I went to bed shortly after 4A.M. And of course, when my head hit the pillow, I could not fall asleep. What's up with that? I lay in bed for quite a while before finally dozing off. A series of loud voices in the room next door kept me awake for a while, too. My room faces out to Denny Street, so I couldn't figure out if the voices were from inside the hotel, outside the hotel, or from a haunted plane of existence. They eventually stopped, so it was all good.
I set the alarm for 10am, but don't rouse myself from bed until almost 12noon. I was tired. Give me a break! It takes me about an hour to motivate myself, but once I do, I'm good to go.
I venture out of the hotel and down towards the Space Needle, which is conveniently located only a few blocks from the Hyatt. I decide to start my day at the EMP - Museum of Music, Sci-Fi, and Pop Culture. The key exhibits are a Jimi Hendrix exhibit, a tribute to Nirvana and the Punk Music movement, and a Battlestar Galactica collection.
The Jimi Hendrix thing is interesting, but anyone who knows me knows that guitar-based music is not my "thing." Still, I explore the exhibit thoroughly. I can appreciate any type of music. I move from there to the Guitar Gallery, whose entrance is right next to a 35 foot cyclone made from over 600 guitars. Upon entering the gallery, I'm presented with the worst of concepts - I'm in the museum with a gaggle of school children!
Now, I'm not a complete grinch, and I get the fact that kids are the key to our future, that education and knowledge is power, that most museums are designed for our next generations, but God help me in the face of this situation! Everywhere I go, there are kids! Every one of them is intrigued by the museum, but only in a half-hearted, "I'm doing this because I have to" kind of way. It's enough to make me want to yank one of the guitars out of the display cases and beat myself in the head...or better yet - them.
Nevertheless, I persevere. I move on to the Artists in Their Own Words room. It's a room full of computer monitors, headphones, and billions of shiny, lighted buttons to press. There are dozens of stations to visit, each one with multiple options to hear artists, musicians, and celebrities talk about various hurdles and obstacles that they had to overcome. There's even a room where you can sit down and record your own personal music story.
I almost do it. Almost. It's only when I see the room full of giggly girls laying on the floor, chewing gum, and linked together like a really raunchy low-budget soft-porn film that I head in the opposite direction. I do take the time to listen to and watch the many personal stories from museum visitors on the monitor on the other side of the room. They are thoroughly entertaining, and I feel myself actually wishing I could sit down and listen to/watch them all. I especially like the story from the 70 year old woman who speaks about having to repeat two years of college after 1964 due to her obsession with The Beatles. She's a hip old granny who obviously has a whole slew of cool stories to tell.
Not far from the Personal Stories room is a tiny alcove sectioned off by a beaded curtain. Inside, there's a television showing an old Spanish man teaching a young adolescent boy how to play guitar like the legends. It's really interesting, but I can't stay to watch. Another teen girl soft-porn film is being prepped in that alcove, each girl drooling over the teenage boy on the TV. Disgusting!
I proceed to the Nirvana/Punk exhibit, seriously thinking that I won't find many teens inside, as the whole grunge/punk movement was way before their time. Not true. They're everywhere! I'm convinced that they've actually multiplied while inside the building. Thankfully, I find a Zune on the wall and blare Minor Threat, Skinny Puppy, and The Dead Kennedys for a while just to purge some of my irritation. It works! Thank God for a little "Holiday in Cambodia."
This exhibit really takes me back to the good ole days at Nite Lites, listening to Nocturne Night Flight on Friday nights in my room after midnight, enjoying the music on a mix tape Karen made for me way back when. Hell, it was all more than 20 years ago. I'm so old. The multitude of oblivious teenagers start to irritate me again, so I return to the Zune one last time to listen to the Pixies. "Where is My Mind?" seems like a fitting song, and it is.
I finally head upstairs to the Sound Lab. This place is cool. Pick a rock instrument, stand at the station, and learn how to play a few chords or a familiar melody. I enjoy the hell out of this place. I only get irritated a couple of times, and only when the kids at the stations are not really using them properly, but simply taking up space.
I play the keyboard along with Alanis Morrisette's "Thank You," learn how to use a mixing board to mix The Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)," and play the guitar with the Kingsmen. I even do a little Karaoke in the Vocals lab, singing along with Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Remember You" and Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I learn very quickly that I can't reach Sarah's high notes and I can't scream with Nirvana. Screech like a howler monkey, yes, but scream - definitely not.
There's even a recording studio within the museum, complete with every instrument and a mixing station, but you have to pay for it, and you also have to have musical talent. I have the money, but not the musical talent, so I pass.
Not surprisingly, there's not a single giggly teenage girl in the Battlestar Galactica exhibit. Not a one! It's glorious. Of course, I'm a huge sci-fi geek, but I never watched Battlestar Galactica a day in my life, so the exhibit is lost on me. I still walk through, appreciating the many life-size models, props, costumes, and interactive stations along the way. I especially appreciate the young boys running around looking for R2D2 in the ships and talking about how they don't remember the Storm Troopers being made of silver and being so shiny. One of the kids plays the know-it-all, and convinces them that the props are all from a movie they haven't seen. It's endlessly entertaining.
I head down to the lower level, stopping back in the Artists in Their Own Words room. I listen to Gloria Gaynor tell the story of how "I Will Survive" came to be and how she came to appreciate Disco fashion. I resist the urge to burst into song when the original version of the tune comes on the headphones. I don't think the rest of the museum's patrons would appreciate it, especially after my screeching experience with Nirvana one floor up.
With no food or drink in me (the Cafe is closed), I decide to leave the museum and head to a huge Starbucks quite a distance away. I have no idea how far I walk, but it takes at least an hour to get there. I could simply go to the Starbucks by the hotel or the one down the street or the one three blocks away or the one on the corner of the major intersection around the corner, but I have my heart set on this one. It has a balcony, it's set in a quiet neighborhood, and full of some very interesting characters. I love that stuff!
The Midwestern fat ass that I have become suffers miserably in the warm sun, climbing up steep, almost 90 degree hills, praying for my heart to hold out. The hills seem to have no end, and I wonder if I'll ever reach the top. The top? What a fool I am to think it ends. The hills level off to give me a false sense of security, only to pick up again, less than a block away. In the end, because I'm a complete noob in town, I overshoot my goal and end up several blocks away. I stop and allow the cool breeze to dry the sweat pouring from my brow, neck and forehead. I'm so out of shape.
Text directions from Emily point me back in the right direction. Thankfully, I get to walk downhill. I find the Starbucks shining in the springtime sunshine like a mecca or oasis in the desert. I'm a sweaty mess when I enter, which I'm sure is totally attractive. I get a bottle of water and a Frappuccino, then head out to the balcony to sit in the sun. It's thoroughly beautiful, but a Frappuccino only stays icy for three and a half minutes in the warm Seattle sun. FYI.
I'm doing a lot of outlining for yet another reboot of HeroTale. Some things are changing, but nothing that undermines my original vision. I refuse to compromise everything I've envisioned. Screw that!
Now, I'm writing this blog entry and waiting for Emily to get done with work, pick me up, and take me out on the town. Tonight's plan - pizza on the beach. Everything sounds good right now. Can't wait! More later.
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