17 September 2002

Didn't get any sleep last night and had to open at work this morning. I feel like I've been hit by the Stupid Bus.

It's been a few days without updates; I know, I know... It's been due to drama, disease, famine, crappy labor conditions, and general laziness. Mostly drama. Forgive?

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Olympia is a special place. I use the word "special" deliberately, because it's got this nice, happy, third-grade-cliché connotation of uniqueness -- and also because it's got a lousy, alienating, fourth-grade connotation of freakishness. One's birthday is a special day. People who are mentally retarded take part in the Special Olympics. Olympia, Washington is both of these things: special, and... well... "special."

On a certain dark night in Olympia, Washington, consider two unlikely characters with nothing to do. One is an aspiring radical who has been known to hug trees, blaspheme Starbucks, and keep an online journal. Let's say she voted for Nader, in New York. The other is an ex-military firefighter who has recently returned from a small, unheard-of island somewhere in the Pacific. Let's say he voted for Bush... in Florida (two or three times...) Happily, our friends here have learned (VERY quickly) not to be bitchy about politics, and are united by the common bonds of: 1.) breathing, 2.) sarcasm, wit, and a willingness to talk to insane people in bars, 3.) having nothing to do on a certain dark night in Olympia, Washington.

In itself, this is all very special.

Helena and her friend Jake decided to visit a certain forested area at Helena's college. Remember, of course, that we're talking about a dark night. More specifically, a dark night around one or two in the morning. And remember, of course, that Helena's college is consistently picked on because of all the damned hippies, anarchists, and unshaven women, while our friend Jake VOTED FOR BUSH, IN FLORIDA...

Special.

Only in Olympia could I befriend a person who drives a truck covered with military stickers and such-like. One evening, I looked to the sky and asked aloud: "what's next, a fucking GUN RACK?"

So, these certain two friends manage, via a flashlight (and gahd-damn I hate using a flashlight, but it was DARK, and I can't see worth a damn in the dark), to get themselves lost in a large, implacable patch of ferns. Then, an unseen beast, approximately dog-sized, psychically notifies Jake of its presence, at which point Jake prepares to attack it, and the beast, whatever the fuck it was, runs away, at which point Helena and Jake hear the sound of a small bell... ...at which point Helena freaks out and attempts to start a ghost story marathon, just to keep herself in a state of delicious freaked-out-ness.

Only in Olympia...

Only in Olympia can you walk into damn near any bar, pub, whatever, and meet a person willing to discuss the subject of his or her "light body" with you.

Only in Olympia do people actually go way out of their way to walk to the grocery store, so they can watch the salmon screwing around underneath the bridge.

Only in Olympia could I enjoy getting lost in a fern-patch, in the middle of the night, with a kid who will probably someday own a gun rack.

Now, I was up damn near all night, and I had to wake up early this morning, and DAMN was I a holy hellcat at work all day. But you know, I feel really good. I'm in Olympia, and I'm feeling pretty special...

~H.T.*

PS -- Check out the Guest Columns section of EchoSiberia... You'll never see so many College of Santa Fe survivors in one place, ever, ever again...