Sasquatch! day one

It was an incredible lineup this year, and pretty great weather as well; conditions were perfect. I've never seen or heard of such a lineup jam-packed with stuff I was super excited to see. Granted, I'm more into music now than previously, and am somewhat biased toward the Seattle-y music scene, so in a way it's not surprising that I'd be in sync with the festival. However, it seemed like this was a Sasquatch to top all Sasquatches. From Beirut on Saturday afternoon to Flaming Lips' epic closing UFO show Monday, there was something I was wanting to observe other than the eccentric hipster wear and Northwesterners' over-reactive, under-clothed responses to the Central WA heat at all times.

We left Seattle at eight Saturday morning, making a stop for camping food and gas in Ballard and then making a beeline east on I-90, stopping just after Snoqualmie Pass to relieve ourselves at a rest stop, and then in Ellensburg to diagnose a flappy taillight casing. It was benign, just annoying to look out at in the side mirror as it resembled a confused fledgling hummingbird. We got to the Gorge campground around 12:30 and then spent, excruciatingly, what must have been almost an hour inching our way toward designated camping area 22, as apparently those who didn't come the night before arrived at the same time we did, and it was a giant clusterfuck. I've never seen nearly so many people camping there; last time we were in area 6. Needless to say, after I bargained with the stubborn local dudes on letting me pull forward to set up camp more than ten feet from the port-a-potties, we were a little late for Beirut after navigating the entry lines.

(in the photo, my response to the unbearable wait, and the canadian/pirate flags seen in the distance.)

However, Beirut was awesome. I am a huge fan of horns and strings in my rock music, and Beirut is a shining example of how wonderful that alchemy can be. Great recorded, great live... beautifully tragic and optimistic and lovely all together. For much of their set they had a veritable symphony up there- three or four violins, three or four horns, and accordian, in addition to the usual rock instrumentation. We happened to run into Zach (the Beirut dude) at one of the smaller stages later in the day and we all ended up talking about one of his horns, which apparently he fashioned himself. Sweet. (post-horn discussion photo included; story about how I felt too stupid asking for a photo but then went to take a really horrible shot nonetheless omitted.)

After Beirut came Ozomatli, which I wasn't familiar with but their latin hip-hoppiness was fun to chill to on the lawn while commencing the weekend-long peoplewatching-fest, which was quite colorful. I was looking forward to seeing The National, but sadly (as Rainn Wilson, the dude playing Dwight Schrute in the Office, and a native Northwesterner, reported), their bus was marooned in BC when something vehicular failed and they had been moved later and to a different stage. I didn't end up seeing them as the schedules didn't align right, but the Fleet Foxes, who'd played at noon on a smaller stage, filled the gap, and were a nice, mellow, folksy filler. Maybe I should have seen Rogue Wave, haven't seen them live either, but oh well... the sun and the scenery and the Fleet Foxes were not bad at all.

Next came the New Pornographers, the local-ish BC wonder team, which I was really looking forward to, and Neko Case was in attendance which was cool. We went down to the floor for it, and it was a great set. Even though I am only familiar with a couple of their albums and recognized no more than half the songs, it's all good stuff that's easy to appreciate, with their lovely indie-rock-poppiness. And Neko has such a distinctive tone, as well- it's hard not to enjoy. Sadly, some ominous clouds rolled in during their set, and threatened us all with moisture, but it had been so sunny and lovely that it created the Jesus Ray effect through the clouds, and Kathryn, the keyboarder, requested photos of it from the fans. It was pretty dramatic. This did not overshadow the debut of the party shark and orca duo, who made appearances rocking out hardcore all three days beginning with the New Pornographers.

I had also been greatly looking forward to the Grand Archives, the Seattle band that's made it pretty big on the local scene and owns the Redwood on Capitol Hill. I picked up their album a few months ago and have been enjoying their smooth, hummable, folksy indie rock ever since. The catchy whistling intro in "Miniature Birds," the dreamy retro-ey vocals, the addictive bass lines, the country guitar in "Setting Sun," the harp intro in "Sleepdriving..." It's poppy and smooth and mellow at the same time. I'm a convert. I swoon.

