I’m back in Jersey after a refreshing stay in Seattle, where Chris Christie is blessedly not the biggest news.
That’s not the only charm of the Emerald City, a place of much water, many hills and even more homeless people, and where I forgot to take the monorail but did make it to the Space Needle.
Surveying the landscape from atop this marvelous monument to ‘60s optimism, I felt like one of The Jetsons.
The nearby Experience Music Project, where the guitar is God and Jimi and Kurt are likewise immortal, enhanced the retro connection.
The famously progressive Dreyfuss posed graciously for photos as he met with formerly homeless women served by the Plymouth Housing Group, at whose luncheon he proved to be an impassioned, if rather long-winded, speaker.
About 20 minutes into Dreyfuss’ remarks about the need to teach young people about civics, a lanky lad stopped shooting pictures, tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “who is this guy?”
“George Jetson,” I was tempted to say.
But I opted for shark, rather than snark.
“Jaws,” I said.
"Oh," the boy replied