(Practicing laying down and seltzer water inebriation, Bumbershoot)
No today photo, unless you want to see a drab, dirty girl laying pathetically in her sister's bathrobe. Extended travel has caught up with me and put me in a sling. My designated spot is vertical with PJs. Oatie's kind enough to keep me company. I have the flu.
It's a bit of a damper since I have so few days in Oregon and they are packed tight with visits to friends, possible employers, and more. But one must listen to their body. I am not sickly but when I travel, it tends to come every month or two and especially when I stop. I think this is common.
Last weekend, Carrie and I headed north to Seattle for Bumbershoot, a festival which contains music, visual arts, lectures, and film. We've gone in the past and last time it was glorious: full of stages and new artists, books and interesting installations, all outdoors under the Space Needle.
This year, they'd moved a couple stages indoors, cut out the literature, decreased the visual art to one room, and provided very inadequate seating for the film. By shrinking the area and decreasing the content, it felt a lot less grassy and laid back than in the past. I'd say it was a turn for the worse. However, the grand finale, Hall and Oates, brought a bitch twinkle* to our eyes. Nothing like Maneater, Rich Girl, Sara Smile, and more. Songs from 1980, when we were living in Wisconsin, and my dad was still alive. Good stuff.
*Bitch Twinkle: When you're just about to cry and your eyes sparkle from the tears.