Hello. My name is Drew Zandonella-Stannard. I am a writer living in Seattle, Washington. I think you're swell.
Oh, Father’s Day! I can’t tell my whole story without including my dad, Ron, who passed away when I was 13. Here he is at my fifth birthday party being a really great sport as Bubbles the Clown cracks a confetti egg over his head. I wish he was here every day, but especially on days like this.
Every week I drag myself to acupuncture and fall asleep in a dim, warm room for half an hour with needles sticking out of my legs, arms and head. Afterward, I walk to Ivar’s on 15th and wait for a cab to bring me home. I never buy anything, but I usually use the restroom. Last week, I arrived at Ivar’s to locked doors and a note explaining that they’d closed forever. A few older patrons stood at the other entrance, reading the note to each other, looking sad.
This photo is for you, closed Ivar’s. I’ll miss your cozy bathroom and hand washing stool.