Saturday, September 02, 2006

Secret Someones 

The Crocodile Café has a pleasingly scruffy student refectory kind of vibe. They were having an Elliott Smith morning, which only made me like the place more.
If I lived in Seattle - and you know, I think I’d quite like to; I’d even consider attempting a beard - I’d be a regular.
“Hi Tim,” they’d say as I stepped through the door. “Beard’s looking good this morning,” they’d remark while pouring my coffee, and we’d pass the time of day this way, speaking of music and art and great things, and I’d be an exceptionally good tipper, the best.

After breakfast we walked down to the famous Pike Place Market, as seen in films and that, and bought fruit from one of the immaculately set out stalls - sometimes psychotically so - and generally drifted around with the crowds.
I was hoping to buy some stuff from the Sub Pop Megamart, but everyone we asked had never heard of it and it didn’t appear on any maps, so it seems it must have closed since our guidebook was published. We did pass their old office on Fourth Avenue where, apparently, bands would play in the lobby and you could come and go as you pleased, but now they’ve moved elsewhere. Oh well. We did get to pass by a Giant Shoe Museum.

Bumbershoot was great, even if it’s counter-culture credentials were skewed slightly by the presence of local entrepreneurs made good, then made very bad indeed, Starbucks.
There was a kid playing a violin, while hula-hooping on a ball - lose the rubbish jester look and you'll go far; another kid juggling machetes while standing on a stack of skateboards; art made of cake; family portraits in confectionary; umbrellas up trees; and sew on.
I was particularly taken with guerrilla knit tagging, and keenly await it’s arrival here in Lancashire, even if I have to learn to knit to make it happen.
Girlfriend bought a book made from books, while I opted for a book about books, both read and unread. I've not read it yet.
There was an exhibition and talk about Second Life, the point of which I couldn’t fathom.

Music-wise, we enjoyed Laura Veirs’ set, who was rockin’ the alt.geologist crowd, and looking suspiciously like the unstoppable force that is our Petite.
‘Of Montreal’ were daft, flamboyant and highly entertaining in a Scissor Sisters kind of way, and then we watched Badly Drawn Boy, who was terrific in his own raggedy-arsed shambling fashion. I like him a lot.
It seemed strange seeing him there, like bumping into a friend whilst on holiday half way around the world. From the way he kept blinking up at the Space Needle while he sang, he looked like he was feeling a bit “I can’t quite believe I’m here” too.

It was all terrifically civilised. Afterwards, we flowed along crowded streets back to our hotel, past street drummers bashing away polyrhythmically on plastic tubs and beer bottles, and bought a sandwich from a shop where neither the staff nor the clientele could understand a word of what the other was saying - with hilarious consequences, ie. not being given a sandwich.

Breakfast Shot: alt.rock Omelette.

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