Seattle's not quite as close to the sea as some think. In his new book, ex-Prez Bill Clinton quite inaccurately refers to the 1993 APEC meeting site on nearby Blake Island as "off the coast of Seattle" (scroll down to the last item in the link).

"Off the coast of Seattle?" That's about what you'd expect from a clueless patrician tourist in an $800 Burberry's raincoat. Which you see regularly at Seattle's Pike Place Market. ("Yeah, wrap up that salmon and Fed Ex it to Alexandria, wouldja?").

As it happens - Chicago emigre speaking here - we're on an inland waterway called Puget Sound. A glorious thing it is, too. But the real "coast," as in Pacific Coast, is many miles to the west, around the bend of the big-thumbed Olympic Peninsula. Hop a damned dinghy if you must - or better yet a kayak - and take a look, Billy-Bob.

Yet still, if anyone cares to just "move on," Ol' Lothario's got an excuse. Again. After all, our football team is named The Seattle Seahawks. Plus, every summer since 1955 we've had a big, and still muy-retro, weeks-long shindig called SeaFair. So, you'd suppose that where there's an alleged sea, there must be a coast - though to me, "sound" and "shore" are the more accurate terms.

SeaFair's lame name aside, the event means The Blue Angels, which is great. And thousands of folks congregate on the shores of Lake Washington to watch the hydro-boat races. Which isn't. To each their own, but you couldn't get me near that sprawling awful mess of humanity for any price - local rube traditions be damned.

And it all kicks off with the landing of the SeaFair Pirates at Alki Beach, which we witnessed again, today.

The pirates are usually pretty well lubricated by the time their boat comes ashore, and it seems every year there's this guy with the tongue out, and an eye for the babes. He set course for my wife today, but due to to my manly and imposing presence, was unable to get his tongue into gear at all.

Still, I had to straighten him out a bit, as he began putting well-practiced pirate moves on the comely mother of my progeny. "Aaaarggghhh. She's MY wench, matey," I bellowed. He backed down quickly enough.

Music was provided by Miles From Chicago, who kicked things off with a beguiling lounge jazz/surf rock version of Van Morrison's "Moondance," the Space Needle as a distant backdrop. Not as in this picture of the group playing at the Alki pirate landing a few years back. (Shssssh, but that's actually Yoko Ono, second from the left).

Ran into lots of amigos down at the beach, always a nice part of living in cozy West Seattle. Then later, up to the Hi-Yu Festival in West Seattle's "Junction," our neighborhood downtown, so named because streetcars used to run through there years ago.

We got rained on a whole lot, but it let up, and we stuck it out. Ava, four, had her t-shirt streaked with popsicle juice, and got pretty wet besides, but had the time of her life. Her brother Max, too. Pony rides, obstacle course, Hawaiian shaved ice, all that. Something liberating about walking around in the rain, and not caring.

I enjoyed Yerba Buena, a Cuban charanga dance music group, featuring two vocalists, three percussionists, two violinists, flute, bass, and keyboards/guittaron. Outstanding stuff, and locals to boot. Nice classy addition to the proceedings. Looking forward to the West Seattle Jazz Festival again, post-Labor Day.

It's wonderful when geezers with kids can score free live music, before sunset! Ah, summer.

Posted by Matt Rosenberg at July 10, 2004 07:59 PM

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