Tale of Two Cities' Art Festivals

We ventured first to Bellevue's Festival of the Arts this weekend (I prefer the festival's original title, "Arts and Crafts Fair", but Bellevue probably decided it was too much a throwback to the hippie 70s and might encourage an infestation of macramé and tie-dye exhibitors). I'd only reintroduced myself to the fair 3 years ago after a 20+ year hiatus, and I was blown away by some of the artists' work.

My former college professor and mentor, Arunas Ošlapas, showed incredible new concepts in his "remade": fully recycled artwork. In addition to his amazing scrap-metal sculpture, he has introduced "quilts" - metal-and-scavenged-object framed artwork that I found so compelling that I just had to take a piece home with me.

There were many other pieces that affected me which I might have to revisit at a later date, among them the Mercer Mayer-meets-Tim Burton flavored work of Justin Hillgrove http://www.impsandmonsters.com. We also enjoyed the sounds and dancing of the above barefoot violinist and the timeless, never-disappointing indulgence of Fisher Fair Scones.

The following day we visited Renton's "River Days", of which the less said the better. Despite my growing affection for Renton, their so-called arts festival was akin to being the retarded cousin of the Bellevue show.

The After Hours

Going to see "Dark Knight" at Southcenter's swanky new movie theater Saturday, we passed by this Lucky Jeans storefront and I couldn't resist snapping a picture of the gang of nekkid mannequins. It conjured up childhood memories of that creepy "Twilight Zone" episode "The After Hours", with Anne Francis' mannequin identity crisis freaking my 10-year old mind out but good. The window scene also had a Ridleyesque Bladerunner quality to it, as if Deckard would come running by, chasing poor, doomed Zhora.

Speaking of bladerunner chases, we had a surreal moment in Ballard yesterday, when we bore witness to a cop chasing a suspect of some sort near the Safeway at Market and 15th. Heavy afternoon traffic was slowly creeping along, when suddenly we see a cop car driving on the sidewalk next to the Safeway, chasing a disheveled-looking man, frantically looking for an escape route. The guy gave a panicked look across the street, as if salvation lay on the other side, and ran right out in front of my truck and the rest of traffic (which had by this time stopped to watch the bizarre scene unfold), followed by the cop car, lights blazing in hot pursuit. Adrienne and I looked at each other and shrugged. "I hate tourist season", she dryly quipped.

Que cinematic goosebumps

Regrettably, my willpower was weak, and I peeked at the "Watchmen" trailer online yesterday (many, many times), vs. waiting to see it as it should properly be seen: in the theater before "The Dark Knight" this weekend. However, that won't spoil the icing in my Batman cake - catching Christopher Nolan's opus at the new shrine-to-cinemagoing that opens in my 'hood today: The new AMC all-digital cinemaplex in Southcenter. Putting aside the irony of such a lavish movie cathedral being built in the heart of such a classless and even dangerous shopping mall (at least 2 shootings have occured in Southcenter's parking lot in the past year), I can't wait. If both the movie and the new theater are half as good as I've heard, I'll feel even better about refinancing my home 2 days ago and committing to sticking around this neck of the woods.

So this is 40

Ad and I shared back-to-back 40th birthdays this past month. Dad told me I could expect to lose my hyperdrive metabolism that allows me to snarf Top Pot donuts and snack on Kraft Mac & Cheese just before bedtime. We'll see about that - but I'm not giving up video games and superhero movies just yet. I don't yet feel that old.

Also not lost to old age (or is it, the new age?) is a taste for cocktails, live music, and an otherwise raucous good time. We caught The Red Elvises at Ballard's Tractor tavern Saturday, which was as good a commemmoration of turning the page on our 30s as I could think of. Sadly, I forgot the camera to capture the ex-Soviet surf rockers leading the Yankee capitalist dogs in song and dance.

Jack Tripper to the rescue!

