Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Casey Serin in Seattle

I've had these photos for a while, and I figured I would post them up here at some point.  This is for the sake of the cult of Casey Serin hagiographers and historians, who may document this for future generations yet unborn.

I have the dubious honor of being perhaps the last person to see Casey alive before he returned to Sacramento to face the music last summer.  When I heard that he was returning from Australia via Seattle, I contacted him to ask if he had time for breakfast or lunch, my treat.

On the morning of July 4, I picked him up in West Seattle, where he was staying with an investor contact of his (whom I did not meet).  I would have offered him my couch, but my wife shot that one down.  Even though we had both read his blog religiously from the very beginning, she was disturbed by having a semi-stranger stay with us.  OK.

I took him to Lowell's in the Market and bought him breakfast.  The Athenian was closed for the holiday.  He ordered a Dungeness crab omelette and some green tea.  I felt bad that I forgot to bring him a coupon we clipped for a free 12 oz juice smoothie at Jamba Juice.  I meant to help him out with that one, sorry, Casey.

It was a little spooky, like spending time with a man on Death Row.  He was going home, to family and financial turmoil, which we both knew was grim.  I didn't bust his castinets at all, my plan was to give him the hospitality due strangers, for the sake of meeting a 'net celebrity.  We talked about tech startups and how the RE bubble would wind down (me: apocalyptic, of course).  Aside from the foreclosures, and the obvious fraud, and his various other known sins, he's not a bad guy, really.

I dropped him off at SEA-TAC, where he somehow got his hands on a rental car and headed to Oregon and Sacramento.  I made sure to photograph him with my "hoopty", my loyal 18-year old BMW ragtop.  She was enjoying the July sun that day.

Casey, if you're reading this, I have to commend you for appearance on the "Dr. Phil" show, and for not breaking down.  That is the whole point of these shows, the lurid displays of pathos and maudlin personal confessions.  Dr. Phil beat you down -- of course -- and you took it like a man, no tears.  Good work, sir, you're on the mend.