We were the only people up there. We had just paused for rest and victuals on the benches at the top of Mount Si. These moments in nature on sunny weekends make living in Seattle and paying feloniously inflated rent worth it. As we gazed at Bellevue in the distance, gray jays and chipmunks emerged from the bushes to make their adorable protestations for food. We were living, albeit briefly, in paradise. In no time, you came huffing along. Huffing with great huffs. Sniffing with great sniffs. Were you a bear? No. You were a guy. Just a guy who proceeded to unload your pack beside us, lay out and take stock of all your items, and remove your sweaty sweatshirt, all while huffing and smacking your lips and generally hovering over us while as we tried to eat an apple in the glory of natural silence. You were acting like the old guy in the locker room who dries his balls with the hand dryer, or the guy who chooses the urinal immediately adjacent to us even when other ones are available. We're glad you're comfortable with your body and with excessively vocalizing your body's labor. But damn! You had the whole rest of the mountain to yourself, including the sunny spot to which you repaired following your unnecessarily close disrobing. We know it's a common mountain. And we're not virgins. But come onnnn. If the good lord gives you your own flat rock by the haystack, then take it! And don't feed the gray jays. It makes them trust people.


When you, Stephen Hauschka, the kicker for the Seahawks, who normally never misses any kick ever, missed a game-winning kick against the Arizona Cardinals in overtime, which ended the game in a tie, we saw your crestfallen, disbelieving face, and we wanted to tell you it's okay. You're amazing, and it's not your fault. The offensive line didn't do its job, Russell Wilson is limpy, and there were at least three dropped balls by three normally trusty receivers and tight ends. If the Seahawks' offense had scored a single touchdown, the weight of the entire game wouldn't have rested on your weary, normally perfectly performing, foot. We love that foot.


We saw you—two of India's greatest living musicians, tabla master Zakir Hussain and sitarist Niladri Kumar—play a mind-blowing set at the Moore on Sunday. For 80 minutes, you unleashed a continuous stream of rapidly percolating percussion and ravishing tones. You had the large audience in thrall to your mastery, and we personally felt as if we'd entered a glorious labyrinth in which time had frozen and our entire body was covered with ears and nothing outside of the venue mattered in the slightest except the immortal music you were coaxing from your ancient tools. It was one of the most intensely satisfying concerts we've experienced in our life.


You were walking into the Have a Heart recreational cannabis store in Greenwood on a Sunday evening as we were walking out. You looked fabulous in your fur coat with your gray hair swept into a windblown bun. You shuffled into the store, gave the other customers an appraising look, and then headed to the back corner where there's a display case full of edibles. You didn't care that you could've been any of our grandmas—you just wanted to carefully examine the shop's stock of hard candies and truffles. While we didn't stick around to see you pick anything out, we hope whatever you bought did the job. We heard the pumpkin-pie truffle was particularly good!


\Normally we really hate fall, because it means that summer is over, and the days are getting shorter, and the darkness is coming, and it's going to be cold for six months. Really, fall is overrated. But last weekend, we noticed the trees in their full fall glory. Bright oranges, deep maroons, sparkly reds, and gorgeous golds dotting the landscape wherever we looked. Even driving on the freeway was more bearable than usual—the colors filled our eyes while we sped down the road. We made a mental note to go to the Arboretum to soak in the colors before the leaves are gone and the color drains from the sky and the fun is over. recommended