RoCkInG The Boat!

The Blog That Feels Lonelier Than A Parking Lot When The Last Car Pulls Away

10 Years At Sea On The World Wide Web!

a boat


YOU ARE PASSENGER #:



RADAR PINGS

RSS FEED

My Space

Facebook


Locations of visitors to this page
Visitor Locations

Add to Technorati Favorites

CAPTAIN'S TABLE
Mike Daisey
Gallivanting Monkey
Flaming Banjo
RaeJ
BenLau
Some Guy Named Paul
Yellow Dog
Shannieshooshoo
The Rachiest One
Moe Is Their Leader

PORTS OF CALL
Seattlest
MISC.
CapHillSea
Metroblogging Seattle
The SunBreak
Salon
This Modern World
Warren Ellis Rages
Paul Mullin Rants

RADIO SHACK
AFTRA National
AFTRA Seattle
Actors Equity
Theatre Puget Sound
Seattle Actor
Annex Theatre
Center For Wooden Boats
NW Film Forum
Comfort Music
Aisle Say

MIDNIGHT BUFFET
Caution Zero Network
"Awesome"
The Half Brothers
Gude/Laurance
Fruit
Harvey Danger
Purty Mouth
Hands Of Kali

LOST AT SEA
SGNP
Ida
Sjet
The Great Rambini
PJ
Appalachia
Molly
Got Beets?
Freesia
The Baying Hound
JtotheP
Giraffes & Elephants
Svenbob
Dr. Peoni
Sibylan
The Beige One
Condiment Grrl
Ghetto Hipster
Don't Worry Be Hambly
Bookkisser (Molly II)

EMAIL ME!
ccomte@gmail.com

SAILING SCHEDULE
(Google Calendar)




ARCHIVES:

November 2002

December 2002

January 2003

February 2003

March 2003

April 2003

May 2003

June 2003

July 2003

August 2003

September 2003

October 2003

November 2003

December 2003

January 2004

February 2004

March 2004

April 2004

May 2004

June 2004

July 2004

August 2004

September 2004

October 2004

November 2004

December 2004

January 2005

February 2005

March 2005

April 2005

May 2005

June 2005

July 2005

August 2005

September 2005

October 2005

November 2005

December 2005

January 2006

February 2006

March 2006

April 2006

May 2006

June 2006

July 2006

August 2006

September 2006

October 2006

November 2006

December 2006

January 2007

February 2007

March 2007

April 2007

May 2007

June 2007

July 2007

August 2007

September 2007

October 2007

November 2007

December 2007

January 2008

February 2008

March 2008

April 2008

May 2008

June 2008

July 2008

August 2008

September 2008

October 2008

November 2008

December 2008

January 2009

February 2009

March 2009

April 2009

May 2009

June 2009

July 2009

August 2009

September 2009

October 2009

November 2009

December 2009

January 2010

February 2010

March 2010

April 2010

May 2010

June 2010

August 2010

September 2010

October 2010

October 2012

HOME


Monday, August 04, 2003


Smells Like – Miss Budweiser


The 53rd annual Seafair Festival has come and gone, and except for some lingering Monday morning hangovers being dealt with by a significant percentage of the local population, we’ve survived the yearly paean to waterborne excess relatively well.

Seafair, for you non-natives, is a sort of odd amalgam of civic boosterism, retro nostalgia, military homecoming, noise, drunkenness and revelry – a controlled bacchanalia for a city that normally prides itself on its reputation for being staid, stoic and well, a bit boring. Part Mardi-Gras, part neighborhood festival, part near-religious adoration of all things fast, loud and smelly, it is probably unique in the sense that it’s neither fish-nor-fowl, a completely made-up event that connects the city, however tenuously to it’s blue-collar, industrial and seaport roots, while conversely giving the newbies one more thing to look down their overly long noses at, all the while tut-tutting to themselves that, “the (Insert name of local civic festival) is much better than this!”. It’s Seattle’s old-school way of celebrating the impending demise of summer, and if it seems a tad corny or hokey to the more sophisticated tastes of Californians or a bit excessive to the even more conservative tastes of Midwesterners, well so be it. It’s our festival dammit, and we’ll celebrate it as we please.

Now, with all this you might get the impression I’m a big Seafair fan – far be it. I haven’t been to a Torchlight Parade since Annex Theatre closed shop on 4th Avenue along the parade route about three years ago, and haven’t been to the hydro races (the crowning event for the Festival) since I was an undergrad in college. But, there’s still something sort of infective about the whole atmosphere that surrounds Seafair. Even if you never set foot on one of the flotilla of naval vessels that arrives the week prior, even if you cringe a bit whenever one of the U.S. Navy “Blue Angels” F-18 Hornets flies by your office window at eye-level, even if you couldn’t tell a log boom from a sonic boom, or have no idea who Stan Sayres was, or why old folks around here still mention the name of Tex Johnston with hushed reverence, if you let yourself be caught up in the giddy mid-summer hoopla that is Seafair, you can’t help but bust out in a goofy, lopsided grin.

Because that’s what Seafair is really all about: a chance for us reputedly provincial, uptight, superficially-friendly-but-secretly-resentful, gortex-encumbered Seattleites to let down our hair a bit, expose our pale bodies to the warmth of the sun and inhale deeply of the aroma of burning flesh (both human and animal), sunblock and jet aircraft fuel.

It smells like – home.


Posted byCOMTE on 11:59 AM


0 Scurvy Dogs Have Gathered 'Round The Scuttle Butt


This page is powered by Blogger. Why isn't yours?