Tag Archives: Kurt Cobain

What Do You Mean I’m Not Cool?!

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I was driving my kids to school the other day when a really good song popped up on my iPod. After doing a bit of air drumming while stopped at a red light, I glanced into the rearview mirror and said, “How does it feel to have a Cool Dad?”

The blank expressions on my little cherubs’ faces weren’t exactly encouraging.

“Who?” Rusty asked.

“You guys,” I said.

“But who’s cool?” he wondered still.

“I am. Me. The guy behind the steering wheel.”

At that they both rolled their eyes. Fearing that I may have misread their expressions – it was still kinda dark outside, after all, and the mirror might have been a little smudged – I said, “You do think I’m cool, right?”

There was a long pause, followed by a disconcerting “Umm…” that trailed off into a black pool of silence. This from the mouth of Audrey. My youngest. She’s 11. Still a reasonable age to consider her dad to be a pretty cool guy, right?

Apparently not.

Kinda thought this was me. Apparently not. Whatever.

So then, I found myself justifying my coolness to the kids. “Hey, just last week I was partying in Seattle…rockin’ out at a bunch of concerts…right in front of the stage, even!…visiting Kurt Cobain’s house…slamming back shots, I mean, geoduck…I’m even wearing a Nirvana shirt right now…I bet all your friends’ dads are dressed in cardigans and grooving to Lawrence Welk tonight…”

My argument petered out as I realized it was no longer 1962.

And still, I was getting nowhere with the two in the back seat. Their eyes had glazed over the moment I opened my mouth. I, for one, was stunned. Shocked to learn that my kids don’t think I’m the coolest person in the world. It boggles the mind. How can they not see how hip to the jive their dad is? (Could it be that truly cool people never use the expression “hip to the jive” maybe?!).

I do think that as far as guys my age go – particularly dads – I’m a pretty cool dude. But I suppose once your kids have seen you kicking back on a recliner dressed in funky striped pajama pants and drinking tea while laughing over the crazy antics of Doug Heffernan on The King Of Queens they can never fully come around to thinking of you as cool.

“Well,” I grumbled, my ego now bruised. “Tara says we’re both too cool for the room.”

‘Tis true. It’s a favorite expression of ours. But this last desperate gambit of mine, one final chance to show them that somebody at least thinks I’m cool, backfired when Rusty said, “Isn’t she in her 30s?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, that’s pretty old.”

“Excuse me? 30s is considered old?!”

A pair of heads nodded in unison. I knew I couldn’t blame a dirty mirror this time; the response was too perfectly choreographed. To make matters worse, the sun was now rising, eliminating “shadowplay” (and its kindred spirit “a trick of the light”) from being a possibility.

“What exactly do you think is old?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Anything over 28,” they replied. In stereo.

Anything. Over. 28. Sigh…I don’t stand a chance with those two. That train left the station many years ago. I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to the fact that no matter how many obscure indie bands I like or rock concerts I attend or Nirvana t-shirts I wear or glasses of bourbon platters of geoduck I down, my kids will never, ever consider me cool.

Well, boo to them! Something tells me their Christmas stockings are going to be a little on the empty side this year, if you catch my drift. Cool dads might stuff them full of all sorts of awesome things, but since I’m not cool, they’ll have to be content with a toothbrush and a pair of socks. If they’re lucky.

While I may not be cool, you know who is? Tara’s brother, Eric.

That’s right. Eric is one cool cat. He is awesomely cool in a way that very few people can ever hope to match. Eric’s so cool, I want to fill my blog with his name over and over again because it sounds so damn good. Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric.

Eric. Eric. Eric.

EricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEricEric.

You know what? Still not out of my system yet…

Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric.

That’s a little better, but I think at this point I should save the rest for another time. Wouldn’t want to OD on such a cool guy right off the bat, you know?

Why Yes, I HAVE Tried Geoduck!

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Back in August, I shared my new catchphrase with the world. It was cool, it was hip – and it was ironic, since I had never tried geoduck. How could I be dishing out those words, I wondered, when I hadn’t even partaken (partook?) in said delicacy myself. Fortunately, I can now say I have! So, how’d it taste?

