When asked about my time in Seattle in the bad old days, I smile and say, “If you can remember the 90s, you weren’t there,” which is true. No lessons stand out to relate to you today. “Manifest Seattle Destiny” was the brightest and loudest and sharpest shared delusion of its time, which doesn’t mean that it meant nothing or had no value. It does mean that each of us who were there carry it internally and quite differently. It wasn’t just the music and the self-destructive, caffeinated youth. It was creative energy dripping from every fogbound pine and antiquated brick. It was Steelhead and Singles, anarchist graffiti and the Last Exit, Lake Union Pub and Rudy’s, the Olympics and the Cascades, Doc Martens and dotcoms, chai and vegan Thai, The Zoo Tavern, The Off Ramp and every other seeming dead end we celebrated as holy ground. In the end we were all carny folk in the decade-long Seattle Fair of the 90s, but in our defense, it was one heck of a bacchanal. No one wanted to leave until the midway was shuttered absolutely and the last ride dismantled forever.
