[Snoqualmie,
WA?] I was in Snoqualmie (just E of Seattle) partially because one of my most
workaholic friends from grad school was scheduled to be vacationing in with her
husband the next day. I mention she’s a workaholic because, the next day, she mentioned
how she’d noticed How Often I’ve Been Traveling … so I said, “Bitch! I’m
traveling to see you!” … in my head, I said that. In real life, I ordered a
sparkling wine with my lunch. She ordered a glass to Share with her husband,
driving her point home that I am a general no-good gad-about. It’s true – I’ve been
traveling more than ever before. For all sorts of reasons, work, valid personal,
maybe valid disarray. And maybe I wouldn’t have driven three hours north of
Portland for a couple of hours with them, except I’m pretty serious about
taking opportunities to see people when I can at this point. I finally have
lovely community in Portland but my people are still scattered after annual or
biannual moves for many many years. So, truth be told, I was also in Snoqualmie
because it was the end of the annual Twin Peaks Festival, the 90s TV show that
shaped my art/sex/music sensibilities in seriously fundamental ways. So I could
conveniently crash that the night before Seattle. I had to crash it because
tickets were $300-400 and I’d be damned if I’d pay that much, as much as I
adore Twin Peaks. I arrived in Snoqualmie, which was unexpectedly beautiful,
totally incensed. I’m not a road rage girl but I am fairly obsessed with
maximizing the time I’ve got before I die. Pretty much my daily mentality,
unless I have a good partner to reign me in. So if driving from Portland to
Seattle/Snoqualmie had taken the 3 hours it’s supposed to take, I would have
been mentally prepared, and ok. But West Coast traffic is so obnoxious, it
happens in the middle of nowhere. It’s practically wilderness between the two
cities… and, yet, city-level traffic. Stop. Go. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Then
weird construction stuff. Weird unclear stuff. I was poking my eyes, stabbing
my neck. It was so painful. It took like 4½ hours. LA people say: And? The
highlight of the drive was “No” by Subhumans on my Ipod with the lyrics that
make me cry (thank you Rockboy, yellow house, Austin) – the religion part for
sure but maybe more the it’s-just-your-youth:
No I
dont believe in Jesus Christ my mother died of cancer when I was five
No I
dont believe in religion i was forced to go to church
but I
wasn't told why
No I
dont believe in the police force police brutality isn't a dream
No I
dont believe in the system cause nothing it does makes sense to me
Dont
worry you'll get over it you'll grow up
you'll
calm down, another youth another fashion you'll get over it
you'll
calm down you dont really mean what you say
you've
had too much to drink dont be so full of hatred
it's
not as bad as you think
No I
dont believe in what you say you're just a part of what I despise
Yes
you're part of the fucking system I aint blind
So I
drove, still bitter, down the standard-charming main street of Snoqualmie
(baskets of flowers hanging from the street lights, touristy shops) and arrived
at the expansive brewery, bitter and hungry. There was an outdoor bar and
indoor bar. It was super hot but I wanted to sit outside to watch the ‘band,’
but the food was inside. So inside I went. I was immediately charmed by the
high prevalence of genuine weirdos – bodies, clothes – it was all becoming just
a little Twins Peaksian. I found a seat at the bar, unfortunately next to a
woman mute in the middle of some tormenting experience. Her boyfriend would pat
her and then they’d return to drinking their beers mutely. Finally finally she
broke her silence and spoke to the bartender, whom she knew of course because
Snoqualmie is tiny. I don’t remember what they said but I remember the bartender
told someone: “When you stare at the abyss, the abyss stares back.” Now I was
having a good time. Once fed, I braved the blinding hotness of the outside bar.
This band, sigh. They were excessively white, excessively Pacific Northwest
(PNW). He was on keyboards and she sang and wooed the crowd. The woman was a
deadringer for my cousin. My mom’s side of the family, children-of-the-corn
blonde, originate from the PNW and are fanaticists for the PNW –good-doing
Catholic roots. Even more deadringer-y, she told the crowd she was headed for
Africa soon after this show. She had an extraordinary amount of confidence, nay
arrogance. I found her pretty unpleasant. But their music was all right. They
covered Duke Ellington. Then they (wittily?) said “this is from a well known
jazz musician” and covered “Stairway to Heaven.” I enjoyed them more when I
compared them to an electronic band I saw at SXSW, NO CEREMONY///, whom were
similarly high-class-glossy and whom I imagined were having an incestuous
relationship, a la Brett Easton Ellis. I thought me and this band were just a
SXSW fling, and I’m pretty sure they’ve still only released like two songs, but
my obsession with NO CEREMONY/// endures. Max Canela will carry on when blondie
heads to Africa. The Twins Peaks karaoke I chanced upon later that night at The
Roadhouse Restaurant & Inn in Fall City WA (AKA The Roadhouse Bar in Twin
Peaks) was much more exciting. At first I was severely disappointed it was just
festival participants doing standard karaoke (Rolling Stone, Eagles, The Band) instead
of music from the show… … but the scene was interesting – kooky US fans, kooky international
fans, industry people (as I assumed from their attitude or unusual
attractiveness), aging stars from the show (in my desperate mind). The young
waiters had some Bobby Briggs about them. I am positive Jerry Horne stood next
to me (in cargo shorts, sadly) to order his drink. And then someone did a song from
Lynch’s (mostly shitty) Mulholland Drive,
an excellent version of Orbison’s “Crying” in Spanish (“Llorando”).
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