Chapter 1: Morning Glory And The Chai House.
We were sitting in a smoke-filled room watching "Don't Look Back:" Bob Dylan had just thrown a glass out of his hotel window.
"Yo Rain Man."
"Sup Wapner?" "Did you get my mail or did the dog eat it?" "Imagine time as a parallel dislocation...When "God" stepped into a gopher hole in the middle of the 18th Fairway at the St. Andrews. Where do you think that puts Tiger Wood's place in eternity??" "What?!" Robert's bedroom was an odd assortment of garbage, glitter paint tubes, action figures, canvases, pants and tee shirts, several pars of converse, records, C.D players, VHS tapes, a computer moniter with a webcam glued into a gas mask. There was over among the chaos somehow; though it was hard to put your finger on it. We would get high together and he would tell me these woefully inappropriate stories over cigarettes and coffee. There was a record player on the bookshelf upstairs next to some inscense holders and a black leather couch. Robert had a strange obsession with early era television, Mel Brooks films, The Beach Boys, ad Dustin Hoffman from Rainman. He definitely counted cards in vagas. Around town Robert was known as "Laptop Bob." He was an angry Adderall addict who fought against his landlord by playing "Don't Get Fooled Again" and other The Who classics at full volume until quiet time. Grocery shopping with Laptop Bob was like preparing for a six months journey across the Oregon Trail. 1/2 pound of bacon, 2 dozen eggs, 1 poud of coffee, 2 pounds of sugar, 12 sticks of butter, large cans of refried beans, heavy bags of rice and sacks of potatoes. We used to hang out in the old Bop Street Records before they moved up to Market Street. There was a secret room in between shelves of records in the basement. There were several chairs; a table with some magazines and a black guitar case. There was an electric guitar inside with nothing to plug into. "Yo Wapner?" "Sup Hoe." "My name is Laptop Bob." "I'm sorry Lapdog Rob.." "Do you have to play that old guitar? It sounds like shit." "Bob: This ole six string is going to bring us all the way to Hollywood!" "That busted up 3 string is making me sick. Can we get some fresh air?" We said goodbye to the cashier and entered into the bright; sunny daylight. Everything west of Triangle Park; all the way to Fremont Canal was Historic Ballard. Old brick streets:Local Pubs: An old bronze tower that rings by the hour: With one of those bronze plaques that tells you all about the local history. Out past the train tracks was this wooden dock where we used to smoke cigarettes: A thousand beer cans were crushed between the grooves of wood above the water. We passed over the train tracks to Market Street. Past thepizza parlors and the yuppies getting day drunk. The dollar stores and the Greek Resturants. At the end of the street past the C.D store; there was a bigwooden cat above the sidewalk with a signthat read: Mr. Spots Chai House. There were two wooden benches by the front and a metal bike rack. There was this beautiful wooden piano front and center of the building by the window. The keys were made of thick plastic. Several keys were badly chipped and the wood of the piano was worn down from thousands of beer mugs and coffee glasses.. A sign above the piano said: Please ask before using! 5 Minute limit! Thanks! Bob and I snuck inside quietly and sat by the window. We didn't order anything. "Are you playing tonight?" "Maybe. Have you seen Mr. President? He brought over his clarinet." "Ohh geez. You're playing with that old battleaxe? He might have a vietnam flashback!" "Good Lord Bob." "Sorry man." Bob and I sat there and enjoyed the silence. Behind the piano was an odd assortment of chairs, tables and couches. To the right was the bar; along with the espresso machine and the deli food. Several pin-ball machines were tucked into the back room past the toilets. Someone shouted from the employees only section. The forbidden area beyond the pinball machines. I said goodbye to Bob: Got up and pushed my chair in. Past the bathrooms was this metal door that was slightly ajar. I timidly crossed over the threshold into a cold, dark metallic room. The employees were all there; sitting in cubby chairs in a rather perfect circle: With a full bottles of Jack Daniels. i was invited to take a seat. It turns out I was invited to a secret meeting to recieve early information on an important subject. The neighbors had been complaining about the Chai House. Thursday night was open mic: The house was always packed. We would stand outside after closing time and howl in the street until two in the morning. Aparently, the normies