Trying again, since the slideshow is not friends with mobile devices. D’oh.
I realized this past Sunday that pinball machine art parallels comic art so far as a certain kind of, oh, liberty taken with the depiction of the female form. I started with the picture in the last slide, and from there, I went to full-on demented documentarian mode.
At one point, having watched me walk from machine to machine, taking very precise, very close pictures of most of them, a man asked me what I was up to. “Oh,” I said, “I just enjoy the art of it.”
There are two ways to enjoy pinball in Seattle, because we truly live on god-kissed earth.
Want it buffet-style? Go to the Seattle Pinball Museum. They also serve beer and soda, and you can buy clever themed buttons and your very own pinball. (They have a delightful heft.)
Prefer a la carte? Consider Shorty’s, Add-a-Ball, John John’s, or one of the many solo machines scattered throughout the city.
Ok, enough with the blase. I would eat those. I would eat the shit out of those. I was always the one at my family’s table at Jade Garden* who would happily devour everyone else’s cookies.
After the jump, evidence of the SD family credo, “Quia possum.” Continue reading