I forwent the National on the Yeti Stage and descended back to the mainstage for some MIA. Which was out of control. That girl is incredible. British of Sri Lankan descent, I bought her album on a whim at Easy Street a couple of weeks ago and was super glad. If you're not familiar with her Electro-Pop-Hiphop, check it out. Not surprisingly, it ended up being a massive dance party, and she hauled a couple hundred people or so up on the stage for a few songs, and the energy was great. She closed with Paper Planes, which is also very catchy and fun, especially with the shooting motions requisite in dancing to it. I took a somewhat lame quality video of everyone dancing to it after the party had been relocated back to the floor, which I will link to when I find the time to upload the giant file (as it isn't as lame as the ones already on YouTube).

After MIA came local indie rock powerhouse Modest Mouse, who, after over ten years, gets better live every year. Historically known for being wild and sloppy and drunk at shows, age and/or increased popularity has made them more refined every time I've seen them over the past five or so years. Isaac Brock has not lost his characteristic intenseness, and seeing him go nuts on the jumbotron is enough to... fire things up, if you will. They played a good mix of the best of the past few albums. I developed a crush on Johnny Marr (formerly guitar for the Smiths) then and there on the Jumbotron. Such style!- such wiry Britishness! Yum. Celebrity crushes aside, rocking out to MM up in front is always gratifying.

Sometime during the end of the Modest Mouse set, I think, it started misting, and it was nice, given how warm it had gotten, but it slowly increased in intensity, and rain commenced.

Next, the closer that night, was REM. I'm a big fan of their older stuff, but they were promoting their new album, and I didn't get hooked so I didn't buy it and am not very familiar, so I spent most of the time, during the rain, waiting for the classics, and that whiny bitch sitting next to me who I was stuck with sleeping to my left and hitched a ride out in my car wasn't a fan of REM, only the local indie stuff, and started whimpering from where she was curled up under the blanket that she wanted to go back, so I finally caved and got to hear them start the classics from the walk back. Bastards, you all! Salope!

And yeah, we'd thought- oh, it's so warm, and we don't want to miss Beirut, let's rush and not put the rain fly on. We came back to a tent that despite luggage and a cooler weighting it down, had levitated and shifted eight feet, and was well-soaked with water on our sleeping bags, pillows, and pooling on the floor. Awesome. Way to go, city kids (what happened to my girl scout training? surely my Cadet -yeah, that's right, I made it real real far without officially dropping out- scout leaders would not have approved of the diet heavy on Doritos, Oreos, and alcohol, and lack of light. ) It's okay, my hoodie made an excellent pillow.

Currently listening to: Grand Archives, Modest Mouse, MIA, Hot Chip, New Pornographers, Broken Social Scene, Radiohead, Foals.

sasquatch!

sunshine
sunblock
rock, rock, and more rock
Iraq
stealthy rain
Rainn Wilson
sweaty sunglasses
visible asses
sunburns
Sani-cans
Canadians
aliens
aviators
fornicators
foreigners
guitars and guitars
bright stars
politics
psychadelics
spandex
pirates
robots
road kill
levitating wet tent
12" unknown meat
hillside wedgies
dead budgies
dead batteries
witty tees
cameraphones
doritos and oreos
I'd hit it.

It was an epic event. "I'm not surprised... but I am quite sleepy." So, more to come.

cool sites of the moment

"Gardening from a west coast urban organic perspective"- planters that double as bike racks, composting, grow your own shittakes, encouraging local food networks...
http://www.heavypetal.ca/

Also cool about local and organic, the 100 Mile Diet - http://100milediet.org/how-to-change-the-food-system

Great general indie design-
http://www.designpublic.com/

zoey

she's arrived... made it to me in four days, all five and a half pounds of her, via Shanghai. She came with ZOEY on the box for the order code, so I kept it. A beautiful creature... I'm enjoying referring to her as my adopted Chinese baby right now.

Designed in California, the literature says in large letters, but why doesn't Shanghai get to brag?

I'm somewhat orphaning my ailing Toshiba, but I'll keep it around in case I need it, like Cinderella.

the commute

I catch the bus every morning at the bottom of the hill, at Queen Anne Avenue and Mercer Street, which is the center of Lower Queen Anne and is a major transfer point for the area. I tend to sleep until the last minute possible, and hit the street during the last-minute commuter rush.

