#418 City Slickin

As you know by now, I’m a connoisseur of language, perhaps because language is often another type of sewer. It seems the words that are the worst get tossed out there and float down to the cesspool of slang which is the permanent repository of our linguistic and cultural heritage. I wonder that as many terms as do make it into our common parlance and to where the elegance of the past disappeared. I mean, fast-food words like spam and phat with a p-h-? Compared to the last century epicurean elegance of words like meat mélange and paramount? She is phat or her beauty is paramount? For shizzle. So occasionally, when I hear a new descriptor I roll it on my tongue like a new wine. Savoring its bouquet and letting the heat of my mouth release its delicate undertones. That’s how it was when I heard the phrase “Seattle is Metro-natural.” I kind of liked it. After the state’s aborted tourism slogan “Say Wa” and the whole WAMU thing with Washington Mutual and its new WAMU Theatre, Metro-natural sounded kind of kooky. Just so you know, Washington Mutual, when I hear the term WAMU theatre I always, and I mean always, expect to see Keiko playing there. Because really, it sounds like some kind of Seattle Seaworld thing, with killer whales balancing on human noses and beachballs flying everywhere. Metro-Natural has far more possibilities. First off, it kind of trades on that new gender/lifestyle designation, metro-sexual. Which I assume has something to do with urban tastes in the sexual arena as opposed, I guess, to suburban tastes. Sort of pitting the excesses of Suburban Housewives against the excesses of Sex and the City. By the way, I’m thinking something is definitely wrong with the quest for meaning of today’s women, when the two most popular shows on TV are about women in their mysterious pursuit of physical and psychological fulfillment. Add Dr Phil and Oprah and you can wring your hands all week long. Anyhow, Metro-sexual describes an anything goes personal posture that calls the shots as it sees them, shoots from the hip and struts its stuff to the sound of a driving retro-techno-disco beat. Move over rap, the Scissor Sisters say that disco’s back. Is it just me, or does this new group Scissors Sisters sound like some kind of roman church castrato thing? A la Bee Gees. So, on the face of it, using the term “metro” gives a certain energy to the proceedings. And using the term “natural” invokes our Seattle hippy heritage. A disco ball with macramé beadwork hanging from it. Polyester hiphuggers, big bells and a bong of colored glass blown by Chihouly himself. Lowered suspension, big tailpipes, and spinners—on a hybrid. Pot laced with ecstasy. A Nordstrom gift, wrapped in biodegradable unbleached craft paper. Sushi on a bed of brown rice and lentils. Soy lattes and—soy lattes.
America, ya gotta love it.