I wrote a tribute to Seattle’s park system and it’s available today at The Morning News.

If you drive around downtown Seattle long enough, eventually you’ll see the billboard of a little girl eating a dead, bloodied rat. (Warning: the hypertext immediately preceding this sentence reading “a little girl eating a dead, bloodied rat” links to a picture of a little girl eating a dead, bloodied rat.) It’s a wonderful thing to see as I’m commuting to work. One moment I’m humming along, fantasizing about the two Top Pot donuts I’m going to buy from the corner bakery when I arrive at the office, and the next I’m looking at a 20 ft. high portrayal of rodentaphagy.

The aim of the billboard is not to ensure that I maintain my girlish figure. It is, in fact, an anti-smoking ad. Below the picture is the text “Kissing A Smoker Is Just As Gross,” along with the slogan “Tobacco Smokes You.” You can find our more that their website, ashtraymouth.com, which has the following in the “keywords” section of its HTML header:

Ashtraymouth, ashtray mouth, Kissing a smoker, Tobacco smokes you, Kissing a smoker is just as gross, Don’t kiss a smoker, Yuck Chuck Challenge, Spin the Bottle and smoking, Gross Factor and smoking, Gross things and smoking, Eating a dead rat, Eating a cockroach, Eating roadkill, Eating a hairball, Eating cat throw-up, Eating a dirty sock…

All of this courtesy of the Washington State Department of Health.

To be fair, the billboard doesn’t show an actual photograph of a girl. It’s more like an adorable Nightmare Before Christmas-style doll eating a dead, bloody rat. The whole thing looks like something a emo girl would have tattooed on her lower back and then publish a picture of on her MySpace page. But, still.

This is not the first time that the WSDOH has used gross-out tactics to discourage people from smoking. I remember back in the 90′s I used to watch reruns of The Simpsons at 6:30 and, during the first commercial break, the screen would invariably get filled with a shot of diseased lung tissue. Just what you wanna see during the dinner hour.

I don’t smoke, and never have. So why am I subjected to this stuff? The fact that I’m paying for it as well just twists the knife. There’s much ado about the perils of secondhand smoke, but who’s raging against the scourge of secondhand smoker education? I mean, let’s face it: at this point I would pretty much have to voluntarily put myself in the position of inhaling secondhand smoke (especially since the passage of Initiative 901, Washington’s recent paean to the Nanny State), while these unappetizing ads are erected in the middle of our public square.

For that matter, why should smokers be subjected to these? These billboards don’t even offer education, only condemnation. At least when they cut from Ralph Wiggum to lip cancer, they were showing you something connected to the hazards of smoking. What the hell does a billboard of Gothy McMopper eating rat-on-the-cob have to do with anything? They aren’t supplying smokers with the facts so they can make informed decision anymore — now their goal, as near as I can tell, is simply to make smoking Not Enjoyable. I dislike your habit, so I’m going to make you dislike it too. It’s aversion therapy without the high electrical bill.

When you think about it, though, this ad isn’t even for smokers. It says “Kissing A Smoker Is Just as Gross,” implying that this billboard is aimed at friends of smokers. That’s right: we’re paying the state to run ads to train us to shun people for smoking. Jeeze, I can’t imagine why the folks in this city are perpetually pissed off about taxes.

The Queen: I think Bush is in town for a few days.

Me: He was just here this morning. He left a few hours ago.

The Queen: Ah. I wondered why the sun came back out.

I get a lot email. Not all of it is mine.

To: Matthew Baldwin
From: Geoffrey Ambler
Subject: Friday Night

Hey Matt,

I was talking to frazz last night and we were talking about how we should have a late night dinner before we go out of friday. I have work til like 630 on friday and then I am coming into the city with bull should be there by 9. Make a reservation somewhere for like 930. I mean bars don't get good til after 11- 1130 anyway. We might aswell eat and drink and then drink drink delta til 6 am. Let me know what you think?

I love you,
Geoff

* * *

To: Geoffrey Ambler
From: Matthew Baldwin
Subject: Re: Friday Night

Hey, Geoff. This sounds great, except I think you're probably talking about a different city than the one I live in (Seattle). Also, you may have intended this to go to a different Matthew Baldwin. Sounds like a good time, though.

Best to frazz and bull,
Matthew

* * *

To: Matthew Baldwin
From: Geoffrey Ambler
Subject: Re: Friday Night

You know what you're right the baldwin I am talking about is straight. You must be his gay twin who his fucking Jamie Moyer (pitcher for the seattle mariners). I'm sorry man I won't bother you anymore. Seattle, huh, doesn't it rain 23 hours a day 6 days a week there?

Best to grunge rock and starbucks!

* * *

To: Geoffrey Ambler
From: Matthew Baldwin
Subject: Re: Friday Night

Oh hey man, I thought you knew: Jamie Moyer (pitcher for the seattle mariners) and I broke up back in February. It was probably for the best. Honestly, we'd been drifting apart for years. He spent so much time on the road with the team, and I was spending so much time on my latch-hook ... you know how it goes. We were really only staying together for the kids there at the end, you know?