You’ll have to wait a few minutes to find out…I’ve got other stories to share!

“Surprise!”

Tara was supposed to fly into PDX Wednesday evening. Her flight was supposed to arrive at 10:55 PM. She had been telling me this for weeks. So, when I got a text from her that afternoon stating that she’d be leaving for the airport soon, I thought nothing of it. Then, when she asked me if I’d checked my mail yet, I figured she had sent me something, so I told her I’d put on my shoes and go walk out to the mailbox. I stepped outside, only to run into this smiling woman who looked exactly like my girlfriend. Only that was impossible, because it was only 6:30 and her flight wouldn’t even be departing Vegas for another couple of hours. I stopped dead in my tracks, a look of confusion blossoming across my face as I realized that not only was this girl standing before me the spitting image of Tara…she was Tara. I have never been so surprised in my entire life!

We embraced and smothered each other with kisses and hugs. 38 days apart, man…that’s hell.

Turns out she had set the whole thing up with my friends, Steven and Jonna, who did an excellent job of not only keeping the secret a secret, but of picking her up from the airport and delivering her to my doorstep. I thanked them profusely and invited them in, but was glad they didn’t stay more than a few minutes. No offense, guys, but Tara and I had some catching up to do!

After we were all caught up, we ordered pizza and watched a few sitcoms on my DVR. But mostly we couldn’t stop kissing each other.

The Theme is “Kurt”

Thursday morning we were up early. After enjoying coffee and a bite to eat, we packed the car and began our drive north about 9:45. We weren’t going straight to Seattle, though; instead, we took a two-hour detour to Aberdeen to pay homage to Kurt Cobain. We’re both huge Nirvana fans, and after my visit there five years ago, I’d always wanted to return. Tara was eager to see Kurt’s childhood home and the Young Street Bridge, a teenage hangout of Kurt’s popularized in the song “Something In The Way.”

Aberdeen is a depressed and depressing blue collar town in Gray’s Harbor County, Washington. The weather was overcast and drizzly as we pulled in front of Kurt’s former home. We then parked the car and walked to the bridge, which is now also the site of Riverfront Park, a memorial to Kurt complete with a statue and signs. The graffiti beneath the bridge – colorful tributes to the late artist – was a somber ode to this man, whose legacy lives on.

The whole trip had a Kurt theme running throughout; we also visited the Nirvana “Taking Punk To The Masses” exhibit at the EMP (Experience Music Project) in Seattle, and the home where he and Courtney Love lived (and where he killed himself) on Lake Washington Boulevard. And, of course, we listened to lots of Nirvana music.

After Aberdeen, we returned back to I-5 and proceeded north. We stopped by Tara’s brother’s house to pick up a spare key, and then headed into Bellevue so I could finally meet Tracy, Tara’s mom. She was working a late shift and we had concerts to go to, but I wanted to see her first – it would have felt weird to sleep in her guest room without meeting her. She came out of the bakery where she works to greet us, and we hugged like old friends – which, in reality, is exactly what we are – and chatted for a bit. Then Tara and I drove up to Bothell, north of Seattle, to drop off our things at her house. It was time for some rock ‘n roll!

Rockin’ Out In Seattle

We drove into Seattle Thursday evening to get our rock ‘n roll fix started. We were there for the City Arts Fest, a three-day music event, and had to pick up our wristbands first. Once they were secured around our wrists (where they would remain until Saturday night), we drove to Seattle Center for a School Of Rock laser light show. True to its name, this was a bunch of kids in bands playing grunge classics while lasers danced across the ceiling. They were, by and large, all pretty good; the only thing missing was Jack Black. After the School Of Rock show we drove to the Showbox, the venue for our next concert of the evening. We circled around the vicinity of 4th Avenue for awhile, looking for a place to park, and had an encounter with a sketchy probably-homeless guy who tried to take $10 off my hands for parking, even though he didn’t work at the lot. Fortunately, Tara was onto his game and I had to roll the window up in his face and high tail it out of there to find another lot. One thing about Seattle: there are a lot of annoying panhandlers and shady characters about. All part of the charm, I guess. We were hungry – it was after 9 PM now, and we hadn’t eaten since stopping for an early lunch – so we walked around looking for a decent restaurant. Most of them, oddly enough, were closed already, so our quest became simply finding any restaurant open. We found a Chinese hole-in-the-wall place called Genghis Khan right next to the theater, and the food (orange beef and sweet ‘n sour prawns) was quite good. Satisfied, we went next door and saw two bands perform, OK Campfire and The Long Winters. Great music + excellent company made for a terrific first full day together. We arrived back at Tracy’s place around 1 AM and crashed.

