So: I was walking back from the street scene outside the Obama fundraiser for Patty Murray at the Westin. 

Near the Dahlia Lounge, I received a “Hey” from a parked Jaguar.

From within the luxury car, a mature woman with flashy mall-teen fake fingernails smiled and started to chat me up with the typical small talk stuff.

Then she quickly segued the conversation. She asked if she could come back to my place, or at least join her in the car.

I hemmed and hawed my way out of the conversation, without the topic of money ever emerging.

What this might mean: On an 80 degree day in Seattle, even the instigators of “street” commerce prefer to stay out of the sun.

You know that Republican candidate for governor in Minnesota, the anti-gay demagogue mysteriously loved monetarily by Target Stores? We now know who’s going to be his Democratic rival. It’s an ex-US Senator who happens to be a descendent of Target’s founding family.

If you believe a Harris poll published in Forbes (and there’s no reason why you should), Seattle now ranks #3 on a list of “America’s Coolest Cities”. Only NYC and Vegas outdo us in the pollsters’ matrix of arts & entertainment, recreational opportunities, and economic confidence.

It’s been a couple of months since I read it, but I continue to be impressed or haunted (I’m not sure) by Seattle author David Sheilds’ Reality Hunger: A Manifesto.

Parts of it are like an essay anthology, even if they were written expressly to be in the book. I’m particularly thinking of the part where he tells other authors what their books are really about.

Other parts fit more closely into the “manifesto” concept.

And it’s all written in a short and breezy fashion, like Marshall McLuhan’s better known works.

Now if you know my work here, you know I believe there’s absolutely nothing inferior about aphoristic writing, despite four or more decades’ worth of hi-brow ranting against it. Long, cumbersome prose is not inherently insightful. Short, pithy, precision writing is not necessarily dumbed down writing.

In this case, Shields has thoroughly whittled and sanded down his arguments to a fine point.

His main premise: North American white suburban life has become so plasticized, so sanitized, that humans have developed an insatiable craving for “reality.” Even if it’s virtual reality, or faked reality, or fictional narratives disguised as reality.

Hence, we get “reality” TV series. We get the protagonists of these series treated as “celebrities,” splashed over the covers of gossip magazines.

We get first-person novels falsely and deliberately promoted as the real-life memoirs of young drug addicts and street orphans.

We get radio and cable “news” pundits who don’t relay information so much as they spin narratives, creating overarching explanations of how the world works—even if, in some cases, they fudge the facts or just plain lie to make their worldviews fit together.

We get fantasy entertainments (movies, video games) executed in highly hyper-realistic fashions, complete with ultra-detailed 3D computer graphics.

So far, Shields’ argument makes perfect sense.

Now for the “yeah, but” part:

In the past two or three years, most non-billionaire Americans and Canadians have been forced to face a lot of reality; a lot of unpleasant reality at that. Some of us have had all too much reality.

“Reality” entertainment can be seen as just another style of escapism. An escapism that promises total immersion. An escapism that promises, however falsely, to offer an alternate reality, one that’s more dramatic or more comprehensible than the audience’s “real” reality could ever be.

This doesn’t mean Shields’ main premise is wrong.

Millions of people could, indeed, be desperate for more “real” lives.

But they won’t find it in the highly edited and curated “reality” entertainments.

They’ll only get a scratch that makes the itch worse.

There are many threads of influence beneath today’s extreme right wing faux-populism. Here’s one: the religious, political, and sales cult that is Amway.

I’ve been one poor correspondent, again.

But I had a reason.

I was busy finishing my next book, Walking Seattle.

As of this morning, it’s off to the publisher.

(The last thing I did for it was to snap a pic of the restored Hat n’ Boots in Georgetown.)

I promise to be more present at this site in upcoming days.

(I know, I’ve made such promises before. This time I mean it for sure.)

(Cross-posted with the Belltown Messenger.)

Tim Girvin is one of the world’s foremost logo designers and corporate branding gurus. For three decades, he and his staff have worked on everything from movie ad campaigns to complete “identity packages” for products and companies. He has branch offices in New York and Tokyo; we met at his main office on Stewart Street.

