Saturday, December 15, 2007

The Uptight Seattlite

If anyone has not read the Seattle Weekly column, Ask An Uptight Seattlite, you're pretty much missing out on happiness. Every week he answers reader questions with smart, hilarious answers. This week was particularly full of hilarity, and so I could not help but post it, enjoy.

When my friend from D.C. visited in the summer, I was telling him about my participation in the "100-mile diet." That's where, for the good of the environment, you eat only things grown within a hundred miles of Seattle. Not only did he decline to join me, he thought the whole thing was laughable. In fact, he thought our city was full of hilarity. How we march earnestly around Green Lake clutching bottles of water. The way we always dress like we're going camping. The way we get so comically worked up about transportation issues. Now he's coming to visit for Christmas, and I'm worried that he'll think we're laughable in a whole new way: the way we suck all the fun out of the holidays with our superserious "sensitivity." What can I do to show him that we know how to have a good time?

Take this Stick From My Ass

Dear Stick From My Ass,

Is it really so restrictive and dreary to live here? If you really think so, you should take a holiday of an entirely different kind. You know how Amish young people are allowed, for a set period of time, to drink, smoke, and otherwise break the rules of their community? Well, you, too, should take your own little rumspringa from Seattle ways. Show your friend you can "loosen up" with the best of them. Stop recycling. Drink macrobrews and watch NASCAR. Drive everywhere. Don't wave when someone lets you change lanes. Kill spiders in your house rather than trapping and freeing them in a silently improvised ceremony of karmic self-blessing. Do all your holiday shopping at Wal-Mart and have them double-bag everything. Go to Sea-Tac and innocently ask where the Christmas tree is. Say, "There is no Christmas tree? Why ever not?" Walk around with a cell phone pressed to your ear at all times, even if no one's on the line, and say things like, "Yeah, that's one sales forecast I'd like to see, let me tell you what, you crazy bastard! You still in for tonight, you miserable cocksucker? Shooters at Hooters, my friend, shooters at Hooters!" Do this at every farmers market in town. Put down your phone only long enough to tell the Vietnamese farmer that his organic tomatoes are lumpy and not as red as the ones at Safeway. Ask Grease Monkey for all their used oil and pour it into the gutter in front of your house while glaring defiantly at your neighbors. Rent a Hummer and tailgate Vespas. Lean on the horn as you call out, "Get a car, Fancy Man!" Finally, go downtown and, in your loudest, heartiest voice, wish every stranger you see a merry Christmas. If you find that that kind of thing makes you feel good, I suggest you take yourself to Houston for a permanent rumspringa.

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