Friday morning, Tracy made us homemade scones with honey butter, which we enjoyed with hot coffee. If you’ve never had a “real” scone – and I, apparently, had not – you are missing out. They were delicious! It was great just lounging around, talking with Tracy and David, her boyfriend of many years. Tara and I were pretty beat after our late night, so we took a nap before heading to the EMP for the Nirvana exhibit. Afterwards, we drove to the Moore Theater and parked across the street. We had a couple of hours to kill before the concert lineup there, so we browsed through a used record store, stopped in a Belltown bar for drinks (I had a Maker’s Mark Manhattan and – wonder of wonders – a chocolate cake shot, a fave of Tara’s. It was pretty stinkin’ good, and by the time we left, I was a tad on the intoxicated side. Whoopsie). We then proceeded across the street to a sushi restaurant that featured on its menu…yes, you guessed it…geoduck!

Feeling Clammy

We both ordered sushi for our main course, but the appetizer? It was a baked geoduck served in a cheesy mayonnaise-based sauce that included mushrooms, onions and fresh herbs. The verdict?

Absolutely delicious! It was like eating a clam…which makes sense, seeing that geoduck is a clam. An oversized, funny-looking clam, but a clam nonetheless. We both thought the geoduck was the highlight of our dinner, in fact.

And now my catchphrase ain’t ironic no mo.

We walked over to the Moore Theater afterwards, and saw a triple lineup of indie rock awesomeness: Seapony, Disco Doom, and Built To Spill. BTS is a favorite band of both of ours, so when we arrived and grabbed seats in the front row, we were pretty stoked. Deciding that the front row wasn’t close enough, we got up and leaned against the stage for Built To Spill’s 90-minute set. The music was incredible – these unassuming guys from Boise, Idaho know how to rock! We had a great time, even though my ears were ringing for the next 24 hours. Totally worth the borderline deafness.

Because of a three-encore set we were late to the next venue and weren’t allowed inside, so we headed back to Tracy’s house instead. Three words: Seattle traffic sucks. It took us thirty minutes to navigate a few blocks and (finally) reach the freeway. We didn’t get back until 1 AM again, and of course were exhausted after another full day.

Built To Chill

Saturday morning we slept in late. There were no scones awaiting us, as both Tracy and David had to work, so – ya know – no sense in getting up early! After two nights of rock ‘n roll and too many encounters with traffic and crazy people, I suggested we skip the final night’s concert and hang out at home instead. Tara was more than agreeable with this idea. We’d been on the go so much, a simpler evening sounded like just the ticket, and Tracy had promised to make us lasagna for dinner. Lasagna just happens to be my favorite dish (other than geoduck, of course). So, after breakfast at this great little cafe in Bothell, wine tasting and a tour of Domaine Ste. Michelle winery in Woodinville, and the aforementioned pilgrimage to Kurt’s mansion (still a pretty full day!), we returned home. Tara’s brother’s girlfriend (are you keeping track?) came over, and the four of us had a wonderful evening filled with lasagna, wine, cheesecake, and cards. After the card game, Tara and I excused ourselves and headed upstairs to bed. Was it early? Well, yeah…but it was also our last night together. Let’s just say everybody understood.

Just…Ouch

When I woke up this morning, I was already feeling depressed. We had waited 38 days to see each other – 38 agonizing, grueling days – and sadly, our time together flew by. Isn’t that always the case? We did have time for a nice breakfast out with her family – Tracy, David, Eric (brother), Anne (brother’s gf) – at the Original Pancake House in Bothell. And then, it was time to drive Tara to the airport. I hugged Tracy and thanked her for her hospitality. She really did pull out all the stops and made me feel right at home.

