It was that way last month; I was in the spacious, well appointed offices of this beloved local newspaper, awaiting my assignment. The writer ahead of me was shuffled off to work on a 9,000-word manifesto on gay culture on Vine street between Third and Seventh avenues circa 1985. I stepped up to the chopping block. The editorial gods spun the wheel... the spinner stopped. "Hot, out of the way, offbeat spots in and around downtown. The kind of places tourists don't go," cackled the intern.

OK, so I'm from Capitol Hill and (maybe this is redundant) I never leave Capitol Hill, and there are a lot of hot out of the way offbeat places in... you know where. But what about the broad stretch of this fair city that rests, somewhat absurdly, on sea level (we fondly refer to you people as "flood plainers"), just to the west of the hill? I didn't think there was anything offbeat and original in downtown; isn't that the point of downtown?

"What, you mean like the Columbia Tower elevator? They've got this elevator in there and you can go up to, I don't know, the 73rd floor or something and there's an observation deck or something." "Bob, that's exactly the kind of place where tourists go," came the booming voice of the editor. "My parents went there when they came to Seattle. Everyone's parents go there when they come to Seattle. The intern went there when he came to Seattle."

Apparently I was going to have to try harder, which is unfortunate because I'm so good at not trying. I hit the street and I did it for you, the reader, so no complaining about what you get.

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Mae Phim Is A Feeling
Ideas for article: What about Mae Phim? Look, I don't know if Mae Phim is too well-known to warrant inclusion, I don't know if it is technically downtown or not, and I sure as hell don't know how to pronounce it. I'm not even entirely certain where it is. In the early part of this young century I lived in Kent, and when I wasn't too busy playing Playstation or drinking boxed wine (sometimes while drinking boxed wine) I took the bus up to the Pike Place Market to convince myself I was sophisticated and urban(e). Dragging myself up the hills and down the vales of downtown, sometimes-only sometimes-the specter of Mae Phim would arise before me, with the promise of cheap curry served on Styrofoam plates heavier on the air than bourbon on the breath of a Pioneer Square bum. In those days, Mae Phim was a creature of chaos, making itself visible only to the lucky or the elite; it was something you had to find... something that had to find you. Now I know it's on First and Columbia, but that hasn't entirely diminished the feeling of providence I get when the gated windows and wind-beaten awning appear below me on the hill. This is good Thai food and their entire vegetarian menu is $5.50 per plate. Plus, they started taking credit cards and are now open on Sunday.

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The Belltown Bar Crawl
Despite what is said, there are a lot of good places to drink in Belltown that will let you in even if you don't have a dress shirt or a home in Renton. Much has been said about the Rendezvous, so I'll say some of it again and burn up some ink and a few valuable seconds of your life that way. The peeling wallpaper practically oozes the boozy exhalations of generations of problem drinkers. On any given night the Rendezvous theater may be screening a movie that can most generously be described as "local" or hosting some kind of comedy/experimental theater/drag queen act that will leave you quivering scared glancing over your shoulder for weeks (and I only peeked in for a second). The mood is relaxed, the drinks are stiff. There are other good bars in Belltown: you'll end up going to see a show at The Crocodile Cafe at some point in your life, so don't fight it. Someone will take you to the Whisky Bar, and one night after nine or ten gin and tonics and an hour of listening to "The Best Of" Depeche Mode, Noc Noc will start to seem like a good idea. But anyway, the Rendezvous, yeah.

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Street Performers May Be More Serious Than You Think
They don't have regular hours, a regular location, and they usually don't practice personal hygiene with any regularity either. You want to hear some good street music, you're gonna have to walk, from the tortuous, congested labyrinth of the market, to the tortuous, congested open spaces of Westlake center. Follow the pack but keep your eyes to the streets. A quick checklist: you need to see the cat guy (ask him about cat language), that one dude who plays bucket percussion (not that other dude), and the "5 things that might surprise you about hell" people (#1: it's real). Look for the "Seattle Police Are Communists" guy but don't touch the exhibits. See if you can find a really good jazz saxophonist playing within a block of a really crappy jazz saxophonist; on most days, it's doable. This stuff, although ephemeral, is what makes daily living with a million other people in an 80-square-mile area somewhat bearable.

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Freeway Park: Now With 100% More Muggings
Here's a lame stab at a date idea: Go to that little concrete box in Freeway Park that overlooks that part of northbound I-5 that wends through the city like a 70-mph river of asphalt and noise. Marvel at how natural flora and the urban milieu of steel and concrete mesh seamlessly to produce a truly blahblahbahblah. Hot prediction of a new fashion trend: This will be the place to kill yourself in Seattle after they clean up the Aurora bridge.

Not so much unknown (it's next to the Convention Center, for godsakes) as forgotten, you know you loved Freeway Park when you first came to Seattle but you haven't been there in years and wouldn't go even if you did leave Capitol Hill. You will want to travel with a date, of course, because the buddy system has been proven to reduce your chances of getting jacked (I learned this word from my friend who's in prison and I don't know if it means "robbed" or "killed" but you get the point).

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Pioneer Square Coffee Is Uber Local
The coffee shop at Elliot Bay Bookstore is underground, so if you've lived here longer than three months and have earned the privilege of calling yourself a local, you can go there instead of doing the Underground Tour. My ex-girlfriend's one former co-worker likes Cafe Umbria, and that's a good enough recommendation for me. And if you're going on the Art Walk, you've got to go to Zeitgeist, but you won't understand why until you've lived here for 6 months and can really call yourself a local.

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All right, I'm almost done now and some things wouldn't fit. Honorable mention goes to that used car lot on the corner of Olive and Boren because I once walked by and saw a Toyota covered, literally covered, in pigeon shit, and they only part of the car they'd spared was a corner of a windshield where a sticker read "Like New!" I'm not guaranteeing you'll find anything there, but that's what this whole twisted, poorly drawn out, occasionally profane journey has been about, hasn't it? The point of psychogeography is the thrill of discovery. You hire some degenerate from Capitol Hill (again, maybe redundant) to point out all the good stuff and you've missed the point.

Downtown may be a consumerist hell from another planet, but that's what it is; you can't change downtown, baby. I think that's why Ernest Becker wrote (or appropriated from Jung, et al) that the world is a stage for heroism. It's all out there; you go find it. I'll be here in my Capitol Hill apartment with the lights turned out, cradling my cats and rocking slowly.

An affirmative story apropos of Seattle's downtown and heroism: Once, in Belltown, I single-handedly stopped a cadre of terrorists intent on destroying truth, justice, and the American Way Of Life.

I stopped them and asked them if they knew about any hot out-of-the-way offbeat spots in and around downtown. Pausing a moment, the leader of the cell answered: "What, you mean like the Columbia Tower elevator?"