I joined Adrienne and her siblings in treating their father to a 70th birthday/father's day celebratory weekend at the Quinault Casino/Resort at Ocean Shores. Beachcombing and sunsets were the highlights, as one might expect. Drinking and gambling, on the other hand, proved to be a predictable debacle, albeit with comical highlights.

Saturday evening, a scrumptious-but-heavy seafood dinner at Alec's By The Sea was followed by watching the sunset with Ad and cocktails in our room. I drank much more than usual, since the food baby in my belly acted as a firewall to the alcohol - at least in the short term. By the time we adjorned to the casino floor for some late night gaming, the booze hit me like a collapsing ice shelf. One of my only recollections was throwing the dice off the craps table not once, but twice, I think. Surprisingly, I wasn't tossed from the casino, but not so surprisingly, I got murdered at the table games and slots. To my amazement, upon opening my wallet the next morning and expecting moths to fly out, I would find several dead presidents staring back at me.

The rest of the evening would be detailed to me by Ad and her sister Wendy the next morning, since I have no memory of it: After stumbling back to our room around midnight, I was so hammered that after sloppily brushing my teeth on autopilot, I returned to the sleeping quarters (now pitch dark). Ad and I were sharing a room with 2 beds with her sister, with a door to the adjoining suite where her parents stayed. Apparently, I proceeded to climb into bed with Wendy, until she barked "Wrong Bed!", startling a blind, disoriented, drunken Dane, who then scampered over to the correct bed, whereupon instead of walking around to my side, I crawled right over the top of Adrienne. A few hours later, I would rise, somnambulist-like, and crash about, unconsciously searching for asprin and the bathroom. After entering the closet and rattling the door to Ad's parent's room (thankfully locked), I achieved some measure of success and returned to bed til dawn.

Kids In The Hall and Fun with Crackheads!

We saw Kids in the Hall last night, which was funny and all that (though I felt a little jipped that they used some video bits in concert that are available on YouTube - lazy fuckers). I had parked in Chinatown, and heading back to the car afterwards, I make the ill-advised decision to detour and use one of Seattle's notorious public self-cleaning toilets in Hing Hay Park. As we reach the park, we walk right past a crowd of druggies huddling around a crack pipe, right out in the open. Just ahead is the toilet, but I can see there is a red light on the toilet's door, meaning it's occupied. A scraggly woman is walking circles around the toilet, casting the stinkeye our way as we wait.

Suddenly, a fracas erupts amongst the druggies. "Hey man, that shit wasn't real!" "Oh yeah? You want some of this? C'mon muthafucka!" Three of them are circling around the other, fists raised in the "put up your dukes/kung fu fighting" pose, throwing wild punches and yelling. Morbidly fascinated, I watch as it spills into the street. I say to Ad, "Hrm, maybe I can just hold it til we get home. We should probably get out of here" Ad: "Can we... Please!?"

Dessert Daddy

Thanks to some lucky traffic-dodging and killer robot speedwalking, Ad and I crammed more into a Friday date night in Seattle's arts district than one would have thought possible. For starters, we pondered our place in world history, gazing at time-ravaged marble genetalia at SAM's roman art exhibit. Food-gasming at Troiani followed soon after - I caved in to my carb-craving id and ordered Lobstah Mac & Cheese, determined to will myself into beating the inevitable food coma that would follow.

Chocolate dessert and a double-shot latte at the Triple Door staved off said coma and provided rocket fuel for the Cherry Poppin Daddies show. The Eugene swingers haven't missed a step, and it was nice to see them strut and toot in a swanky venue befitting their talent and style. I hadn't seen them in over 10 years, though I don't think they'll ever top a show at the now-gone OK Hotel, circa 1993 (maybe) from which I snatched a set-list written on the back of a classic Daddies showbill with Evil Clown illustrations.

I captured a great video of their encore rendition of "Cherry Poppin Daddies Strut", though my retarded video skilz haven't figured out how to compress it to an acceptable YouTube bite-size just yet. Stay tuned!