I'm in command of this submarine, and I am not sticking another torpedo up that spout...

It's 11am and I find myself in Seattle, Washington on the fifth floor of the Arctic Club Hotel in room 520. I am very pleased with all of this, of course, and am being paid to be here so I'm even financially pleased with all of this.

The Arctic Club is done up, not surprisingly, to look like an explorer's club: large leather seats, excessive black and white portraits of men with moustaches, dark wood, endless maps, etc. I love it, I want to come back here already and I just set foot in the place. I'm now going to explore downtown Seattle and find Pike's Place Market as I'd very much like to intercept a fish.

Update: 1:46pm

So Pike's Place Market is one of the coolest places to go if you're hungry and into good, locally made food and spirits. I walked around, fell instantly in love with the place and it's history (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pike_Place_Market), and couldn't decide where to eat. Seriously, you could spend a week, three meals a day, and never eat at the same place. So cool, so local, so good, so what? I decided I'd like to do a sample lunch so I bought a salami from a local producer, cheese made by a bunch of talented women, fresh baked bread, and a glass of Pinot Grigio from upstate Washington, and one of the best apples I've ever had. Nice lunch. I sat in a coffee house and listened to some jazz and decided that if global warming helps this place out I might have to move.

So I saw this sign and started salivating but decided that patience was the better option. Perhaps I'll visit the pub a bit later. I do have reservations at an Italian joint later and was told by one of the barristas at one of the six Starbucks I passed that the Funhouse was the place to go. Music and booze in Seattle? What could go wrong?

Peace out, bitches!