Hey! Young people! I just thought of the best idea for you.
Why don’t you move to South Lake Union? Seriously. Move to South Lake
Union. Do it. Do it. Come on. Do it! Aren’t you having fun? Don’t you
like it here? Look at all these condos we’re building! Aren’t they cool
and tall? God, it’s so great hanging out here in South Lake
Union and doing stuff like watching totally cool cinema on a lawn
with other young people. Hey, look—the Big Dipper! The stars
really are brighter over South Lake Union. Except when the outdoor
movie is playing (Paul Allen has the stars dimmed for the outdoor
movies). Listen. I’ll tell you what. If you move to South Lake Union,
Paul Allen will personally guarantee you ONE free hug. Wait, what?
Okay, if you’d prefer, Paul Allen will personally guarantee never to
hug you. Ever. No hugs. Dooo it.
What I’m trying to say is that I went to South Lake Union’s Cinema
on the Lawn on Friday. It was fun, I guess. The movie was
Heathers, which I don’t think I’d watched all the way through
since some time in the ’90s (back when Heathers and PCU played at least 17 times a day on Comedy Central). I didn’t
realize—not how fucking awesome Heathers is, because
that’s eternally obvious—how subtly it infected my
impressionable preteen brain. “So, what was the first day after
Heather’s suicide like?” “Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?”
“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” “Save the speeches for Malcom X. I
just wanna get laid.” That stuff’s in my DNA now. Just hearing
Christian Slater say “Greetings and salutations” gave me a funny
feeling.
We brought a bag of cheesecake and some silly illicit liquor
(airplane-size bottles of Kahlua and Malibu that’d been taking up space
on my spice rack for at least two years). We had blankets and good
company. Even the endless line for the Honey Buckets (fucking
gross inside) was kind of fun—mavericks peeling off right and
left to pee behind fences, in bushes, on the wall of the South Lake
Union Discovery Center.
But my one problem with outdoor movies is that I just don’t like
outdoor movies that much. Sitting on the ground is uncomfortable. There
are so many people everywhere, and you have to climb over them
to get to the steaming Honey Buckets, and there is public groping, and
their FEET are all NEAR YOUR CHEESECAKE. Plus, Cinema on the Lawn
feels unmistakably like a sales pitch. Admission is free. Stacks
of flyers urge you to buy stuff and “Make the Emerald City Emeralder”
(WTF). Half-constructed condo buildings loom on every side. Everyone is
fucking friendly. But, um, South Lake Union: Next time you try to sell
me on your (honestly, not unappealing) neighborhood development, how
about you don’t make me pee in a plastic doodoo incubator. And get your
toe off my cheesecake. 