At Sea-Tac Tara and I stopped for a Bloody Mary at a bar and grill, and then came the really hard part. The saying-goodbye part. When I left Ely, we didn’t even know if we were going to pursue a relationship together, so that goodbye was hard…but uncertain. This one was about a hundred times worse, because…well…I am completely in love with Tara.

And she loves me back.

This is all just so surreal and bizarre…and pretty damn wonderful.

But, yeah…it makes for really hard goodbyes. We kissed. We hugged each other tightly. And then I turned and walked away. Couldn’t even bear to glance back – seeing her standing in line to board a plane that would whisk her away to another state was simply too difficult to deal with. And then, the 2.5-hour drive back home in an empty car was painful. I mean that literally. I shouldn’t have listened to Built To Spill the whole way back. There may have been a few teary-eyed moments and possibly a lump in my throat on occasion, but I’m admitting nothin’.

When I got home, there was a very sweet and heartfelt e-mail from Tracy, who basically told me how grateful she is that Tara and I are together, how happy I make her daughter, and how happy that makes her, as her mother. And, she welcomed me to the family. Which kind of choked me up but made me feel all sorts of wonderful. Just last night, I had told Tara that I felt like part of the family, and she replied, “You are.”

So, as sad as I am that our fantastic trip together was over in what felt like the blink of an eye, I am also floating on cloud nine because this relationship I have found myself in is so full of promise, and makes me so happy, that it’s worth a little time apart if that’s what it takes to bring Tara here permanently. And she will be…the sooner, the better.

I will see her again in 31 days, at the latest. We might try to meet halfway in Boise before that, but it’ll depend on the weather. Worst case scenario, a month. At least that’s less time apart than we had to endure before.

Can’t wait to see you again, baby.

Welcome to Aberdeen, Kurt's hometown. Can you tell?

Kurt Cobain's childhood home in Aberdeen.

Riverfront Park - Aberdeen, WA

Tribute to Kurt Cobain - Riverfront Park, Aberdeen

The bridge where Kurt used to hang out. Located on the muddy banks of the Wishkah in Aberdeen, it was the inspiration for Nirvana's song "Something In The Way."

Young Street Bridge graffiti.

One of many tributes to Kurt underneath the bridge.

Nirvana exhibit at the EMP.

One of Kurt's touring suitcases from Nirvana's early days, when they called themselves Pen Cap Chew

Nirvana's original demo tape.

"Form" letter to Nirvana's fans. A great example of Kurt's sense of humor.

Winged angel from the In Utero tour, 1993.

Kurt's house on Lake Washington Blvd. He lived here...and, sadly, died here.

Oh, yeah - Built To Spill!!

Built To Spill, rocking the Moore Theater during City Arts Fest.

Doug Martsch of Built To Spill. Love how close we were!

Built To Spill has a unique guitar sound that requires a lot of fancy footwork. Literally.

But have you tried geoduck? Well, I have!

Impatience Isn’t A Virtue

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Patience may be a virtue, but it has never been one of my strong suits.

Given the fact that my girlfriend is coming up for a visit in just five more days, you’d think I’d be able to deal with that. After all, when we parted ways in Ely on September 11th, we had 38 days to go before seeing each other again. That seemed like an eternity. In comparison, 5 is nothing! It’s a skiff! A mere cosmic blink!

…so why am I bouncing off the walls, impatient as hell?

Probably because we’re going to have an awesome time. She’s flying into PDX Wednesday night, and after a leisurely morning here, we’re headed up to Seattle on Thursday (after a detour through Aberdeen to pay tribute to the late, great Kurt Cobain). We’re attending City Arts Fest, a three-night music festival chock full of some awesome indie rock bands, and staying with her mom. Can’t wait to finally meet you, Tracy! We’ve got a bunch of other fun things planned, too. I don’t want to divulge too much information at this point, but I’m sure I’ll have a really great blog entry to post afterwards. The whole trip will be a blast.

