Some strange weather converged over the fair city of Bellingham last weekend. Balmy, warm air and a frigid blast combined to create a short-lived snowstorm (flakes the diameter of a golfball) and emotional turmoil, shaking the downtown hipster community out of its midwinter malaise. As I mentioned in previous posts, I live (or lived) above two bars: The 3B* and the Factory. I now live above one bar; the Factory closed indefinitely last Saturday after its proprietor, Reece (age 30), was found inside, deceased of an aneurysm. The local lushes that comprise the scene here turned out in full force on to celebrate the life of their companion with live music and shots of whiskey.
I mention this because I feel like this death foreshadows what is to become of Bellingham as I know it. Gentrifying forces already have taken hold on downtown. Four fancy apartment buildings have erected themselves within blocks of where I live. Two more are on the way. The type of crappy gift shops one finds saturating tourist traps are sprouting like dandelions. Taking into account these factors, the homogenizing cultural influence of exponential enrollment at Western Washington University, that the counterculture epicenters of the 3B and Stuarts Coffeehouse are soon to follow in the wake of the Factory, and that the city has finalized the deal to purchase back the waterfront property now occupied by Georgia Pacific, I can't help but feel that the end is nigh, that this slacker haven is about to receive an economic punch in the beergut, that despite my fondest memories this is exactly what this town needs, that despite my dearest hopes, I am living in the Hamster Hipness End of Days.
