A couple weeks ago Bryan and I saw Bruce Cockburn play at the Moore Theater in Downtown Seattle. I praise the good Lord in heaven that our seats were assigned, because whenever we see a show that only offers general admission tickets, the Earth must stop spinning if Bryan cannot spend an entire day waiting on the sidewalk outside the venue doors.
When U2 came around last year, I was only four weeks postpartum with Thomas. I actually refused to go with Bryan because I knew he would camp out all day to try and get inside the U2 Circle of Love, and I just wasn’t having it. I had a BABY to breastfeed for crying out loud, and I was still… recovering, if you know what I mean.
We actually bought tickets for separate shows and each brought a friend so I could sit in the nosebleed section, trying to stay awake and keep my boobs from leaking.
As irritated as I am by this behavior, his tireless obsession usually pays off. Like the time we waited outside Portland’s Rose Garden all day even though I was in my first trimester with Ruthie and eating nothing but saltine crackers. We got wristbands for that show and I was so close to The Boss his sweat was hitting me.
We also get the best seats EVER at movie theaters because we get there a half hour early. I feel like such a nerd. I complain the entire time we’re sitting there. I complain the entire ride to the theater. I complain as we leave dinner earlier than I want to. But when people can’t find seats five minutes before the movie starts, I’m not complaining.
It’s a ritual. Our dates would not be the same without it.
So I was grateful for assigned seats at Bruce Cockburn because it meant we could just drive there and sit down before the show started like regular people. And when we happened to get there early, we walked down to Starbuck’s at Pike Place Market to fuel us for the evening.
As we were leaving Starbuck’s, a tourist family stopped and asked me where a good place was to eat. I gave them a few suggestions, swayed them off a few of their ideas, and off they went.
I cannot tell you what a good mood that put me in! I’M STILL A CITY GIRL!
For years I lived on Queen Anne and walked UNDERNEATH THE SPACE NEEDLE to Belltown for work everyday, It was a dream life. Even when Bryan and I were married we lived in a tiny apartment a block from the Seattle Center. I got asked for directions by tourists all the time, BECAUSE IT WAS OBVIOUS I WAS A CITY GIRL.
I do miss those days. Back when I was naïve to Seattle housing costs, I swore an oath to myself that I would raise my children in the city, but when it came time to buy we couldn’t make it happen.
I love my house. We bought it because it’s in the middle of an urban center, even though that urban center is in the suburbs. But we get most of what we wanted out of urban living, which is walkable access to almost everything we need. What I miss most about the city is the funk. The most popular breakfast spot here dons white lacey doilies over their light fixtures, white lacey curtains, and mauve décor.
Not funky. Not hip.
But it’s getting there. We have The Red House, and The Met, and rumor has it a Trader Joe’s is moving in soon. But the likelihood of seeing any tourists down here is pretty slim, so I won’t be getting asked for directions.
By the way, seeing Bruce Cockburn live is the exact opposite experience of seeing Pierce Pettis live. You already know how Pierce rambles, but Bruce is so quiet during his shows it’s almost like you’re sitting in on a recording session. He’s very introverted.
However, this allows for some very odd and entertaining banter by the audience. I’ve seen Bruce play twice, now, and I’ve never experienced a more eccentric audience. People take his silence between songs as an opportunity to shout things at him, like song requests, or phone numbers, or pleas to never stop playing.
But nobody asked him for directions.