And also because when I left, I didn’t know what “we” were. I knew we’d had an amazing time together, but we weren’t officially a couple. One month ago today, we became one. So, yeah – I’m dying to see my girlfriend, and won’t have to stress over the whole what-are-we-and-where-is-this-going? thing. I can just relax and enjoy her company. And boy, will I.

Hurry up, already!!

See? Impatient as hell. In order to take my mind off Tara’s impending-but-still-five-damn-days-away arrival, I’m going to change the subject and write about a few random things that are on my mind right now.

Honey, I Shrunk The Shopping Carts

Like these miniature shopping carts that have popped up in Fred Meyer.

Looks like a couple of grownup shopping carts mated and produced this cute little guy!

The first time I saw one, I was like, “Holy Honey, I Shrunk The Shopping Carts!! How cute is this little fella?!” Which was a tad embarrassing because I always shop alone, but whatever. I half expected to see Rick Moranis pushing one around. Adorable, aren’t they? Kind of look like the offspring of a couple of grownup shopping carts. What kind of weird business takes place in grocery stores after hours, anyway??

I have quickly grown to love these guys. Typically when I go shopping I’m there for a handful of items – no more than seven or eight, tops. And sometimes they’re heavy. I mean, check out that bag of mushrooms I’ve got in there. They weighed a ton!! Lugging a bunch of stuff around in a basket may be a good way of building up your biceps, but oww. Which is why these little shopping carts are the greatest invention since the last really good invention, whatever that was.

Plus, not only are they versatile – small, easy to maneuver, with three individual compartments for a variety of grocery items – but they are FUN to drive! I mean, push around. And they corner very well. Trust me.

I was at the store the other day, and asked the cashier what sort of feedback they were getting on these things. She said everybody loves ‘em! I, for one, am not surprised. They’re always hard to find, as the store only has about a dozen at the moment. I’ve had to bum rush little old ladies to get my hot little hands on them.

Not really.

But I would. 

Got A Whole Lotta Loaf

I’ve always wanted a bread maker.

Well, not always. I wasn’t yearning for one back when I was in diapers, for instance. Plus, they didn’t even exist until 1986, according to the link. Let’s just say I’ve thought it would be cool to own one for years now, Mr. Foodie that I am. A coworker brought one in to the office one time, and for hours tortured us with the smell of freshly baking bread. It was delicious, too. I’ve always remembered that.

I never bought one because I was suspicious. Bread machines are for sale at practically every garage sale you stumble upon – and they’re usually really cheap. I figured, they must not be worth the trouble…why else would everybody be so eager to get rid of them? And sure enough, any time I’d ask about their bread maker, they’d say something like “I only used it once or twice…seemed like too much work.”

Too much work?! On the contrary, bread makers couldn’t be easier to use! All you do is measure out a few ingredients, put them in the pan, and press start. Seriously, it’s that easy. You sit back and, three hours later, end up with a perfect loaf of bread. I know this, because I finally broke down and bought one last week. Off Craigslist. Cheap.

And it works like a charm! I grabbed a few ingredients from Freddy’s last week (flour, yeast, etc.), placed them in my baby cart, brought ‘em home, and a few hours later had a loaf of hot cheddar chive bread to serve to my dinner guests. And then last night, I made banana macadamia nut bread, which I turned into probably the best French toast of my life this morning. I’d say this bread maker will pay for itself in no time!

Between “Breaking Bad” and “Dexter”…

The past two Sunday nights have been the best TV nights ever.

I love both shows. I’d have to give the edge to Breaking Bad, though. It’s the story of a former high school chemistry teacher who was diagnosed with cancer and ends up cooking meth to provide for his family. He was once a good and noble guy, but has since transformed into a truly heartless and just plain bad son of a bitch. It makes for riveting drama. Dexter centers on a serial killer who only victimizes other people who have committed murder. Great concept, especially watching him deal with his “Dark Passenger” while trying to raise a toddler on his own. Both Michael C. Hall and Bryan Cranston are phenomenal in their roles, and those two shows represent my ideal block of Must See TV.

Unfortunately, Breaking Bad‘s season just ended, and it won’t return until next summer. This does not bode well for me. Impatient as hell, remember?

