Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I went to see Nick Lowe recently, and it started to really bug me when every time he played an old favorite like “Cruel to Be Kind,” people would clap at the beginning of the song to show they recognized it, cutting off part of the performance. What can we do to curb this practice?

Grumpy Dave

Dear Dave,

Pre-emption is the key. You’ve got to jump in there before the hook or refrain that sparks this “recognition applause” and shout out something to show you recognized the song first and therefore it isn’t necessary to clap. I suggest “Sing it, Daddy!” “That’s the stuff!” “Back door, please!” or “Me-YOOOOOW!” Being the first to react will require you to be more familiar with the performer’s songs than everyone else, but I don’t think this will be a problem since it’s your greater discernment that got you into your irritated state to begin with.

Dear Uptight,

I often see the Customer Service Manager at my local neighborhood Metropolitan Market making his way home with bags of groceries from my local neighborhood Safeway. I kind of want to joke with him about this, but I’m not sure how it would go over. His body language doesn’t seem to indicate he wants to be engaged on the topic. But then when I see him at Met Market, it’s kind of the 800-pound gorilla in the room. Your thoughts?

Gay Bob

Dear Bob,

Maybe it’s actually a 400-pound yak. Or a 20-pound cat. That would be a pretty big cat, wouldn’t it? And isn’t it funny how often you find yourself mirroring the body language of someone across from you? Borrow a cat’s natural poise and take advantage of this “body-mirroring” phenomenon to lure this Customer Service Manager out of his defensive crouch. You might have to follow him to his car a couple times to make sure he absorbs your physical attitude, but he’ll soon see that there’s nothing to fear from the quiet confidence with which you pad about. Indeed, he’ll be padding too. Aglow with animal camaraderie, the two of you will soon be joking and laughing about his 24-roll ValuPak of toilet paper and your artisan salami.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

You strike me as a bit of a clown. Tornadoes routinely pick me up and set me down, sometimes softly, sometimes not so softly. The Seattle landing was a hard one. I touched down underneath the overpass by Pioneer Square, with a flattened cardboard box as a mattress, rats and discontented pigeons creating the white noise I tried to fall asleep to.

I walk these cities anonymously. Being unmarked, I am privy to conversations concerning the homeless, “brother,” and I am appalled by the attitudes of supposedly humanitarian, eco-friendly Seattleites as they stroll the streets in trendy garb with their multiple piercings and tattoos, slurping Starbucks. Nowhere, other than in the library, is the much-vaunted philanthropy of Bill Gates evident.

So the Internet jones of the homeless is sated. And I suppose a couple of potatoes and an onion donated by the pseudo-hip is sufficient to stave off starvation. The hope of the homeless here is dead. I can see that in their eyes. What kills it? They sit around, staring off into the distance, waiting for what? Phantoms that will never materialize.

Nowhere, not even in Phoenix, have I seen the homeless, feral here, thought of so brutally and dealt with so callously. I can now maybe understand a little why Kurt Cobain’s and Layne Staley’s muses turned on them.

Anonymous Milwaukeean

Dear Anonymous Milwaukeean,

You probably don’t need me to tell you this, but you sure have a way with words. You describe with great vividness a world most of us are completely ignorant of. I thank you for your brutally honest account (though the phrase “worse than Phoenix” certainly does sting), and I’m sorry that the city feels heartless to you.

That’s not to say I don’t take issue with a few things you said. I’m afraid your anger—however justified it may be—is causing you to see Seattle in stereotypes. Those two musicians you mentioned, for example, may have met terrible ends, but they’re hardly the norm. Seattle is home to thousands of happy, well-adjusted musicians, too. And though the city might not seem to care, there are also a lot of groups that do help. One of them, the Real Change newspaper, is actually pretty likely to concur with your assessment of the city. (A quick reminder for everyone else: The paper is also—along with FareStart, Northwest Harvest, and many other local charities—perpetually in need of donations.)

I hope you’ll consider writing in again, Anonymous Milwaukeean. You might be surprised to know how many people would want to read your next chapter, especially given your knack for language. I also hope those tornadoes of yours leave you alone long enough for you to get back on your feet.