They didn’t try to feel me up.
They didn’t ask to look through my bag.
They didn’t even bother to inquire whether or not I was concealing a bloody, man-slaughtering mandolin in my sock.
It was all very strange.
If this was Seattle’s “biggest, craziest” outdoor musical Big Bang of the summer…, well…, let’s just call it soft and sweetly refreshing.
Where were the outlandishly deranged assholes with existential “beef”? Where were the violence-threatening eco-terrorists, the gekko-footed wall-climbers with odd inclinations, the crafty wallet appropriators, the stool-starting Gangstas with attitude, sneaky new-but-used cocaine salesmen, the mad audience-exciting movers and shakers of silliness/insanity, and the crowd-cramping cannibals offering cheap carne-on-e-stick, guey??
I just didn’t see them.
(…or, at least…, I didn’t see them loudly enough to notice…)
I almost felt like I was back in Japan; the three-block audience a colony of bopping heads, hive well-wishers, appreciative observers, deep-thinking smilers and inactive silent revolutionaries.
There were tons of bands and people, but there were no practicing trouble starters, and no police.
Quite astounding really.
And, though I’m a strong proponent of subversive behavior, poking fun at the ordinary, and causing chaos for the sake of rocking the boat, it was still quite refreshing to see such a big event held with such relaxed maturity and class.
I'm starting to think these so-called Seattleites are actually just actors, playing chill peeps roles for my benefit. As soon as I sign a long-term rental lease and a work contract here, I'm expecting the syringes to start flowing through the streets, undulating under the weight of maniacal, pitchfork wielding, mutated politician clones with the blood of suburbanites dripping from their fangs.
But, maybe I'm just being paranoid.