On business challenges in this economy:

“The thing that is really interesting to consider now is two words. One is intention. The other is attention. They both come from “tenet,” and tenet is principle. In this tough time, what do you stand by? What is the guiding factor by which you brand your business? The ones I’ve found most successful are the businesses that have this clear. The ones I find having the most challenges are the most chaotic.”

On his current projects:

“We’re doing local things, supporting local businesses—like creating a new restaurant design, a new perfume, a new retail concept, helping a local university, and doing some charitable work.

“We’re working on repositioning luxury products in Sweden, new brand storytelling strategy for Japanese cosmetics in Tokyo, international hospitality and hotel/resort work, global food and beauty assignments.”

On the essence of branding:

“The idea of the brand really is about the commitment to passion and focus. A lot of the work that we do is about how that story can be told. I find more often than not the real power of the brand is with the people who drive it.”

On how he would rebrand Belltown:

“I’ve found, by living and being in different cities around the world, the richer they are the more nonstop they are. Everybody doesn’t go to bed at 10 o’clock; there’s lots of things happening all the time. Some of those are incredibly good, amazing, wonderful. Some of them are less so.

“As Seattle grows, and as Belltown evolves, we start moving into that fuller cycle where the action is going on all the time..… Part of it is there’s more action, vitality, more restaurants, more places to be; and then there’s the other side of that.

“The more the time gets extended, the more mobile you become. I know. I have to sign on to international conference calls at 4 in the morning, or link to Tokyo at 7 or 8 at night, or look at emails from friends in Europe or the United Arab Emirates at sometime after midnight. There’s so much creative action that’s happening all the time. I think when a city begins to extend its hours it begins to live in international time, which is a more creative way of looking at every waking moment.”

On my suggestion that Nordstrom restore the full name “Brass Plum” for its teen boutique, instead of those now-unfortunate two initials:

“I would totally agree. I worked on the original design program for the Brass Plum identity and signage… I’ve been working as a freelance design consultant to Nordstrom since the ’70s. I think that is a very astute position.”

(Cross posted with the Capitol Hill Times.)

Thoughts on recent performance events, big and small, on the Hill:

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1) The Capitol Hill Block Party.

From all accounts it was a smashing success. Some 10,000 people attended each of the event’s three days. Except for one no-show due to illness, all the big advertised bands satisfied their respective throngs. Seattle finally has a second summer attraction with top big-name musical acts. (I personally don’t consider an outdoor ampitheater in the middle of eastern Washington to be “in Seattle.”)

But as the Block Party becomes a bigger, bolder, louder venture, it can’t help but lose some of its early funky charm, and a piece of its original raison d’etre.

Once a festival starts to seriously woo major-label acts, it has to start charging real money at the gates. It’s not just to pay the bands’ management, but also for the security, the sound system, the fences around the beer gardens, and assorted other ratcheted-up expenses.

That, by necessity, makes the whole thing a more exclusive, less inclusive endeavor.

The street fair booths that used to be free get put behind the admission gates. The merchants, political causes, and community groups operating these booths only end up reaching those who both can and want to pay $23 and up to get in.

I’m not suggesting the Block Party shut down or scale back to its earlier, small-time self.

I’m suggesting an additional event, perhaps on another summer weekend. It would be what the Block Party used to be—free to all, but intended for the people of the Hill. An all-encompassing, cross-cultural celebration of the neighborhood’s many different “tribes” and subcultures. An event starring not just rock and pop and hiphop, but a full range of performance types. An event all about cross-pollenization, exchanges of influence, and cultural learning.

It wouldn’t be a “Block Party Lite,” but something else, something wonderful in its own way.

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2) Naked Girls Reading: “How To” Night.

A couple of years ago, a friend told me about a strip club in Los Angeles called “Crazy Girls.” I told him I would rather pay to see sane girls.

Now I have. And it’s beautiful.

“Naked Girls Reading” is a franchise operation, originally based in Chicago. But it’s a perfect concept for Seattle. It’s tastefully “naughty” but not in any way salacious. It’s not too heavy. It’s entertaining. It’s edifying. It could even be billed as providing “empowerment” to its cast.

The four readers last Sunday night, plus the dressed female MC (costumed as a naughty librarian), all came from the neo-burlesque subculture. But this concept is nearly the exact opposite of striptease dancing. There’s no stripping, no teasing, and no dancing. The readers enter from behind a stage curtain, already clad in just shoes and the occasional scarf. They sit at a couch. They take turns reading aloud. When each reader has performed three brief selections, the evening is done.

