Results tagged “tshirts”

Winding along the unbeaten path from the University Village, we encountered a sign: "3 for $35." Curiosity heightened, we swerved off the road and into Alhambra's discount clothing store where the gentle and helpful salesman told us that the three were t-shirts from the A to Z Tees clothing line, but other combinations from the clothing line were also on sale: t-shirt and dress, t-shirt and novelty top, for $30.

One Reel announced yesterday that last year's Bumbershoot won the 2008 Grand Pinnacle Award, whatever that is. Okay, so it's actually the big prize handed out by the International Festivals & Events Association to honor the most bestest festival or event, beating out the Kentucky Derby, the Indianapolis 500 Festival, and the Tournament of Roses. You lose again, sports.

Observation: Seattlest James hosts trivia at the Old Pequliar on the first Tuesday of the month.

Well, it's been a month, and that can only mean one thing: time for the next free edgy youth culture documentary, care of Scion. Last time around, the topic was blood diamonds in hip hop; this time it's all about nightclubbing in the late '80s NYC queer community.

(This fall we are combining our love of the football and our dream of learning to cook. On Sunday morning, following a trip to a local farmer’s market/major supermarket chain, we will be preparing a meal from the city of the Seahawks opponent. Then at halftime we will throw our badly burned hands in the air and make hot dogs.)

There were, however, 3:10 to Yuma t-shirts, which we gave away in addition to the regular pile of swag. (That was Jack Daniels-themed this week. Congrats, Greendoggs.)

Jim Moore of the P-I reports this shocking news today: The Wazzu Cougars have passed the UW Huskies in apparel sales, according to a company that keeps track of such things.

Oh, how we hates them! Alright, we don't hate Greenpeace. Especially not the organization as a whole. When they're not out foolishly trying to save fierce man-eating whales, Greenpeace does a lot of good in the world. Happy happy joy joy. We do, however, hate their "street team" or whatever you might call them. May we suggest "clipboard toting nuisance squad"?

This Adbusters piece about liberalism and its current state of crisis isn't exactly new--looks like it's from their May/June issue--but it should be required reading in Seattle. The author talks about how liberals are rich white guys who don't really have anything to complain about, but don't seem to do much besides complain. They need to man up and start acting like the born and bred civic rulers they are and blah blah blah. You should read it.

Outside Key Arena last night, there were a few religious protesters with big signs urging passersby to repent of their evil ways, but inside the venue was a packed house eager to see The Police for their first tour in twenty years. The crowd definitely skewed older (and drunker), kinda like your parents at Oktoberfest, and the stage was sparsely set for the band's three solitary figures. As always, Sting was in one of his sleeveless t-shirts that rode up in the back, all the better to show off how well he's aged, thanks to approximately nine thousand hours of yoga a day. The show kicked off with "Message in a Bottle," complete with a greeting of "Hey Seattle, how ya doing?" to which the crowd, on its feet, responded enthusiastically: "OH MY GOD, STING IS TALKING TO ME AND HE KNOWS THE NAME OF THE CITY IN WHICH I LIVE!"

When Seattlest received that fateful email from a friend, our immediate reaction was a roll of the eyes and an audible, drawn out, "Bull shit." No way would the one and only Beastie Boys play the legendary but very wee Crocodile Cafe. No way. Then came the Ticketmaster link all but confirming it. The Croc's website kept mum, not listing the show at all. Supposedly The End had been talking it up, but we wouldn't know since we haven't listened to that station since discovering KEXP years ago. A click of the mouse fractions of a second after tickets went on sale and we were in. Many of our friends and most of the Seattle area weren't as lucky. A quick check on Craig's List and Ebay showed that scalpers had done some of the immediate damage. Venting ensued.

And we're back.

It's Tuesday once again, which means it's Seattlest Trivia Night at the Old Pequliar in Ballard.

On the off chance that you don't know the drill, let us introduce you:

MUSIC: Pianist Jose Gonzales takes a holiday from his Thelonious Monk obsession to play an evening of romantic jazz standards at Madrona eatery St. Clouds, with bassist Mark Bullis and special guest Ray Baldwin on trumpet. Drink it up, baby. Yeah. That's right.