in the nearest condo had bandened together and worked some kind of shady deal with the millionare weirdo who owned all the businesses on the corner. Rent was to be raised on the Chain House: 50% next month. No more coffee shop I was told. "Here take this." A half empy bottle of Jack Daniels was stuffed into my lap. "Drink up Buttercup." I took a long swig and coughed. "Are you performing tonight Miles?" "I guess I should play all the open mics? There's only three left aren't there?" "Aww cheer up Miles. This'll be an exciting three weeks!" Somehow I doubted it. Emily handed me the sign up sheet. I signed my name reluctantly into one of the 8:30 slots. In my mind I was already out the door. I just sat there awkwardly while everyone else talked. I started to feel nauseous. I stood up suddenly and mumbled something about "needing a cig." I ran past the pinball machines back into the coffee shop. Laptop Bob was nowhere to be seen. I ran outside into the sunlight. There was a group of young men playing hackey sack on the sidewalk and a few old homeless looking men shuffled around with coffee mugs. My eyes darted around frantically. In the corner by the street was my bike. I hopped on and darted into the street at record speed. There I was: Sitting on my bike at a red light surrounded by traffic. The light turned green and I clanked forward. When I arrived at Discovery Parkthe sun was on the wane. If you crossed over the Ballard Locks on foot towards Magnolia and head up the hidden trail bridge: You can reach Discovery Park from Ballard in about 20 minutes. West Commadore way street led to the lower entrance to the park: By the Metro Bus Station and the parking lot. There was a series of roads and bike trails that wound around the acrage of the park. It was several miles uphill to cut across to the opposite side of Discovery Park. I refilled my water bottle and began the grueling ascent. The road was surrounded by beautiful oak forests and lush green undergrowth. Nettles lined the storm drains. A metro bus whizzed by as I gulped for air and prayed my gears wouldn't skip as I rode my bike uphill. When you reached the top of the hill, everything flattened out. There were several old buildings out past the meadows and the fields of tall grass. Ancient concrete structures randomly appeared out of the tall grass; along with several overgrown fences. I spotted an extra tall patch of grass and dove toward it with my bike. I dismounted andmatted down some grassby laying the grass down sideways: Creating what looked like a baby dinosaur nest. Tucking my jacket and hat into a pillow; I curled up into a ball and fell asleep. There was still an hour until sunset; and the summer breeze kept me half awake. I was nearly to the ocean; you could taste it in the breeze. Seagulls clammered somewhere far above my bead of sand and grass. Eventually I awoke: I stood up and yawned. My eyes were fuzzy as I looked down at my wrist watch. I was woefully behind schedual. Ignoring all laws: I zoomed down the hiking trails on my bike towards the rest rooms. Slamming on my breaks: I nearly crashed into the water fountain. I hastily filled up my water bottle and hurried west towards the sand dunes. At this point I had to continue on foot. I said goodbye to my bike and ventured onward. I was following the cliffside trail of Discovery Park. You could see a wide angled view of Elliot bay and the beachside below. When you head past the sand dunes there was a secret trail on your left before you reached the lookout.The path was steep and narrow. It led to the forest underneath the cliffside. The path veered left when you reached the bottom: And led down to the ocean. If instead you were to head right: You would have found a path that I created. This path led downward to a large patch of ancient looking ferns. All the undergrowth was pulled out in a small patch leaving a circle of bare sand to sit on. Ususally I would sit there for about 5 minutes in silence and out of sight. It was sort of as a safety measure. Ten feet ahead from my little hobbit hole were three perfectly carven stairs in the clay hillside next to some bushes of blackberries.I would sit and relax and observe my handiwork before beginning my assent up the staircase. The feat of engineering here was that you couldn't see the path until you were up the stairs. Then you were plunged downward with towering vines looping overhead. The path was overgrown with Blackberries. The walls of the blackberry maze were over 6 feet tall. You would head down the hill: Curve right: Then foward again and hook another right. Another path then led stright back up the hill to a flat patch