The ladyfriend and I spent a long Memorial Day weekend in Seattle and the broader Olympic Peninsula area.  Yes, we had a lovely time, thank you for asking.

The featured image is a view of the city (and Mt. Rainier) from Kerry Park, and I’m open to compliments on my photography.

Here’s a shot of the infamous Pike Place market (and they do indeed throw fish, even if it’s not as often as Monday Night Football leads us to believe):

Here’s a view of the Space Needle from the Chihuly Gardens:

And here’s the Jimi Hendrix statue on Broadway:

The city was beautiful, and we had an awesome time checking out the further flung towns and random parts of town (including cideries, but no time for breweries, sadly). While we were in the Pacific Northwest, we did a lot of exploring of the region, and I am here to report that the non-DC Washingtonians LOVE their sports teams. Not to step on Beastmode’s toes, but the “team spirit” in Seattle and beyond was actually impressive. Yes, there are Seahawks 12 flags EVERYWHERE from houses to boats to cars. I saw people in Mariners hats, jerseys, onesies, whatever on game days and offdays. I saw a 70+ year old man wearing a Seattle Storm shirt (tucked into his cargo shorts, duh).

Which made this picture so sad:

I’m no Seattle Superfan, and other than NBA Jam, I didn’t grow up with a particular affinity for the Sonics. But seeing where the Sonics used to play the week that OKC choked away the Western Conference Finals and knowing that this city has such love and support for the WNBA team left behind just disgusted me.

So as an unbiased observer, I offer you this reminder that the Sonics were STOLEN from a city that did nothing wrong, and offer a hearty FUCK YOU to Clay Bennett, (the late) Aubrey McLendon, and Howard Schultz. I asked an employee of the original Starbucks how she and her colleagues felt about Schultz as their corporate benefactor and the man that robbed them of a franchise. She was non-plussed but I think that was trauma and she doesn’t speak for Seattle, I do, so FUCK YOU, HOWARD SCHULTZ.

That will be all.