Should I Run for Mayor?

Dear Uptight,

Ever have one of those days? And then you notice it's been quite a few of those days? And then after several weeks of those days, the economy collapses?

Dear Wrong,

It may be my imagination, but it seems to me that the Cascades have never stood out in greater focus than they have on the sunny days we've had recently. The slanty morning sunlight brings out their icy textures with a granularity that can be characterized, without exaggeration, as noteworthy, and etches with razor sharpness their up-and-downy contours against an electric blue sky. I've always found the term "negative space" to be harsh and unfair, and try to reverse this injustice by occasionally trying to see the blue gaps between the mountains as foreground instead of background. It's a fun and challenging perceptual exercise I recommend for everyone. This is all by way of saying that, though the common wisdom is that we're in a background phase right now, the power of seeing things in a different way shouldn't be underestimated. We could certainly do worse than to follow the lead of our president—the thrill of whose ascendance still lingers in the season's cool air—and seek opportunity in crisis. Especially when such a full spectrum of blessings fills the sky.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

Should I run for mayor?

Dear Peter,

Yes, please. The reason why can be found in a recent conversation you had with Knute Berger, in which you quoted poetry and talked about a dream in which you were floating in a pool in the middle of a forest. We too nod contently over mint tea and contemplate the forests and pools of our dreams. It's always the pushy types who end up being mayor and running roughshod over Seattle's more thoughtful tendencies. I think we contemplative types, the ones currently staring with sleepy smiles at the Western horizon, are ready to elevate one of our own to the office. Someone who also knows how to put down the tea and go do stuff like get millions for the homeless and save the Cedar River watershed from the logging industry. Maybe you'll choose a path that takes you to a more serene place, far away from public life. We could hardly fault you for that. But if you do decide to go for it, Peter, there sure will be a lot of us with you in that dream pool.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

Why is everyone in Seattle repulsive? I'm going to stop sending you questions after this, so please try to give a thoughtful answer.

Dear From a Booth,

My apologies to you and anyone else whose letters to me have gone unanswered. Sometimes a question has to percolate in the ol' cogitator for a while. Sometimes for a long while. If I take one out too soon, it's stiff as a board. If it stays in too long, it gets all washed out. Sometimes I'll finish writing an answer, but then find that its joints and seams are too rough and knobby. Some questions stay up there basically forever. The askers of those questions will therefore always be a teensy part of me, and I hope this is some consolation to them. As for your question, From a Booth, I can only urge you to listen to the voice echoing back at you from that cracked mirror of yours.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

What's the greenest way to dispose of a deceased dog?

Dear Karl,

He hated fireworks. He knocked drinks over with his tail. He could bark at great length. His heart wished no other creature harm. He bit only one child. The whole thing was a big misunderstanding. Oh, sorry! You happened to catch me rehearsing a eulogy for my friend's dog. Timing is important in these things. You gotta figure out how to drop in jokes at the intervals that will most efficiently generate that laughter-through-the-tears effect and get the crowd on your side. I don't think I need to remind anyone how much he liked his soysages! That's my first laugh line. It's scheduled to appear one minute and 48 seconds into the eulogy. I know, that seems too soon, right? That's what I thought too, before I listened back to the run-through I taped on my Webcam and realized just how long that is to go without a joke.

My friend hasn't actually asked me to deliver the eulogy, but I frankly find it hard to imagine whom else he'd choose. Haven't I always been Thelonious' de facto godfather? His go-to human for tummy rubs and Sunday-morning treats? Who better to commend his spirit to the great beyond with affection, gravitas, and those little touches of humor we were just discussing?

I guess I should also mention that the dog in question hasn't actually died. Yet! He's definitely not looking good, though. I just get the sense that his earthly run is winding down. Admittedly, he appeared to have rallied a bit when I saw him yesterday sprinting around Green Lake. And of course that's a good thing. I'm still working the kinks out of my opening lines.

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