Speaking of…is it Wednesday yet?!?!?!?!

Philosophy In The Tides

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Five years ago, I went to the beach.

It was a depressing, confusing and scary time in my life. My marriage was unraveling and I felt helpless to stop it. The kids and their mother were in California, and faced with a rare weekend to myself, I decided to take a trip to the coast. Ocean Shores, Washington was my destination…a spot which, not coincidentally, would require me to travel through Aberdeen, hometown of Kurt Cobain, a man who – despite his flaws – I consider a genius. I drove down the street he grew up on, pausing across from his house to snap a few photos, Nirvana blaring from my speakers. I then continued to the Young Street Bridge, which he famously memorialized in his song Something In The Way. Even then, twelve years after his death, the dark underbelly of the bridge was brightened by colorful graffiti and desiccated flowers left as memorials. For a huge fan like myself, this was the highlight of my trip.

But I digress. This post isn’t about dead rock stars…

I spent the night at a cheap Day’s Inn a few blocks from the beach. I tossed and turned, my mind troubled by the events of the past few months, afraid of what the future would bring. I rose early the next morning and made my way to the beach, where I wandered up and down the shore, filling my lungs full of salt air while collecting sand dollars. At some point I noticed other people on the beach, and most of them were couples, walking hand in hand, laughing and stealing kisses. My heart ached in that moment, and I felt more alone than ever before in my life. I left the beach – it was more than I could handle. My family returned the next day, and the moment I greeted them at the airport, everything was different in the worst way possible. It became painfully obvious there was no salvaging my marriage.

Of course, now when I look back on all this, I realize that our divorce was for the better, and have no regrets. We met young, drifted apart, and decided that life was too short to spend unhappy, so we did something about it. I have grown in immeasurable ways over the past five years, morphing into the person I believe I was meant to be all along. People who have been in relationships for a long time and are suddenly set free become selfish, but I think that’s a good thing: they realize the tenuous bonds of any sort of union, and maybe come to the conclusion that the only person they can rely on for their happiness is themselves. At least that was my experience, and it wasn’t a revelation that happened overnight – but it did happen, and that’s what matters most. This isn’t to say that I don’t care about other people. I do, very much. I’ve just learned to put my own needs first and stop living for others. If something isn’t working for me, I change it. What a simple philosophy. Why’d it take me so long to figure out, I wonder?

The beach still has this strange hold over me. Any beach, all beaches; if there’s sand and surf then I automatically slip into a contemplative and reflective – almost philosophical – mood. I often retreat to the coast for the day in order to clear my head, to rethink my priorities. A trip like that cleanses and refreshes my soul while also, always and inevitably, scaring me a little, because I am forever reminded of the sense of loss and despair I experienced in Ocean Shores so many years ago.

Friday was the last official day of summer vacation. The kids were in denial, Rusty going so far as declaring there was “still a month left” on August 31st, never mind the fact that their first day is September 6th. I’m a little scared that he’s a junior this year. Anyway, I wanted to do something fun with them on their last day, so we drove out to the Oregon coast. The weather was almost perfect: a sunny, cloudless sky; kinda-sorta warm (for the Oregon coast, anyway); and a breeze that wasn’t as vicious as it might have been. After awhile, I even ditched the hoodie. The kids were in their own world, splashing around in the surf and exploring the nearby caves, which left me with plenty of alone time to once again stare out at the ocean and ponder life. Only this time, I wasn’t gripped by the usual melancholy or fear of the unknown. I felt rejuvenated and alive, and while the future is by its very nature as uncertain as ever, damned if I didn’t feel a glimmer of hope for the first time in ages.

We finally packed up our stuff around 5 PM and had the entire beach to ourselves by that time, everybody else gone as the tide rolled in and the westering sun inched closer to the horizon. I decided on the spur of the moment to treat the kids to dinner at Mo’s, a local chain of casual seafood restaurants specializing in clam chowder. We ate while enjoying a view of Haystack Rock through the picture windows, a perfect end to a pretty good day.

And now, I can’t wait to return to the beach…