I still see him occationally, at Starbucks or grunge music concerts. He's moved on now, I guess -- got a new guy named Trevor or Tyler or something.

Thanks for asking, though -- it means a lot to me that you care.

Well, too bad Friday night didn't work out for us. I guess I'll just stay at home this weekend. Been doing that a lot, lately. Just staying home and listening to the rain and thinking about Jamie. We had some great times together, me and Jamie. Some really great times.

I love you too,
Matthew

You know who the most boring people in the world are? People who describe television commercials to those who haven’t seen them.

And yet …

So there

Conversation with a fellow dad over drinks:

Me: How old is your son, now?

A: Five and a half.

M: Going into kindergarten next year, then?

A: Yeah. That’s kind of a hot topic of debate at our house these days. He’s currently going to Montessori, and we have to decide if we’re going to put him in public school.

M: Right. And you, bleeding heart liberal that you are, are advocating public schools. Because you want to give your child a ruinous education and score a few cheap political points.

A: Exactly. In fact, that’s kind of the problem: the Seattle school system is actually pretty good, so it’s not even like we’re throwing him to the wolves. It’s more like we’re throwing him to a bunch of puppies. It doesn’t burnish our liberal credentials at all.

M: That’s rough, man. Well, look at the bright side: the way things are going, I’m sure the “Indeterminate War On Terror” will still be in full swing 13 years from now. So you can always encourage your son to enroll him in the military after high school, thereby proving some sort of political point or another.

A: Hmm, that’s a thought. Of course, if we don’t put him in public school he’ll probably wind up in a specialized military academy for Montessori graduates. They’ll be all, like, “We’re not going to tell you who to shoot. Just get out there on the battlefield and express yourself.”

It’s the first sunny day Seattle has seen in a season, and a man in the park is doing tai chi. He performs some maneuvers slowly, methodically, concentrating on his every move. Then he settles cross-legged onto the grass and closes his eyes. His muscles go limp, the emotion drains from his face. He recedes into himself, severing his ties to our world, ridding himself of his Earthly burdens.

He reopens his eyes just as a pretty girl walks by. He cranes his neck to watch her pass. Suddenly the material plane ain’t lookin’ half bad.

I went out for a jog around my neighborhood yesterday afternoon around 4:00. About halfway through I started to get that eerie “it’s quiet … a little too quiet …” feeling. There were no pedestrians on the sidewalks, no cars on the street. It wasn’t until I realized that the windows of every house on the block were flashing in blue-white synchronization that I started to remember. A big TV event? Something about a sport, or something?

Ah yes. That. How could I have forgotten.

Actually, forgetting hadn’t been difficult at all, as I have never cared about football. Honestly, I don’t care about any sports, but at least I have friends who are fans of the Seattle Mariners and the Seattle Sonics, and keep me somewhat abreast of the baseball and basketball season. But as I only have one person in my circle of acquaintances that is enthusiastic about football — and the only team she follows is the Green Bay Packers — it’s perhaps unsurprising that I was out trotting around, blissfully ignorant about The Biggest Football Game In Seattle History.

When I got back home I turned on the TV to see the status of the game. I still didn’t care, but it was like checking the weather. I wanted to see if the 14-day forecast for Seattle showed dark clouds of Football Fandom amassing on Seattle’s horizon, or whether we would dodge that particular storm.

Incredibly, the former appeared to be the case. The Seattle Seahawks were leading the Mumble^* Panthers 27-7 in the fourth quarter of the NFC Championship. (^* I’m embarrassed^† to admit I don’t even know where the Panthers hail from.) (^† I’m not actually embarassed.)

Without turning off the TV I left the room for a few minutes. When I returned, The Queen was stationed in front of the television, gawping in amazement. “The Seahawks are going to the Superbowl!” she shouted with what sounded suspiciously like real enthusiasm. My god, I though, they’ve already got my wife!

Anyhow, it appears that Seattle has abruptly become A Town That Gives A Rats Ass About Football, and everyone is now scrambling to prove that they were fans waaaaay before last weekend. Fortunately, I was able to unearth this photo, demonstrating that, at at least on point in my life, (I / my father) cared enough about the team to (wear a piece of Seahawks-related apparel / dress me in a piece of Seahawks-related apparel for picture day). PUT THAT IN YOUR ENDZONE AND, um, TACKLE IT, YOU BANDWAGON HOPPING JOHNNY-COME-LATELYS!

Of course, now I am on the horns of a real dilemma. Because even as a kid, I didn’t really care about football, except insofar as it was expected of me. So while I publicly pledged allegiance to the Seahawks, I secretly rooted for another team, from another state entirely. Why were they my favorites and not the Seahawks? Simple: they had the coolest looking helmets in the league.

That team was the Stealers — and that’s who the Seahawks will face on February 5, 2006, in the Superbowl. What’s a fair-weather fan to do?

Update: I have been informed that the actual name of our rival is “the Steelers.” Wha-?! The other reason I liked them as a kid was because they had a cool, rougey name, like the Raiders and the Pirates. Now I learn that they are named after a metal alloy? GO SEAHAWKS!!