Can I tell you that there’s this part of me that enjoys living in a sketchy neighborhood? I don’t like it when people get hit-and-runned, or when I hear the crack dealers out whistling to announce their wares late at night. My companion gets bummed when he scurries off to work and sees a teenaged ho getting dumped out of the motel next door. And one time, when we first moved in, we found a used needle on our outside stairs.
But the rent is reasonable, for the neighborhood, and we are walking distance to Franny’s school. We are high up on the top floor, above all the squalor below. When we go out during the day, we see joggers and people tending their yards. We are probably going to move to a different neighborhood this summer and I’m going to miss this area.
It looks like things are changing around here, though. The motel that I mentioned the other day, the A-1, claims to be under new management. They are making all sorts of improvements. It used to be that I didn’t really like walking by it after dark and would take another route, because the parking area in the back was so dark. Once last winter my sister came to visit us, and I went down to meet her out back because it was dark. Right before she pulled up a man from the motel made a beeline for me, going, “Hey, hey, hey you.” When he saw my sister get out of her car and walk towards me, he turned on his heel and disappeared. Another time, before I had Strudel, I left early for work and found a small teal bra, all covered in frost, in front of the motel.
But now every light has a bulb in it, and the garage area is brightly lit. The building has been cleaned up a lot and the people inside and at the desk wave at me when I walk by, and the shades are left wide open. I was skeptical when we toured this apartment, because it is on a divided highway and next to the No-Tell Motel. But it looks like things are getting better. Maybe someday the police will no longer have to make A-1 roll-bys part of their regular beat.
Here is a picture I took on my birthday last year, October 21.
This was the sign that was up forever, and it always makes locals laugh. “sojo mojo” should read “sodo mojo.” It is a reference to the inherent “mojo” of Seattle’s SOuth DOme area (downtown), and is used as an advertising pitch for the Seattle Mariners, whose playfield is in the sodo neighborhood. It should also be noted that “sodo” is now a misnomer, because The Kingdome that “sodo” refers to was knocked down in 2000. So the sign was a misspelling of a misnomer.
Here is the new sign, which I snapped last night. Looks like they mean business.
In Other News
Last night Strudel wandered off into the bathroom and ate the last of my face soap. It was only the size of a quarter, but I was pretty worried about her–I was afraid she was going to be farting bubbles or something. I wasn’t too worried, because it was LUSH soap, and you could really eat most of their products if held at gunpoint. And then when I realized she wasn’t going to die or anything, I was bummed because hey, that kid ate about a dollar’s worth of my fancy face soap. When I boobranched her for last time before bed, she was making lavender-scented burps out of her nose. Poor kid.
“Soap tastes bad, mmm’kay?”
In Other, Other News: OMFGDOODS It’s Thee Apocalypse
SeaFed, Franny’s father, replied to me regarding the whole kindergarten issue. He agrees that after three years in a her school primary class she shouldn’t be subjected to a public school kindergarten. We are looking into first grade options right now. Amazingly, thirty percent of children in Seattle attend private schools, so there is no lack of choices.
I can’t remember the last time we agreed on something. I think there might have been a day back in ’99 when we both wanted tacos, but I could be misremembering that. Most recently, we have disagreed over the fact that he lets Franny ride in the front seat of his Cadillac. It’s not law for children to ride in the back seat until ’07, but most people agree it’s the safest. Since the car only has lap belts, she doesn’t need a booster seat either. It bugs me to see my tiny kid in the front seat of his car. If she gets hurt on his watch, the possibility of which compelled me to leave him, I will never forgive him. But I guess that’s true already.
