“Seattle is a magical place where all your dreams come true!”

No, Steve Haske. You’re wrong. Seattle is the left armpit of America, complete with a gnarly loose hair sticking out of it that locals call “The Space Needle”, which they pretend is the only building like it in existence (Toronto scoffs at this notion). Not only does it cost a months rent to ride the elevator to the top, but the food is overpriced and the exact same offerings can be purchased across the street at a much lower cost. Oh, and that monorail that was supposed to be the “transportation of the future”? Yeah, we see how well that worked out.

“But Seattle had one of the most influential music scenes in the 90s!”

Guess what, Haske. The 90s are (thankfully) over. The only good musician to ever come out of Seattle was Jimi Hendrix, and he was smart enough to get the fuck out. It’s a shame the only notable acts that emerged from the Emerald City since Hendrix’s death were homeless junkies pretending to be rock stars. It’s no wonder Seattle was The Heroin Capital of America during this time, since you’d need to be high in order to actually stomach the flash-in-the-pan rock subgenre known fittingly as “grunge”.

“But Seattle’s night-life as that of a real city, like New York or Chicago!”

Excuse me while I laugh uncontrollably for the next 30 minutes, Steve. Okay, I’m back. Whew. Anyway, the notion that Seattle is a real city is another lie the citizens tell one another so they can sleep at night. Yes, you have a better skyline compared to places like Portland, but that’s about it. You’re just like every other little-big-city in most every other way imaginable: rarely do you get movie premiers, a lot of big-time concerts either start in your town so they can get the misery over with (or they skip you altogether), things shut down around midnight, the music scene ain’t what it used to be, everyone avoids downtown like the plague, you’re filled with white people and snobby hipsters, and cabs are too expensive. And, let’s face it, your bars close too early and your strip clubs suck. I’ve had better lap dances on the bus.

“But Frasier lived here!”

Okay, now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. I’m sensing a breakthrough, Haske. Frasier is the true reason you moved to Seattle, isn’t it? What I’m about to tell you may shock you, so brace yourself: Frasier isn’t a real person. He existed only in the sitcoms Cheers and Frasier (and once on Wings). You didn’t fall in love with Seattle, Mr. H. You fell in love with Frasier. You believed that once you set foot in that no-longer-culturally-relevant town you’d have a posh flat decorated with ugly African art, and have a sexy British housekeeper to do your laundry. Perhaps you even dreamed of having a radio show. Well, radio is a dying medium, and those luxury apartments are out of your price range. I’m afraid you’re at the point where you’re pretending Seattle was everything you dreamed it would be, but sadly you can only live that experience while you watch Frasier reruns late at night, imagining what could have been. It’s okay, Steve. You can talk to me. I’m listening.

Author’s note: Steve Haske is one of my best friends. This blog series is in no way meant to harm him. I love trolling the little guy and I wish I could be there when he reads the posts so I can listen to his awkward laugh that almost sounds like Ernie’s from Sesame Street. I’d also like to point out that I genuinely love the city of Seattle, not to mention the rest of the Pacific Northwest. This is my favorite region of America and I don’t plan on leaving it anytime soon.