of sand about 5ft by 5ft. The view was magnificient. Surrounded by oak trees: The ocean was just visible over the skyline.There was a path that led straight to the cliffside and a view of the forest above. On the ground jetting out of the sand was a chest high marijauana plant. I quickly emptied both water bottles around the base of the plant. I had dug a moat around the plant to keep the water from running downhill. A morning glory had rapped itself around the stem of the cannabis plant. They were constantly invading. I kept a hand trowel and several bamboo strings along withsome twine under a hollowed-out log nearby. I checked for any spiders and then reached my hand into the mossy underbelly of the oak log. The tools were rusting but I couldn't keep carrying them back and forth to my secret garden: Plus, I was already paraniod lugging around teo large jugs of water; one in each hand. Certainly no jogger needed four gallons of water. Sandy soil and hot weather meant I was stuck watering every other day. My muscles ached from digging and hiking; and my feet were always sore. Earlier that summer I had gotten sick from over exertion in the heat. Now I would take a mandatory 30 minute break after watering. Usually I would take my shoes off and burymy feet in the sand. Then I would sort of daydream and listen to the seagulls. I named the plant Blackberry Kush.Really it was an unlabeled bag seed. The plant had large green leaves and the buds had just begun to form. I pointed my fisheye camera that was around my neck at the plant and snapped a photo.
Chapter 2: Depressed Pirate Theater 3000.
Next thing I knew the morning sun was beating down on my face:Shining through a crack in the blinds. I groaned and rolled over. My eyes were still
closed and my head felt funny. Every muscle in my body was sore. I could barely move. Somewhere in the distance my phone vibrated.
12:14 Pm. 2 Missed calls from Daniel. I was lying there in bed tucked into the sheets. I hit call on the phone. I was falling back asleep when he answered.
"Miles?"
"What's up man?"
"You coming to practice tonight?"
"When's practice again?"
"Dammit Miles. It's at 5 like always!"
"Calm down Ringo: I thought you were quitting."
...
"Hey Danny Boy?"
"What Miles?"
"The Pipes the pipes are calling."
I always snuck in that Pipes joke on Daniel. Classic line.Always pissed the guy off. Daniel was basically homeless. he had just come off the street.
Daniel had long blonde hair like a metalhead:Jet black jeans and several tee shrits from local metal bands.
We practiced in Ballard off 85th street: Inside this old two story house in the basement. All the band members lived downstairs. It was one of those ancient basements that was built really far underground: You couldn't even see out the windows they were up so high. Everything downstairs was made of wooden paneling and concrete. During the summer heat it was extra cool. Daniel was sitting in his swivel chair; in front of a keyboard and his computer: With one of those headsets that telemarketers use. "You wanna hit this?" "Sure." "Here. You got any pot?" "Yeah. Ill load a bowl later. Wheres Sid And Jim?" "At the store buying cigarettes." "Jimmy! Jimm Jimm!!" Are you here?" Like an banshee summoned by his own name: A strange head popped out of the dark room under the stairs. Jimmy had funky dreads: Rotten Teeth: And a weird cowboy hat He looked like a depressed pirate. "No yelling in thr basement! Ohh hey Miles." "Hey Jimmy. Where's Sid?" "Buying Weed." "I thought practice was at 5?" "No. Practice is always at 6 Miles. But no harm being early! Wanna cigarette?" "No thanks. But could we watch some Red Dwarf while we wait for Sid?" Jimmy's room was damp and dark; and smelled like incense If any ghosts lived in the house; they definetally lived in Jim's room. It reminded me of Harry Potter's cupboard under the stairs; except bigger. There were these weird paintings all over the walls: Every one of them contained aliens and some kind of bearded Jesus figure. They were extremely creepy. Daniel, Jimmy and I were sitting inseperate chairs like were were in a miniature theater. The cast of Red Dwarf were bumbling around the spaceship with their usual antics. Kryten the Robot, a slick haired Vampire, And a man with an "H" on his forehead. Jimmy said he doesn't usually smoke cigarettes inside the house. It's against the rules. He lit up a marlboro and some incense sticks. It was like "Mystery Science Theater 3000." We sat there and passed the bowl around. Daniel and Jim split a cigarette. We were sitting in the dar; talking ofthe T.V glare: When there was a knock on the door. "Hello?" "Who is it?" "Sid. Can