And I really like the experience associated with doing so; it feels like being a part of something great, a mass pilgrimage. I like the communal gravitation toward the node, a small swarm of us pouring down the hill like groggy robots and quietly converging on the bus stop in a line (also like robots) along the building facade.

And I also secretly like it when the bus arrives, and it's crowded enough to make the dozen people getting on at Mercer turn it into standing-room only, with people packed all the way up to the driver. It doesn't matter if it's a long, accordion bus or a shorter one. The 18 and 15, coming from Ballard, are popular enough to be packed regularly.

I like being crammed between a bunch of people while in my own world, plugged into headphones; it's like being on the metro, but with a better view. The route goes along First avenue, and I love riding through Belltown, looking out the west-facing windows to the Sound as the views between the buildings open up and give way to water and distant landscape as the grade falls away. As the bus approaches Broad, I always get to see Calder's red Eagle, framed between buildings, and I love the filmstrip of an experience it's a part of as each view corridor reveals a slightly different glimpse... water, railroad, Calder, cruise ship terminal, freighter, ferry, water, water and Alki, Pike Place Market, Market sign... then it gives way to viaduct and then shortly my bus stop at work, and that sixteen minute ride is just right to put me in the right place to start the day.

Unless, of course, I know the day's gonna suck. (Then I just enjoy my non-work moments while I've got 'em.)

Aside: There is a short, two-block-long street just before Broad that gives the view of Calder's Eagle sculpture at the year-old Olympic Sculpture Park. Its name- Eagle Street. Odd... the street name came before the sculpture was placed there. Serendipitous?

Ladro

I've become a bit of a regular at Cafe Ladro on lower Queen Anne (got my own mug, as well), and have taken to the baristas, most of whom I know now.

I have a couple favorites, and the one working the bar right now is the most endearing one; smart and eccentric and little, looking kind of like an early-seventies hippie playing music and eating shrooms in the woods, or actually a lot like one of the Band of Horses guys. Attractive in an eccentric way- fine, pretty underneath his beard I think. Soulful eyes that he might be playing up for me, because he's a secret, quiet flirt. He was just telling me to check out some photographer, and a musician, who are totally obscure, but worked together on some music, a french name, and I pretty much had no idea what he was talking about, but had to feign vague recognition to not feel like a complete moron while paying for my coffee. I told him I'd look them up, I thought that worked out okay. But now I've totally forgotten the name, I think it was Jean-Michel something. Drat.

Has excellent taste in music as well- Beatles, Miles Davis, Tom Petty, The Cure all tonight.

"You don't have to live like a refugee..." Which is true, so I'm heading home, since it's getting late.

ha

Ever seen "The Falconer" sketch on Saturday Night Live (two SNL references in a row on my blog, I really am a nerd)? This makes me think of it, but even if you haven't, this is hilarious:

http://eroticfalconry.com/Site/Home.html

Thanks, Kevin.

My favorite part is the personals:

Name: Jojo

Lovestyle: Dainty

Likes: Bits of hamburger, screeching

Dislikes: Rain, conversations about sports

Looking for: A not-so-hung glover, possibly of Arab descent

Name: Stickly Lovejoy

Lovestyle: Scratchy

Likes: Rats

Dislikes: Dave Matthews, Alka-Seltzer

Looking for: A Gemini with normal hygiene

summer's debut

or, Hike off a Hangover

The perennial drizzle that is associated with three of our four seasons here makes it so very sweet when summer finally arrives in all its warm and dry glory. May and June are never reliable in Seattle, and can be tempermental, but we're having a bit of a heat streak right now (it broke records at ninety yesterday). I'm not sure if people get so excited or involved with the weather in more predictable or even-keeled climes, but it's always amusing to me how people get so riled up over swings in the weather here.

