Hello Space Needlers... Travelers, Seattle continues to be awesome! Today (not actually today, but you get it) I decided to accomplish a great feat of awesomeness. I went to the Space Needle! Uno problemo though, Your hero has two weaknesses, one being heights.
Let me be the first to say (I'm not actually the first) that it was tall too. Golly (a really dumb expression). As Space Traveler Lazer Winkelbot and I approached the base of the needle, we saw the Science Fiction Museum or SFM. As we walked by we could hear the very familiar soundtracks of famous Sci-Fi cinema mixed and escaping into the public.
This guy really wanted to pet a Wookie. That's racist.
Once inside the Space needle you will find a very odd thing: A large picture of the Space needle to the backdrop of Mt. Rainier on a VERY clear day. Oddly enough, this picture was the only thing with any sort of security. Space Traveler Winkelbot was able to get this stealthy photo before a employee would come over to us and quote some very obvious lies about copyright laws. If we wanted a picture of this thing, we'd have to stand in front of it and pay for it downstairs.
I'm not mad at the employee, she was just vomiting out the company stance on the image. This Super scared image by the way was available for FREE (zero dollars) downstairs on the brochure. Obviously, a continuity issue.
My contempt to abuse capitalism took second place to my irrational fear of heights once on top. Sure I'm smiling, but inside I'm a frenzy of fear driven chaos. I thought a peace sign was appropriate. Between moments of pure terror, I was able to find brief glimpses out of the windows. At one point I was even emboldened to walk outside on the deck. The deck offers one additional factor in my personal fear: Whipping wind. My courage lasted for a while, but eventually my body let me know it was time to retire back inside.
The elevator ride up is at 10mph, the ride down felt more like 20. It was nice though to be back on the ground.
Seattle, in an attempt to be creative and artsy has various pigs across the city. You will find the pigs almost anywhere you go. This pig was not very hero friendly. A larger pig preaching a message of compassion and tolerance was able to subdue the irate ornate bovine, and I was able to leave unscathed.
Time for a question or two.
Gabriel writes: Chi, how come you only did the western United States? Have you ever been out east?
Well Gabriel, the selection of my route had several factors. The largest factor was housing. Being that I have a large family presence on the west coast, it reduced the cost dramatically. Frankly it was the difference between being able to go and not. Part of this road trip was to go explore and have some positive solitude, but the other part was seeing many of my family members. As for the East, other than my 8th grade field trip to Washington, DC, I've only been once. That trip to the east was a trip to a family reunion on my mother's side of the family in West Virginia. This memory of mine is coincidentally my first memory. The memory consists of two things. The first is my older brother Ismael, we call him Qui Qui, firing a rifle. Not much of a memory, but I distinctly remember the kickback throwing him to the ground. The second part of the memory is being held by one of my parents while we sat on the back of a four wheeler. we rode around in a field and I remember the color of the mountains that surrounded it. They were purple, and every mountain I would draw in my youth would continue to share this hue. When I told my parents that this is my earliest memory, I was surprised to find out that the trip to West Virginia happened before I was 2 years old, a very early age for the brain to begin imprinting permanent memories.
Well Gabriel, I've often dreamed about driving east, and resources willing, I know I will someday. I once met a New Yorker (proper) who insisted that I was from Soho. While positive that I was truly a native of Springfield MO, I have since wondered what people in Soho were like. I've wondered what kind of community spirit they have that was somehow characterized by me in that moment. Other than that, the New England area has always interested me, and having become more familiar with the history of Roger Williams, I have wanted to visit Providence RI. The Southern coast seems interesting too, but the east's gems seem to be in it's historical merit. Thanks for the Q Space Traveler, and remember to spay or neuter your family pet.
BorrowedTime writes: What kind of music do you listen too?
I listen to many musical groups and individual artists, however one stands above the rest. Since the summer of 2003, I have been listening faithfully to a man named Elliott Smith. Smith a artist based out of Los Angeles was made popular by a few late 1990's cinema. His songs captured the mood in films such as "Good Will Hunting," American Beauty" and "The Royal Tenenbaums." For some time I have wondered why I have been so drawn to his lyrics, but after what has been 4 years, I believe it to be his sincerity. It was actually the last time I visited family on the west coast when I first listened to him. I had a mix CD a friend had made for me as a going away gift. That CD would not leave my leave my CD player all summer. That feeling alone of that summer can be summarized in the freedom I felt listening to the song "Alameda" while riding the busses around San Diego all day. That newly installed sence of independance and autonomy would serve me well as this was the summer before I left home and moved to Rolla.
Elliott Smith had seemed to give me a sad and yet sweet voice in my head, and I was eager to share it with all that would have it. In my first semester at UMR, Elliott Smith would be found dead in his apartment. He had committed suicide. Strangely, I felt that I understood. The sarrow he shared in his music seemed real, so different from the screaming teenage voice whining into the microphone which had been at that time mistaken for sadness. When I learned of his death, I spent a few days listening to all his music, and reflected on my own sorrow. If this summer is the last summer, then that summer was the first.Certainly the first to mean anything. You see, the semester previous, more specifically the week before finals, my life had taken a very difficult turn. My girlfriend of a year and seven months had cheated on me, and left me for that individual. To compound how my life was changing, I had recently been accepted into the same college she was currently attending: UMR.
After she left me, I was faced with the decision to still go or to stay, with only a short summer to figure it out. Some may say that I went with some foolish hope that we would eventually get back together, that my sadness fed my own desperation to be with someone that no longer wished to be with me. I don't doubt that there was a great deal of truth in this idea.
And so I was there, on the bus, on the beach, or on the boardwalk, all the while with Elliott Smith whispering his sad songs in my ear. I found that hearing such sincere sadness normalized the feelings I was having. As he poured his sadness out, I could feel my own sadness leaving, and as it left, my desire became greater and greater to attend the university. I realized that I wanted to go there no because of a girl, but because it represented a lot of hard work. As more and more sadness left me, I began to think about what my own sadness would sound like if I were to ever let it out, and so I picked up a pen and began writing.
That summer I found my voice; I found my song, and if you ever wish to hear it, I might just grant it. It's something I don't share with many. If you ask, you must know in advance that this is my most intimate possession, so I may be shy.
Thanks Space Travelers for reading this unnecessarily long post. It's my wish to make this trip a more joyful experience, but sometimes I just feel like being honest, sincere, and human. I often am hesitant about putting myself on display like this. I wonder what preconceived notions of me I might just betray.My only wish is to be loved and respected at my most genuine self. Goodnight.
Before I even had a chance to enter the museum I was enamored by the gems of wisdom I could find in the parking lot. This got me thinking: When was the last time I heard a jet in Rolla?
As a compromise, I was not able to bring my camera into the plant. The Everett plant is the largest building in the world. While it is only about 6 stories tall, it covers an area greater than several football stadiums. After it's expansion in the 80s the heating an ventilation began creating aperations in the building. That is to say, clouds happened.
After the tour of the future, I went back into the past. I was impressed by the amount of stuff they had acquired, but somehow felt like the museum part was somehow just a promotion of the new Dreamliner.
It was still worth it, and even if the afternoon was spent waiting in lines and being herded around a engineering plant, I felt free. I didn't need a jet noise to liberate myself either.
On a more 
Well, not much today to report Space Travellers, but I will answer some questions now that have been stacking up. 
Speaking of adventure... did anybody go?
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