The Needle & The Armory

There is a part inside every human being that can never truly be contained: Wonderment. Like a child’s first attempts to walk, the initial excitement behind a new discovery – a rewarding one – can have an indefinite effect on a person; for example, a new city, a new home, and new surroundings. It can be said our attention to detail is acute, that the slightest deviation from what we perceive on a constant unchanging level defines our sense of normality to surroundings. That leaves very little in place of wonderment, when accustomed to a setting revisited too often, this tends to leave any change to environment an uncomfortable one.

In other words, even forcibly, it is critical to step out and explore the waking world unless you intend to be very old and very bitter to the world beyond.

The Seattle Armory, during the once-a-month happy hour.

The Seattle Armory, during the once-a-month happy hour.

Place was packed.

It was a gong show.

During my stay in the Emerald City, a good majority of the time was spent indoors within the room I checked in at Georgetown, occasionally blogging while charting out my activities on a whim. Following the initial discovery of the center, I took considerable effort to explore downtown Seattle and only barely managed to touch the surface; time being my greatest enemy, surpassed only by my tight budget. It would not occur to me to post for a couch to surf on (not literally) until my arrival in Portland meaning I am, in fact, quite handicapped when it comes to travel sensibilities.

While I had numerous contacts within Vancouver BC, here in Seattle I was surrounded by a constant atmosphere of strangers and acquaintances, and though I found myself drawn to the resident deviants here it was clear that my contacts were severely limited. That is, of course, unless you count the handful spread across the state itself. My attempts to meet with a former BC resident and an old friend wound up in failure due to my lack of network coverage and her not possessing a cell phone (I’m looking at you, Ms. Phoenix).

Before I set out on this ill-fated attempt, we had arranged to meet somewhere near the Space Needle and it pains me to learn that while I wandered around hopelessly lost and searching for an open WiFi, my compatriot had loitered for a few hours waiting for my return call. Not to be disheartened by these untimely events, I hereby dedicate this particular entry to her, along with well wishes and good luck on future endeavors.

After it occurred to me that the meeting would be fruitless, I sought out to make the most of my remaining daylight hours and sought out to explore the Space Needle and its surrounding buildings. This in turn led to my chancing across the Armory and subsequently the happy hour beer-fest that took place therein, once a month, particularly on that very day. Words can barely describe the elation that replaced initial disappointment especially when in the form of $5 chicken pot pies the size of a man’s fist.

It did not occur to me to take a photo until I was halfway finished. Thing was fucking delicious.

It did not occur to me to take a photo until I was halfway finished. That thing was fucking delicious.

Food aside the beer-fest offered a large selection of wine and beer beverages, all for a very reasonable price of $3-6 each. Needless to say a good number of people present at this event were shit faced drunk. Despite these conditions, the lively atmosphere and live performances by local bands prevented any form of drunken altercations from breaking out.

A nearby booth, featuring gaming consoles, allowed visitors to switch cartridges and play games in public.

A nearby booth, featuring gaming consoles, allowed visitors to switch cartridges and play games in public.

A nearby booth, featuring gaming consoles, allowed visitors to switch cartridges and play games in public. DAT NOSTALGIA.

DAT NOSTALGIA.

Echoing with the tunes of RnB and modern rock music, the shuffling bodies of the event goers made for a very packed event. It proved difficult to leave the place (chicken pot pies aside) but outside the open air was most welcoming. My phone began to die out then, speak of the Devil, and that meant I had to make the remaining shots count.

Across the parking lot to the Armory, wherein a Jimmy Hendrix concert was taking place. No joke.

Across the parking lot to the Armory, wherein a Jimmy Hendrix concert was taking place. No joke.

As any frugal kinky vagabond will tell you, there is absolutely no harm in venturing to tourist attractions and landmarks, all for the sake of sightseeing and loitering. I had only heard of the Space Needle from time to time in the past, now it was time to see it for myself. Why is it called the Space Needle? I asked one of the people inside. “I have no idea.” She replied. How informative.

My phone died by the time I stepped inside but I shall try to describe the interior foyer for you. The lobby is a gift shop, touch-screen panels advertising Seattle attractions and the Eye Five restaurant at the top of the needle (with whopping $20 appetizers) hang off the walls. There are t-shirts and cups and magnets everywhere. It is fancy and there is a coffee bar that sells overpriced cookies. That is all.

The Space Needle.

The Space Needle.

Now it had began to grow dark and realizing the dilemma I was in, given that I had initially set out to fulfill the objective of flying the Leather/Kink Pride flag at the monument I had to make one last desperate attempt.

Goddamn you, motherfucking night darkness!

Goddamn you, night!

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Stay still, camera!

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FSDARGEG

P1040503

FUCK.

Sigh.

Next Update: Emerald City Streets

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