Northwest Folklife

On Saturday, I took my boys to the Northwest Folklife festival in Seattle. Doing so required trickery; direct queries of the form "Do you want to do "X?" where "X" is not equal to playing XBox, watching TV, or wrestling with me and almost breaking my nose, result in "No!" followed by whining.

Instead, I urgently told them it was time to go, and to get their shoes on. We were on the road before the questions began. I simply said we were going to Seattle ("Moan!"), but that I thought there was a big arcade there with "ticket machines" (slot machines for kids who aren't old enough for serious gambling dens). There was also mention of lunch, and a possible train ride.

I parked downtown to avoid the Seattle Center crunch, we had an unhealthy lunch (the guilt I feel over allowing them to eat crap versus the relief from whining is a tough call, but sometimes you gotta do it), then hopped on the monorail. It was only then I revealed that there was "Some music thing..." happening. Evan actually said, "I didn't agree to this." I bit back several inappropriate but heartfelt replies, as visions of child protective services dragging me off in a straitjacket danced through my head.

We wandered and watched some cool bands and street performers, ranging from seriously talented to seriously pierced and, uh, experimental. The boys' favorite group was a family of four. Dad on upright bass, Mom on guitar, a boy around 12 on fiddle, and a younger brother (maybe 7?) on 2-string banjo. My boys were mesmerized. The family was playing some simple bluegrassy countryish stuff, and having a blast. The youngest boy was quite the entertainer, stopping at one point to put on a metal washboard tie which he proceeded to play. What an awesome family activity.

I have never attended Folklife before and wasn't aware that you just show up, find a spot, and start playing. The Ritchie family band will be staking out a spot next year. Perhaps Alex on drums, Evan on guitar, and me alternating between bass and trumpet? I'm sure juggling could be involved, too.

We wandered through the sad remains of the Fun Forest, and the boys hit some rides. Alex was coughing a lot so we headed back downtown. I kept my promise, and we visited GameWorks. A decade ago this was a kinda cool place, but now feels like going into a video store. Quaint, and you have to wonder how many weeks or months, or maybe single-digit years, the place will survive.

The boys, though, love ticket machines. If you haven't had the pleasure, this is a system whereby you pay $20 and 45 minutes of your life standing on a sticky floor for $0.25 worth of candy and a $0.75 toy made of radioactive lead. All attempts to illustrate this insanity to the boys (and suggesting I buy them $1.00 worth of candy and, heck, a $3.00 toy) were met with, "But you get STUFF when you hand in the tickets!"

All-in-all, it was a good outing. The notion of making noise with my guys in front of a crowd is inspiring. After I brought them home (with healthier Subway sandwiches), I headed right back to catch a couple more hours of the festival sans kids. If I had a few more songs memorized on trumpet I would have gone the next day as a street performer, but I don't want to play from sheet music.

Going Dark (or is it Dork?)

I deleted my Facebook and Twitter accounts. The entertainment value of stalking old acquaintances and playing micro-celebrity helps pass the time, but I don't want to pass the time. It's the equivalent of a solo session in RockBand. Fake instruments, fake performance, fake human interaction, and another hour of life slips away. I'm not passing judgment, but for me, hiding from messy humanity and practicing until I'm good enough at being human to actually be human is not healthy.