The weekly pickup Ultimate game at Seattle U is pretty solid. A lot of students, but anyone is welcome to play. There were about 20 soggy people there, and two or three women.

Considering how hard it was raining, the turnout was pretty impressive. Good mix of experienced and novice players, some of them running hard, some of them (like me) slogging along.

Oh, and it’s in the field BEHIND the softball field at 12th and Cherry.

There’s a pickup game every Friday, 3:30ish, at Seattle University’s Logan Field. I’ve never played there before, but I’m going to check it out today.

Anyone know other pickup games in the neighborhood?

Saturday night I got a call from two half-drunk Portlanders who were leaving the Mariners game.

“The Mariners are terrible,” reported my friend. “Can we crash at your place? I’ll buy you some drinks first.”

So, yeah, my Saturday night went a little later than planned. We ended up at the Moe Bar, grabbing the last empty table right before a bunch of better-looking people showed up. (Hope those pointy shoes are comfy, ladies!)

A few hours later, shouting over the hopefully-ironic death metal they were playing, I realized two things:

1) Scotch is not my drink.
2) I was hungry, and if I didn’t get some food soon, I would be too hung over to mock a single hipster the next day.

So, in one of the night’s easier decisions, we staggered over to the Pike Street Fish Fry. Now, I’m not really offering a “food review” here, because there’s no way ANY food could really be as good as this greasy godsend seemed at the time. These people saved my drunken ass — I got some fried catfish on a roll and a heaping pile of fries. And a beer. THEY HAVE BEER.

I still get a little teary-eyed thinking about it.

Yesterday I was checking what people are saying about the Fish Fry on Yelp, and today I’m wondering what kind of grim food-fetishist posts detailed reviews of FRIED FOOD on Yelp. I mean, it’s a fish fry — you could deep-fry a damn stapler and I would try to eat it, even after hurting myself on the first bite. “Give me some more ketchup,” I would say, “this stapler tastes like blood.”

But here’s a little yelpy taste:

The fish was a teeny bit dry and could have stayed in the fryer for another minute, but was decent. The fries were, of course, not nearly as good as the frites of old, but I’d order them again if I had a five in my pocket and a long wait for a show. The aioli was OK, but the lemon was too strong and overpowered everything else. We also somehow ended up with the house-made tartar, and I would *definitely* want that again.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. This place is almost literally a hole in the wall. It’s next to Neumo’s — Neumo’s! — wedged into one of the filthiest blocks on Capitol Hill. The fact that they have PUBLIC RESTROOMS, and these restrooms were CLEAN, still blows my mind. And yet there are people in my neighborhood who can walk out of a place like that thinking, “Gosh, that lemon sure was overpowering.”

No, no, no. Scotch is overpowering. And thanks to these fish fryers who stay open until 2 a.m., I felt downright human on Sunday morning.