I come in?" "Yeah. Hurry. There's a towel under the door." Sid slid into the room quickly and sat down. Jim flipped the lights on. In the corner there was a full drum set; an old bass; and Sid's backup electric. The band was Jim Funktastic And The Plastic Meatheads. Sid and Jim wrote all the songs. They had gone through a couple drummers and a million different bass players. Our set list was something like this: Dancing with aliens: 5 seconds till midnight: Traveling with Spacetime: Hooker Handie and several others. Daniel played the drums and I played bass. We sounded pretty damn good. The next morning I felt very nervious about the concert I had to perform with Jim Funktastic And The Plastic Meatheads. I paced around my room for hours with the shades drawn to avoid the heat. I didn'teven have a bass to practice with. Daniel was going to bring the practice Bass from Jims room. Eventually I stopped pacing around after goodness knows how long and left the house. I headed Sounth on Garfield Street past the tennis courts and the fire station. There was a series of steep hill and elongated staircases that wound downwards toward towards the Seattle Center. The Seattle Center was sort of my second home. I felt calm around the giant metal water fountain and the open grass lawns; the wooden Bagota with the large grass bell. The Center House: Which was this large indoor structure that housed resturants and fast food joints. There was an open court area with tables, chairs and a stage in the back corner for concerts and cultural events.Behind that was the water fountains and bathrooms: And also the elevators. The walls were covered with posters of advertizments for the upcoming performances. Upstairs was an open room with a balcony view of the food court. There was a gigantic chess piece chess set on the white linoleum floor. Downstairs was the children's area which was closed and off limits. There was however, a single public hallway that stretched the length of the downstairs.Four buttons on the side of the wall would change the color of the lights anytime to: Red: green: Yellow or Blue. There was also a random outlet in one of the walls: Which is where I sat charging my phone. My phone was my watch: I neede to be on time for the big performance. With just an hour to spare; I walked out of the center house and into the sunlight. I walked directly underneath the space needle and onto the front lawn by the street and the sidewalk. There was a large brass statue of a lightning bolt that people climbed onto sometimes. The design of the statue was an upward facing diagnal line with a single deviation in the bolt. Across the street was an abnormally large sign in the shape of a killer clown with rasor sharpteeth and a tiny fez hat. Underneath was a tiny dive bar and a sign with the words: THE FUNK HOUSE. I crossed the street and walked around to the back alleyway. My bandmates were all there; huddled in the corner with all the equipment. Jim Funktastic was much too excited to see me. He had this goofy, shit eating grin and wide, googly eyes. Clearly in his mind we were Crosby, Stillsand Nash climbing up the side of the stage to play Woodstock: Not four misfits playing grunge rock in Seattle's smallest public venue. The bouncer opened the backdoor for us. Except he was just a normal doorman in street clothes. He informed us that the concert would start late because of trouble with the P.A system. Daniel shoved the bass case intomy hands and we shuffled inside with all the quipment. Inside the bar was much more normal than I expected. I expected a scene from eyes wide shut or maybe a MArylon Manson concert. Instead there was just an empty roomand a stage. Not even any rock stickers or posters on the wall! There was only around 25 people in the joint. The "bouncer" told us there were free beers in the back room. We kicked off with a down tempo version Hooker Handie: My bass kept cutting out during the show. I just kept giggling the chords between licks. All the regulars just cheered anyways like we were Led freaking Zeppelin. After the show ; all four of us crossed the streetand sat on the concrete ledge by the Seattle Center lawn and smoked a joint. We were like a knock off Beatles or Rolling stones. Or at least it was easy to time travel for a few minutes. A fab four of sorts. Jim Funktastics grin was wider than ever. He explained how we were going to make it big. A gig in every city. The wine and honey would be flowing. "Money for nothing and chicks for free" I looked over at Daniel. He seemed exhausted beyond expectations. I realized the concert took a lot out of him. Or maybe it was Jim's speech.
