The Blog Without a Name is spanning the world in search of great events that you the readers want to see, but for whatever reason just can’t seem to work into your schedule. Fear not BWOANies, I’ll be there, it’s what you’ve come to expect. Maybe it wasn’t exactly “world” travel, but recently I made it to the far reaches of Washington to attended the 9th Annual Port Angeles Sand Sculpture Classic, a qualifier for the Sand Sculpting World Championship. I find myself wondering why someone would put in painstaking hours to hone such a skill as Sand Sculpting. Then again I spend my spare time writing a semi-regular blog, so maybe I should wonder less and marvel more at their artistic endeavors of temporary media.
They say that everyone living in West Seattle has an Eddie Vedder story to tell. You’re hard pressed to walk more then 15 feet up California Avenue without overhearing somebody say something like, “I was behind Eddie Vedder in the checkout at Thriftway last night” or “guess who I saw going through the used bins in Easy Street Records five minues ago” or “Eddie Vedder was at the table behind me at the Alki Cafe eating brunch.” As a long time West Seattle resident myself I’m sad to report that I have no such story. Maybe I just don’t get out enough or perhaps we’ve crossed paths numerous times and I just happened to be looking down every time, it’s not entirely implausible considering my luck. I did once see Adam Arkin at another Alki eatery years ago. This was during his stint on Northern Exposure after Rob Morrow had left the program. We made eye contact and I gave him the short head-check that says “I know you and I know you know that I know who you are, but I’m from West Seattle so I don’t really care that you’re a pretty famous actor with an even more famous father and I’m not going to bother you so just enjoy your fish tacos.” At any rate, without an out-and-about Eddie Vedder sighting of my own to report I have to resort to seeing him the old fashioned way and buy a ticket to a show. Wrapping his tour in his hometown made for a very tough ticket to score, however I managed to get my hands on a few for his first of two solo shows at Seattle’s Benaroya Hall. I don’t want to rub your nose in it, but it really was quite a tremendous show. Here’s what you missed.
Nothing stirs the patriotic spirit and says happy birthday America quite like a good old fashioned Zombie Walk. You say Red, White and Dead and I say Y-E-S. At the event 4,522 dressed zombies (plus a few real ones) took to the streets of the Seattle neighborhood of Fremont to recapture the World Record for walking zombies. Take that New Jersey; Sinatra can’t help you now (unless he walks for you next year)! Is it me or is the title of a “walk” a misnomer? Shouldn’t it be something like “slowly plodding zombies” rather than walking? Granted I’m squarely in the corner of the George Romero type film zombie as opposed to the newer trend of fast moving film zombies so perhaps I’m biased. I know I just can’t let this go, but to me the slow zombie is scarier because even though a living human can out-maneuver them for a while, eventually a living human will tire and the sheer numbers of the dead will spell doom. At any rate, fast or slow moving makes little difference the Zombie Walk event is quite a scene and The Blog Without a Name was there to observe and report to you.
It’s a fact, some achievements in athletics just mean more than others. For instance when you narrow it down, I really only care about a precious few sports trophies. Of course topping the list is the Stanley Cup. Not only is it the coolest looking, but it easily has the greatest history of all sports awards. No question Lord Stanley’s trophy trumps all others. Also high on the list is the “10 pounds of gold,” the NWA World Heavy Weight Championship belt. It should go without saying, but I’m going to say it any way, that I’m referring to the belt that had meaning, the belt that the likes of Ric Flair, Harley Race and Lou Thesz defended and not the title in it’s current incarnation.
Quickly rising to this elite stature in sporting recognition is the Dockyard Derby Dames league championship. The awarded trophy has affectionately become known in certain circles as the “28 inches of plastic.” If you think I’m the only one who cares about this award you won’t after you read about what went down at the championship bout (06/25/11).
While there were many entertaining moments and events at the past Crypticon I believe my favorite that I witnessed was an interview with P.J. Soles. Perhaps not a household name, she does carry some horror cred appearing in Carrie (1976), Halloween (1978) and The Devil’s Rejects (2005) among others. Additionally, Soles starred as Riff Randell in the cult classic Rock ‘N’ Roll High School as well as appearing in other well known works such as Private Benjamin (1980), Stripes (1981), Breaking Away (1978) and Sweet Dreams (1985) to name a few. What made the session so entertaining was that the stories told involved a veritable who’s who in Hollywood. Her bio on IMDB.com bills her as an often outspoken actress and this proved to be true. Many names were dropped (some favorably, some unfavorably): Bill Murray, Brian De Palma, John Travolta, John Candy, Dennis Quaid, Rob Zombie, Henry Winkler, Howard Stern, Steven Spielberg, even Jan-Michael Vincent came up with little prodding. Perhaps her candor would have been somewhat different had she known The Blog Without a Name was in attendance.
To round out my busy day of Crypticon activities I attended a screening of Jason Lives: Friday the 13th Part VI. The kicker here is that two of the co-stars of the film were also in attendance to provide live commentary during the film. The audience was encouraged to participate in a dialogue with the actors, ask questions and shout things out at the screen as if they were watching it in their own living room. Clearly this was a not-to-be-missed event. Such an occasion of course also provides me the opportunity to use some of my patented Friday the 13th film series yell-at-the-screen material. Perhaps you’ve heard me on an opening night at a theater near you yelling out lines such as, “Come on Jason it’s only a flesh wound!” Or maybe this one after another camper bites it from a machete blow, “that’s Jason six, counselors zero.” The great thing with that line is you can use it over and over depending on the body count; let me warn you though it’s only funny the first three times so you better have something new prepared for later in the film. Go ahead, impress your friends and steal these lines, but remember I’ve trademarked these zingers so you have to credit The Blog Without a Name after every use.
Just because the Emerald City Comicon was 2 months ago doesn’t mean that The Blog Without a Name is done covering it. The Blog Without a Name reserves the right to move at a glacial pace. In fact, this is all part of my master plan for world-wide web domination. Someday when you think of the internet, you’ll think Google first and then The Blog Without a Name. Then sometime after that it’ll just be The Blog Without a Name and you won’t even remember that other sites even existed. At any rate, that’s all in the future and we need to get back to the past. Precisely the Emerald City Comicon from early March.
In addition to the headlining William Shatner, Seattle’s own Rainn Wilson along with writer-director Bill Gunn were also on hand to promote their new film Super. Things started off innocently enough, but before it was over someone had been tasered.
Every now and then I’ll go out and do something like see a horror film and I’ll look around and realize I’m easily the oldest person in attendance. Since I like to think of myself as younger than I actually am, a realization along these lines is more than a tad depressing. This however is not a concern at a Paul Simon show. I’m putting the median age at 55, which makes me about the eleventh youngest person at the show. Not too shabby considering the room capacity (in the neighborhood of 1100) was maxed out and then some. Don’t let the elderly fool you though, they’re every bit as pushy in crowds as younger concert goers. Just ask my wife who had her space encroached upon and ultimately squeezed away from by a woman that I presume to be somebody’s Grandmother. For an artist like Paul Simon, The Showbox is an incredibly small venue and made for a very tough ticket, so here’s what you missed.