Ready to shake of the soporific effects of friends, family, and a gigantic turkey dinner? Head on over to the Old Pequliar in Ballard for Seattlest trivia tonight.

Those hoping to win their way into some extra holiday shopping money must have pounded their heads against a table when they saw Husker Don't enter the Old Pequliar last night.

SOLD OUT!

Here's to the ice melting away because there are some good shows this week.

For the record, ¡Forward, Russia! is awesome. Keep this in mind a year from now when they make it (indie) big, because last night at the Croc, it was pretty damn empty. There was Seattlest and, oh, about thirty other people taking in the anxiety-filled English post-punk from a quartet wearing matching upside-down, right-side-up exclamation-points t-shirts.

Things we learned at trivia last night:

Last night a record 450 teams packed into the Old Pequliar for Seattlest Trivia. Sadly we had to disqualify 432 of the squads when they would not participate in the mandatory drug testing. The remaining 18 team answered questions on tragic romances, the World Series, John C. Reilly movies, and Project Runway.

After a week of enjoying atypical Seattle crowds, it seems as if whatever was in the water has run its course, with Seattleites returning to their apathetic showgoing ways. Seattlest can't really say that we were much different at Friday night's The National/Mobius Band show at Neumos, as we were busy being annoyed by our inability to breathe (hello fall cold season!), but all the same we were hoping that the crowd would have perked us up rather than merely matching our lack of energy. Luckily, this lack of energy wasn't much of a reflection of The National, who played a crowd-pleasing set despite the crowd's unwillingness to indicate that.

As this third straight dreadful Mariners' season drags to a close, we were struck by something on USS Mariner. Their feeling is that Carlos Garcia has been doing a very good job as the team's third base coach.

So the last two days we heard seven bands. And that was a Sunday and Monday night! Our ears are tired. Not that you care. Where the hell were you, anyway? About 20 people showed up for the El Corazon show. It was all-ages, but only four under-21ers skipped Sunday-night homework to come. A bunch of Euro-sausage arrived late to catch Starsailor at the Crocodile. You know, with their Euro-pop t-shirts and orange sneakers. It was like a tale of two night clubs: one gritty (i.e., an actual leaking ceiling) and over-amplified, with a fiercely indie audience, and the other gritty (the ceiling has various kinds of sound baffles nailed to it) and over-amplified, with a used-to-know-someone-who-was-fiercely-indie crowd.

Kirsten Anderson emailed Seattlest to remind us that Tales of the Rat Fink, the new film about hot rod legend Ed "Big Daddy" Roth, opened tonight at the Grand Illusion. From their website:

From the award-winning director of Comic Book Confidential and Grass comes Tales Of The Rat Fink, Ron Mann’s wildly inventive biopic about influential Renaissance man Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, who engineered a shift in mid-twentieth century culture with his customized cars, “monster” T-shirts and America’s alternative rodent – “Rat Fink.” Ed Roth helped fuel the “Kustom Kulture” / Hot Rod movement of the 1960s in Southern California and Hot Rodding grew from crude backyard engineering where performance was the bottom line into a refined artform where aesthetics were equally important. Mann’s largely animated documentary features the voice talents of John Goodman, Ann-Margret, Brian Wilson, Tom Wolfe, Matt Groening, Robert Williams, Stone Cold Steve Austin and the ever lovable Smothers Brothers.

Don't get Seattlest wrong; we had a great time all weekend at Bumbershoot. How could we not love the mountains of garlic fries bigger than our heads? The sweaty, pimply teenage boys with their curly shagged hairdos and their overly made-up girlfriends in message t-shirts? Most importantly, and less sarcastically, how could we not get super psyched about a weekend of rainless weather in Seattle and an opportunity to discover loads of local talent about which we had previously been unaware? We couldn't! That's why we spent the whole damned weekend putting up with the sweaty, stale beer stench and the long bathroom lines. Because we heart seriously good music.

Seattlest may have spent Saturday sweating our asses off and getting seriously sunburned, but we managed to catch some of the best of the best of what that Bumbershoot thing had to offer.

Tuesday night, Seattlest decided to ratchet up the difficulty level on the quiz at the Old Pequilar. And we think that worked well. We heard bitching, but it was good, brain-smacking bitching, not lynch-the-quiz-host bitching.