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Sunday, September 03, 2006

Crosses 

“There’s a man with a parrot in his hand!” exclaimed Girlfriend.
“Where?” I asked, looking up and down the street. Actually I could see him perfectly well, right there, strolling along, bird in hand, like it was a quite normal Sunday morning thing to do.
“Can you see that?” she asked doubtfully.
If this was a cartoon, she’d have rubbed her eyes and a trombone would have made a funny noise.

She had good reason to suspect she was witnessing avian apparitions. We’d skipped breakfast in order to brunch in the hotel restaurant and she was gulping down a Bloody Lola: a savage blend of vodka and the freshly squeezed juice of a thousand chilli peppers. She was on pints.

Earlier we’d walked Downtown, gawping open mouthed at skyscrapers - they’re incredibly tall! - and admiring the lovely old buildings in Pioneer Square.
We could have made an entire holiday of wandering from room to room in the huge and wonderful Elliott Bay Book Company shop. I believe that during monsoon season, which begins mid-September and ends late August, Seattle’s more fervent book botherers are actually allowed to take sleeping bags and sanitary essentials and live amongst the shelves, surviving only on scraps of remaindered Jamie Olivers and giving readings - everybody’s an author - for small change.
Afterwards, we stopped by at the market again to catch the fish throwing.

As we headed back to Bumbershoot, a girl in a wedding dress was doing sultry in the hotel foyer. I photographed her being photographed. “Model shoot or real bride?” we wondered. She was extremely pouty, and they were gone in minutes. I think we witnessed our first drive-by speed wedding photography incident.

Back at the festival, we queued here and there for things only to give up and not bother. The line to see Mary Lynn Rajskub performing standup - you know, the socially awkward one in 24 - was such that you needed to have joined it at Bumbershoot ‘05. And if you wanted to watch headliner Kanye West, well forget it.

We’d been looking forward to seeing Jose Gonzalez for months, so we headed three hours early to the North West Court Lounge to get a good seat and waited patiently, enduring some jazz which wasn’t really our thing, and sixties survivor Vashti Bunyan, who I’d have liked to have enjoyed but I’m afraid was very weak indeed. Project, Vashti, you need to project!
We passed the time talking to a friendly local couple behind us, greying hippy types, who you might have thought were among Vashti’s core audience. They’d never heard of her, but after a few songs the lady leaned forward and whispered, “You were right. She’s not very good, is she? We’re off to see Kanye.”
We also chatted to some teenage lads sat in front of us, when the urge to join in their game of Trivial Pursuits became too strong to resist. “What’s the UK’s largest ethnic group?” Not what I’d have thought. We compared Belle and Sebastian T-shirts.

Jose Gonzalez was extremely good, a very neat, intimate little set, and it was well received.
Afterwards, we ate Funnel cake - heart attacks on paper plates - fondled some trees, then enjoyed Jose’s second set with dance outfit Zero 7. We lay on the grass, holding the Space Needle between our fingers and thumbs, soaking up the mellow beats and it was just, you know, really lovely. A perfect moment, in as far as anything ever can be perfect, I suppose.

Brunch Shot: Eggs, toast, home fries, side order of berries.


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