco describes, like the "Green Lake Power Walker (#64)", "Sandals and Socks Guy (#56)", or the elusive-sounding "Walla Walla Wine Wine Woman Woman (#96)". But even in the time I've spent in the Northwest (not yet two years), I've become familiar enough with the region to know that, somewhere, these people do indeed exist.

And then I came across Northwest Profile #100: The Confused East Coast Transplant. I thought, yes, that would be me. Now, the picture and statistics don't exactly match me, but the caption is just dead-on (see my last post as well for more on this).

So to the good folks at Pemco who came up with the ads, bravo.

(The website even allows for user submissions, many of which are also very funny. I submitted the "Really Thinks Crocs Are Edible Guy" profile. Come on, people. You can't eat rubber shoes. Quit deluding yourselves.)

Confusion in Aisle 5

The supermarket. It is a place where we can express ourselves entirely through food selection. It is a routine occurrence to see people happily spend more money on a product branded with any one of a number of tag lines trumpeting a nutritional feature ("Omaga 3!"), a production process ("All Natural!", "Organic!"), or just plain more (the omnipresent "Buy one, get one free!"). Granted, some of these tag lines have merits, but some are just gimmicks.

Ah, the supermarket. What a marvelous creation.

But there is a darker side. Surly clerks. Long lines. Soccer moms (with requisite large number of children). College students stocking up on junk food and surveying the cheap beer selection.

That in mind, its been drilled into my head that as little time as possible is to be spent in the supermarket. Avoid other people and say as little as possible. Get in, get out, get going.

Not so in the Northwest, as I've learned.

Upon an initial trip to a neighborhood supermarket no more than a few days after I stepped off the plane in Sea-Tac for the first time, I was greeted by the cashier. Greeted?

"How are you? Did you find everything?"

The cashier even smiled.

Confused, I held my silence. Was she serious? What kind of place is this? Do I look that out of place?

Skeptical, I quietly mumbled an "okay" a few seconds later. She rung up my groceries and I paid. Once my groceries were bagged and I had paid, I went to grab my bags, and then, the unthinkable.

"Would you like help out to your car?", the young woman asked, again with an unflappable smile.

My confusion instantly turned to sheer horror. Being generally polite was a nice touch (if unexpected), and hardly called me to question my sanity. But this? She meant to tell me that someone would help me carry my things if I wanted? I was used to hearing nothing at all except "$16.84, cash or charge?" from a cashier, but that reality was blown to smithereens in a very short period of time.

"Um...no?"

"Okay, have a nice day!"

I walked out of that supermarket into a brave new world that late summer afternoon. It took some getting used to, and it still just feels odd sometimes. And when I recount this story to friends, they look at me like I've said something crazy.

So, people of the Northwest - you have it good when it comes to the local grocery. And if you see someone who looks taken aback by the unconditional politeness of the cashier, well, they're probably not from around here.

Still An Outsider, 20 Months In

Day 631 - Welcome to this blog. I hope you enjoy reading it and I encourage you to respond. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Adam, I'm currently an undergraduate student at a local NW university, and I am an East Coaster, through and through. I spent my entire life (up until 631 days ago) on the outskirts of the New York City suburbs and spent a life of time in the City itself. Disgusted with life in the Northeast and fed up with the spoiled trust fund kids I went to high school with (a small prep school where I was largely an outsider among my peers, because I'm not a rich kid and I didn't get a Mercedes for my 16th birthday ), I chose to uproot and move across the country to continue my education as well as find a new start for myself. I'm not a class warrior and I know that I'm not exactly underprivileged, but I couldn't stand the people I was surrounded by so I made the simple and logical decision to go somewhere else. That was the summer of 2006.

Not a day goes by when I don't count my blessings for making one of the best choices I will ever face. I've settled in as a student over two academic years and have gotten a basic feel for things. Life here is different and wonderful. It also takes some adjustment. The best part, however, is that I get to see things in ways that locals would largely overlook. That is the main subject of this blog - an underrepresented point of view on the people, places, things, and ideas that exist west of the Cascades.

I don't want to complain or rant constantly - too many people can do that and not actually think about what they're saying. Instead, I hope to provide a good idea or two, here and there. Of course I have my complains, and I'll probably write about them, but without some thoughtfulness behind them, why would anyone care to read about it?

With that, I'll wrap up the inaugural piece for this blog. Stay tuned.

Enjoy,
Adam