Each performance has a theme. Last Sunday, it was “How To.” The readers mostly chose types of texts that are seldom if ever read aloud in public. Given Seattle’s techie reputation, it’s only appropriate that we rechristen instructional text as an art form.

Selections ranged from explosive-making (from the ’70s cult classic The Anarchist Cookbook), to plate joining in woodwork, to home-brewing kombucha tea, to deboning a chicken (from The Joy of Cooking), to the famous Tom Robbins essay “How to Make Love Stay.” The women performed these selections with great humor, great voices, and great sitting posture.

Despite what you may hear from the Chicken Littles of the book and periodical industries, The Word isn’t going away any time soon, any more than The Body. Both obsessions retain their eternal power to attract, no matter what.

“Naked Girls Reading” performances are held the first Sunday of each month in the Odd Fellows Building, 10th and East Pine. Details and ticket info are at nakedgirlsreading.com/seattle. The promoters also promise a “Naked Boys Reading” evening at a yet-unset date. (The participles won’t be all that’s dangling.)

The retail space at the bottom of the Newmark condo on Second and Pike?

The space that used to have a Pay n’ Save/Rite Aid and a Quiznos?

On the lot that used to hold JCPenney’s biggest store before it closed in 1982?

Where The Bon Marché had been before 1929?

The space thatat most recently had been overflow office space for Washington Mutual Bank (remember them?)

It’s now going to be a Target.

Don’t know if it’ll open in time for Xmas.

(Update: It won’t. The space needs at least a year’s worth of remodeling.)

Now if we can only persuade the company’s CEO to stop backing extreme antigay politicians back in its Minnesota homeland.

Costco’s Washington liquor privatization initiative: Good for chain stores, bad for microbrewers? That’s what the Washington Brewers Guild claims.

I’ve decided I don’t like ’em. Will delete ’em as soon as I figure out how.

UPDATE: Should be accomplished now. Sorry about that.

Needless Tragedy of the Day: Fremont’s Buckaroo Tavern will close in September. The venerable, beloved dive lost its lease after 72 years.

The building’s owners (a pair of brothers) want to put up their own restaurant and pub in the space. What little we know about these two brothers isn’t promising. One of them is apparently part of a Seattle artists’ collective that ONLY shows its work at fuckin’ Burning Man and the fuckin’ Coachella festival, never to us undeserving hicks up here.

The Buckaroo’s management hopes to put up its classic neon sign over a new location, should one be findable. There are many vacant storefronts in north-central Seattle these days, as in the rest of America. But will there be one available at the right price, with the right ambience, convenient for the Buck’s current regulars?

They’re demolishing Pier 48 on the Waterfront today. The beautifully rundown wooden building was vacant for several years. Before that, it had several uses.

It was home to the Princess Marguerite car ferry to Victoria, long since replaced by the faster but blander Victoria Clipper stationed a mile or so north.

It was the site of the first few Seattle Bookfests. Fans of the event (relaunched last year in Columbia City) like to say it just wasn’t the same after it couldn’t use the pier anymore.

The global Cobain fetish cult knows it as the 1993 site of MTV’s New Year’s Live and Loud concert special, which turned out to be Nirvana’s final Seattle show.

The pier, once cleared of the old building, will become a construction staging area for the Alaskan Way Viaduct demolition (and perhaps for whatever project might replace the viaduct).

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CORREX: Kind reader Martha Bussard remembered that Nirvana played Seattle once more, in the old Coliseum (soon to become KeyArena) on 1/8/94. The Live & Loud special was taped on 12/13/93.

What got him initially out of the sub-basement depths of despair and self-pity, on the road toward creativity and fame, sure as hell wasn’t that manic, unquestioning  “positive psychology.”

It was something deeper, richer, truer.

Call it the power of positive negativity. Call it the gallows humor you find among hardcore AA members. Call it radical reality.

It’s what saved Callahan.

And it might just be the only thing that can save us all.

So Microsoft’s Kin phone was a dud, its Zune music player’s struggling to get mindshare, and its Bing search site’s still fighting to be noticed. None of these might really matter, so long as the company’s business software platforms keep selling great.