I was feeling crummy yesterday after way too many mojitos the night before (not sure how it got that extreme, it takes a lot for me to get hungover, and I remember walking home late that night). I ended up spending my (glorious) Saturday afternoon hiking every possible trail at Discovery Park (in a feeble effort to keep training for the big climb), and may have gotten a little sun-shocked in the process- between the exposure on the bluff, and the reflection off the beach below, I was drained to the point of comatose by the time I got home from some errands and then was supposed to go out and let loose on Capitol Hill later that night. Sadly, the night ended with the decision being made for me that I needed to be taken home to watch Saturday Night Live instead of remaining at Linda's to be an uninspiring drinking companion. I had been planning on going out and having fun for a while, and I had gone and blown it. Ephin' A. It was for the best, I fell asleep 1.5 sketches into SNL and was lucky enough to be kindly tucked in in my delirium.

But now I feel like a big doofus, since hiking Discovery Park isn't very strenuous, it's not like I was at all tired, or got sore... just one of those enthusiastic Seattlites, like my boss, who got an unusually ugly sunburn on her neck this weekend, beading jewelry on her patio, or the hundreds of NW buffoons who try to drive in the quarter-inch of intermittant snow because they have the SUV-owner mentality and then roll into ditches and telephone poles because they live in Seattle where we get 1.35 inches of snow annually on average, in two bouts that last approximately twenty-one hours total. Raft down the Snoqualmie during record snowmelt? Sure! I, a generally dehydrated individual, chose to ramp up my mountaineering training on a recordbreakingly hot day after drinking myself silly the night before. Yes! Needless to say, I sucked down two bottles full of water and didn't pee once all day.

Above, a photo taken the night before, titled "Mojitos Mo Problems" by the other celebratory individual in the photo. Indicator of what was to come: my classy pantleg.

Playing in the cafe: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Awesome.

Onward and upward!

A Kiss is Not a Contract

I don't want to discriminate between FOTC songs, they are all very very funny, but this one is amusing me right now, so I thought I'd record it. A couple of the lines make me stop what I'm doing and laugh every time I play the song.



A kiss is not a contract
...but it's very nice
Mmmmm, very nice

...just because you've been exploring my mouth
doesn't mean you get to take an expedition further south...
-No-
a kiss is not a contract,
but it's very nice,
-it's very, very nice.

Just because we've been playing tonsil hockey
doesn't mean you get to score the goal that's in my jockeys

Just because I'm in a two-man novelty band
doesn't mean it's all about poontang.
I can't go around loving everyone;
I just wouldn't get anything done.

You can take me out to dinner that might be quite nice;
you could buy me a burrito and some beans and rice
but that won't get you into pants paradise-
-They call it a fly because it takes you up to heaven-
-oh oh-

A kiss is not a contract
...but it's very nice-
it’s very very nice.

I'm only one man, baby, pretty baby...
-we're only two men, ladies-
babies...
pretty babies.

...I love the "They call it a fly..." quote, it never gets old. I did, however, originally think that they were saying "Just because I'm in a German novelty band doesn't mean it's all about the poontang" ...which, clearly, they're not actually in a German novelty band, but the thought of German novelty bands creating a poontang craze is quite amusing to me. You know, lederhosen, polka, tubas, suspenders... so hot.

The Talk II

The most painful hour in a cafe ever... and I wasn't one of the people breaking up. It seemed like they'd pull through right after I first posted, and I regret not listening harder (but it was so uncomfortable!) since it got dramatic and there was crying, and he raised his voice even louder and practically yelled "-fucking..." No one else in here was talking any more. She was pleading, he was unresponsive... it was classic and awful, and a half hour later he got up and left and she followed, walking the opposite direction, pissed off and crying.

Then the entire cafe-full of remaining patrons, mostly regulars, all looked up, made eye contact, breathed deeply, and started recapping. It was hilarious, but we all actually needed therapy ourselves after that session. It was amazing, we all concluded, what a jerk this guy seemed like, pansying around and saying things to make himself feel better, while this girl who was "way cuter than him," the barista noted, freaked out and got desperate. One older guy had had to leave and go outside and have a cigarette, and said he'd contemplated telling the girl to go home and find herself someone better on his way out, he reported. The barista said she'd contemplated walking over to open the window to gesture at the poor girl to save herself... the incident had been scarring and embarrassing for us all. Ah, to bond with strangers over shared catastrophe.

God help me, I hope to never have to go through something that painful in public like that. If I ever do, I don't think I'd be such a loud talker, at least.