Day 1 Comedy: Bumbershoot 2013
Day One of Bumbershoot is always about getting your bearings. It’s sensory overload, especially this year, when clouds of marijuana smoke hang over every stage. Bumbershoot has always been a smoke-friendly environment, but now it’s at a whole new level. Attention, Seattle parents: Your children are going to Bumbershoot to WEAR the SHORT-SHORTS and SMOKE the LEGAL MARIJUANA.
(But let’s not be dicks and use anything, blatantly, right in front of police. No need to put the so-far friendly cops in a position where forced to be the bad guy.)
Let’s talk comedy. No matter where you end up in line for the Bagley Wright stage, a pro-tip for the venue: Everyone in a line plods along and takes the first entrance from the lobby. Don’t. Instead, keep walking through to the far aisle — that side of the theatre fills up last. Or if you can’t resist your cattle inclinations, walk down towards the stage and then over to the left. Whatever you do, DO NOT suddenly stop walking and hold up the entire line behind you or change seats four times. The selection of seats at Bumbershoot comedy shows is not like being gay — it doesn’t get any better. So just sit down.
(THIS is how you hack life, people: by keeping your eyes and ears open. At this point, I’m on my way outta Seattle, and I don’t mind sharing all my knowledge accrued — twelve years of pro-tips that have allowed me to beat the rest of the general public in nearly every way — with you, the hoi polloi. So START WRITING this down.)
Anyways, my main goal for Saturday was to see Patton Oswalt & Friends, so by making that the priority, and by living a life of pro-tips, I was able to secure a third-row seat, so I could see the funny man work himself up into a sweat talking about how a pessimistic customer service rep at Alaska Airlines under-promised and over-delivered on finding his daughter’s stroller, and how now he needs to protect the eyes of that four-year-old from Bumbershoot hippie dick.
To warm up the crowd was Fancypants comedienne Natasha Leggero. Her selfish princess persona briefly touched a nerve in the audience when joking about motherhood (as a concept). But Natasha won the crowd back with the cogent point that catching a boyfriend engaging in auto-erotic asphyxiation is preferable to seeing him doff a Call of Duty headset. She knew her audience, accusing the majority of having a Master’s in something they don’t do, mocking Pacific Northwest style (“JEAN SHORTS”) and white tourists going on gangland tours in L.A., and soliciting a quick headcount of those who think they’re gluten-sensitive versus those who are actually gluten-allergic (i.e., celiac). TOTALLY DIFFERENT CONDITIONS, PEOPLE.
Next up was Upright Citizens Brigade vet Brian Huskey, in the guise of Nascar poet Louis Harkin, who comes pre-loaded with a deliciously deft backstory. The former septic-cleaning business owner in Shelby, North Carolina, inspired by Def Poetry Jam, moved to San Francisco, where he now performs in Bohemian cafes, unpaid. This is a complicated, tightly drawn character, and Huskey walks all those lines well, telling poems of weedwhackers and Billy Joel and “onset diabetes,” combines the slogans “Just Do It” and “Never Forget,” all with liberal sprinkles throughout of “namaste, motherfuckers.”
Marc Maron then took the stage with a “surprise” appearance, as comedy acts are wont to mix and match at Bumbershoot. Turns out Marc has an ex-wife from Seattle, so don’t worry, he has something to complain about. His impression of our fair city has always been “Fuck Seattle.” Of course he has his typical existential crisis over traffic, but he’s also having a crisis now, at age 49, when he’s engaged again, set for what will be his third marriage, and scared that this might be the time he has a kid, and then he’ll be The Old Dad. He’s at least scared that his fiancee wants to get pregnant enough to be wary of a “fingerbaby.”
And whaddya know? Marc Maron has a couple impersonations too:
- a one-word Dave Attell: “What?”
- a one-gesture David Cross (the rocking on his heels he does when a joke hasn’t landed well) with the optional follow-up gesture to awkwardly take a drink of beer
- all sound (Peanuts-style) version of Eugene Mirman
- he has a Louis C.K. impression, but it necessarily involves ice cream
Then there was Patton. In his nearly half-hour set, he announced his fitness goals: to lose his bulletproof vest torso, to not be in a Rascal scooter at his daughter’s high school graduation, and to keep his original knees. That discussion inevitably led to the Swab My Folds porn series (“it doesn’t really get good until Swab My Folds 4“), shame-eating (“fuck you, me”), the modern fears of having a #racistbaby or being a #klandad, and being forced to deal with so many “hipster trustfund douchebags — SORRY.”
Patton Oswalt requires clothing that hides his man boobs and hips. When even going near the John Varvatos counter at Macy’s makes him feel like a hobbit, his only option is to start a fashion line with the guy from Smashmouth and name it Fireplug.
So when the comedy lineup is BY FAR the most successful and consistent programming of the festival, tell me again why Bumbershoot doesn’t sell a comedy pass? And why OneReel doesn’t turn over some of the will-call/credentials production and logistical duties to Starbucks as part of their sponsorship? Especially when a festival is run by a non-profit, it’s important to find ways to have others contribute and get work done for you. These PEARLS OF WISDOM are FREE, y’all.
