Dear Uptight Seattleite,
What are your thoughts on a large dog in the small-and-shy area of the dog park? I should tell you that the large dog in question is mine. The reason he was there is that he had just had surgery and we were taking it easy. The other owners cast constant sidelong glances at me and my dog, a gentle oaf among their little tyrants. Nobody spoke to me even after it was clear Lefty was no threat, so we just isolated ourselves in the corner until it was time to go.
Sharyl Does Not Like This
Dear Sharyl,
I’m hearing a lot of stress in your voice, so let’s start by stretching out on the floor and doing some deep breathing. Re-find that center. It may help to know that you’re definitely in the right here. I had my intern go check the fine print on the sign, and that area isn’t only for small dogs. It’s also for shy, disabled, senior, and recuperating dogs. Lefty is clearly a member of at least two of those categories. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you’re going to catch a break with small-dog owners, who can sometimes be overprotective. You’ve probably observed that some of them make their dogs wear sweaters and carry them around as if they were infants. Once you understand that this behavior often stems from the owner’s own feelings of vulnerability, perhaps you’ll be a little more empathetic. Approached with a nurturing spirit, these otherwise hostile dog owners may turn out to be friendlier than you think. For most of them, dog love transcends breed and size. As it says on a T-shirt I recently picked up at Zak + Zoe, “Dog is Green, Dog is Good, Dog is Love.” I might start wearing this T-shirt over my long-underwear shirt when it gets a little bit cooler. That might be a good fall look for me. Kinda sporty. Not that I’m going for a “look,” of course.
My intern’s name is Debbie, by the way, but don’t get the wrong idea. This is strictly professional. She’s coming off a divorce, is between jobs at the moment, and wants to learn more about the field of personal transformation. Which I do consider to be my field, though I may have once had a job with the word “marketing” in it. I needed a little “Eastside fix” to get over that mortgage rainbow, but it was one of those “in, not of” situations. I figure as long as your heart’s not in it, you’ve still got your integrity. Deb understands this. She has a denim jacket with a picture of a horse stamped into the back of it. I called this embroidery, but she told me it’s actually embossery. Deb seems to know a lot about fabrics.
Dear Uptight Seattleite (Who Happens to Look Just Like My Friend Phil),
Subletting in the Kappa Alpha fraternity house during the summer, you meet a lot of interesting people. Most of them are from other countries (Ireland, Russia, India). Being one of the few natives to the area, I was constantly approached and asked questions, as if I worked for the Ducks or the Space Needle. I can answer most questions, but I was asked a doozy today that I feel I must pass on to a higher authority: “By what means does Bill Gates get to work?” I’ve also been asked equally intriguing questions, such as “Does the bus go underwater?” but this one was the topper.
Low-Rent Randy
Dear Randy,
Bill Gates has an ultralight the color of the sky. He lands invisibly on the roof, where an elevator takes him to his office, which has real sharks swimming in its glass walls. Well, he might anyway. Those newcomers you describe still have that sense of infinite possibility that comes with arrival in a new place. Don’t shut this down with overly literal answers. You don’t need to lie, just use a little imagination. For example, buses do go underground, and the Duck, which is a kind of bus, goes on the water. So it’s almost as if buses do go underwater.
It’s important to maintain a sense of wonder. Deb reminds me of this all the time. I’m afraid I’m making her sound ultra-serious though, and she’s not at all. The other day when we were waiting for our food to come, she pointed out that the first two letters of an OPEN sign across the street were reflected in the window so it looked like the sign said POOPEN. We started talking about how that would make a good name for a heavy-metal band, and I’m afraid that by the time the server came back we had a pretty bad case of the giggles.
Oh, and Deb would like to suggest to you that a fraternity house full of quirky foreigners and one bemused local might make for a good screenplay.
Wanna be BUFFs? Find the Uptight on Facebook! Or write to him at uptight@seattleweekly.com.