Chapter 3 Odd Todd Is On First Base.
Dana and I had a huge secret. We played baseball together.
We would give each other this secret look: And then make up some excuse about getting smokes. We would hop into Dana's blue pickup truck and
drive North through the Ballard neighborhood. We would listen to Manfred Man and Sly Stone. We would find public lawns or an empty lot and throw
an old baseball around. We would joke around about how our coffee shop friends would never play sports. We talked about going to Mariners games
and how baseball was still an awesome all American sport.
We both had our gloves from when we played in school. Dana played short stop and I played right field. Now we just played catch and laughed.
"So did you ever steal second base."
"Yeah. I wasn't as tall as you though: I had to be careful"
"You played short stop right? So did you ever tag out someone?"
"One time I caught a fly ball that went right into my glove and then I tagged someone out."
"You got a double play BY YOURSELF?!"
"Yeah. Can you believe that?"
"No."
We got tired after a while and I threw my glove and ball into my backpack and climbed into the truck. We played "My name is Jack" and cut down a
residential street slowly as we blazed. We kept the windows closed. Dana kept saying "Roll down the window im paranoid." and I would insist "Thats
how the cops smell you and you get pulled over." Then Dana would say "But won't they see the smoke! It was like a bad Cheech and chong spin-off
skit. We reached the Chai House and rolled down the windows. Everyone hanging around outside drinking coffee stared at us shocked. We didnt care
as long as no one saw us playing catch.
Todd was standing there by the metal bike racks with a vacant expression. He asked if I had any weed. Dana said he was going to buy a sandwich
and walked inside quickly. Todd had that effect on people. Plus he reeked of wine 24/7. Definetally red wine. He was leaning on an enormous wooden
staff wearing a knit cap and a sweater. He looked like an elf from Middle Earth who was wandering around the forest drunk.
We slowly crossed Leary Ave. and headed for the low income appartments across the street. The rumour was that the appartment complex was
haunted: Built on a disturbed gravesite.Seattle buildings of a certain age were sometimes built over old cemetary plots. Todd would invite me over
and show me his beautifulpaintings and other relics of his past life. He would try so hard to piece together his life story for me.How he raised wolves:
Became an artist and a sports writer: Then his life in maui: He grew enough weed to fill this room he was always saying. Then he would spread out
his arms so indicate that he couldnt even hold it all.
Todd was what I'd call hopelessly dyslexic. He could hardly use ahponelet alone pay a phone bill. He could hardly get his meds or cash a check. I
wanted to help but it was hard to ask him basic questions about "are you on SSI." I don't think I could have saved the appartment even If i had the
money. Todd took all the paintings off the wall one byone and held them together with two hands. He walked over to the edge of the balcony and
just chucks them all onto the closed garbage bins.
I went downstairs to try and grab some to salvage for Todd when some clothes go floating by my head fly like flying ghosts. I duck down suprised and then an actual glass cup flys down 5 feet from me and shatters. This poor fool has no idea im down there. He forgot already. I leave before the slumlord Appartment manager sees this mess with me standing here. Todd ended up not having his knee caps broken. He sort of spiraled into chaos naturally however. He came by before the Chai House closed and told me he was "sleeping under a parked R.V" which I always thought must have been him mis-speaking. One can only hope.
