So I've decided to get a little more active in the business of being disgruntled with my job. Today I had an interview over at Publications Services. The simplest way to find the building is to walk along the Burke-Gillman trail westward until you get to the second building after crossing under the University bridge. Which in turn means walking past The Wall of Death, one of Seattle's many public arts projects. The Wall itself is something of a cypher, being pomo, and salmon colored, and abstractish, and resembling the entry to a fashion boutique in Horton Plaza, say, far more than a motorcycle stunt ramp or a song by Richard Thompson. Not likely to displace the Fremont Troll in the hearts of the masses. But as I approached the Wall I was unexpectedly transported, as if in a dream, by the sound of bells, like a tiny carillon. Then I rounded a shrub and came smack upon a small cluster of handbell ringers, a bell in each hand and ringing by turns. About a half dozen, in all. It makes a pleasant sound, and I suppose there's no one to complain about the noise if they do it under a major traffic bridge. I went merrily on my way, with music in my wake. A little shot of lunchtime surrealism is just the way to get an interview off on the right note, I find.
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