Chapter 4 Behind Mr. President's Van.
Behind Mr.Presidents van we would conduct band practice. I would strum the guitar and he would play the flute or clarinet and bob his head up and
down like a fucking snake charmer. His grey afro would bounce up and down. Mr. President was a musical genius who played every instrument. His
van was covered in sheet music.
Mr. President had Trumpets, Saxiphones, flutes, clarinets, a french horn and an acoustic guitar. All kept in public storage. He was manically insistant
that I learn this complex jazz standard that he has written. The song was titled "The sands of time." The song seemed to contain every chord known
to mankind. Mr. President actually taught me advanced music theory. He taught me intervals, chord progressions and vocal exercises.
I spent many days practicing scales on the piano and doing my vocal exercises. I would sing one, three, five, seven, eight, seven, five, three, one.
And repeat for each different note. Inside the piano bench was a million printed out sheets of paper with songs on them. Think Tom Waits and Elton
John. "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road." I tried to memorize piano scales in every key and also on my guitar.
We played with this local kid named Owen who was a jazz guitar virtuoso. He could solo or vamp chords over anything you played even if hed never
heard the song. We were going to play one final goodbye to the Chai house with a stunning rendition of "The Sands Of Time" at the last open mic. I
was going to play chords on the piano and Mr. President was going to take one solo on the clarinet and one on the saxiphone.
After practice Dwane the grower walked by and asked if we wanted to have a fairwell party at the beach. We all piled into Dwanes van in the library
parking lot and drove down to golden gardens beach: Which is the Northeastern tip of Ballard Wa. in Puget Sound. If you headed towards the beach
parking lot and then right under the train tracks to go back up the hill; there was a secret trail that led into the woods to a large open area and a fire
pit. We started a fire early and broke out the hotdogs and soda. Mark was there with his Mandolin and Mr. President had his guitar. Melissa and Phil
were there. So was my bandmate Daniel. And Vlad the inhaler. We burnt the fire high that night and took turns swinging the rope swing above the
flame.
The last night was the open mic. It was completely packed. There must have been an illegal amount of people in the coffee shop. no one could move
easily. There were people there ive never met who must have traveled there. Everyone was ordering dinners on plates and pints of beer. It was more
like a busy pub that night. The sign up sheet was passed around and I signed it as Mr. president band. I sat there at a table and played chess with
Laptop Bob. He lifted the left castle with his black painted nails and almost set it down. He looked nervous to put the piece down. "I hate this game."
I laughted. Mr. President had a clarinet reeed in his mouth with his sunglasses on. bobbing his head around and grinning randomly.
Is there anyone else who wants to play? I jumped up to get to the mike. A very drunk middle aged man got there first. He grabbed the microphone
and starting singing in the worst karaoke voice ever. "Just a small town girl. Livin' in a lonely world She took the midnight train goin' anywhere Just a
city boy; born and raised in South Detroit. He took the midnight train goin' anywhere. A singer in a smokey room; the smell of wine and cheap
perfume. For a smile they can share the night it goes on and on and on and on."
The Mc grabbed the mic away forcefully. "Okay... I think thats enough for the open mic. Sorry for anyone that didnt get to play but weve done
around... 4 1/2 hours and I think it's time to call it a night. The Chai House owner said a couple of words and then a few other people came up and
gave some tearful stories and testamonials.
Then we all had to walk out of the coffee shop slowly and theworkersall came out with us.noon even stayed in the shop. They locked the door from
the outside. We all hung around the outside for a while. No one went home right away. Some people started playing some music. A few lit up a
cigarette. a bunch of taxis showed up but they left after an hour when no one got in.
"Alright Bob well at least ill see your sorry ass again."
"Goodnight Wapner."
