AN ACQUAINTANCE NAMED RUSSELL held a “Loud Jacket Party” last Saturday night. The loudest jacket I currently own is a double-breasted navy blue number with silver pinstripes, but nobody seemed to mind.

My favorite new local band, Lushy (more about them on a future date, I promise) played two sets of ultracool jazz-pop. Delicately tasty cocktails were served up by trained professionals. Party guests read aloud from Russian history books when they couldn’t think of anything witty to say, which wasn’t often.

The center and right faces in this pic belong to the extraordinary party goddess DJ Superjew and cool-and-strange-music connisseur Otis F. Odder.

I didn’t dress up. But I went where I’d find other people who’d dressed up, and asked if I could take their pictures. Almost everyone agreed. Herewith, some samples.

This barista is wearing an authentic 1950s UW cheerleader uniform from the Red Light.

• “Silver is the New Black.”
• “Orange is the New Black.”
• “Grey is the New Black.”
• “Why green is the new black.”
• “Is Brown the New Black?”
• “A World Where Aubergine is the New Black.”
• “Black is the New Black.”
• “Blacker is the new black.”
• “Black is not the New Black.”
• “Business Casual is the New Black.”
• “Iridescence: It’s the New Black.”
• “Brilliant Colour is the New Black.”
• “Multi-Colored Tyres are the New Black.”
• “Bobby Pins are the New Black.”
• “Dachshunds are the New Black.”
• “Blood is the New Black.”
• “Scar tissue is the new black.”
• “Undesign–The New Black?”
• “Bland is the New Black.”
• “Mono is the New Black.”
• “Gay is the New Black.”
• “Pirates are the New Black.”
• “Anti-Semitism: The New Black.”
• “Xenophobia, the New Black?”
• “Buddhism is the New Black.”
• “Death is the New Black.”

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, you’ll all be treated to the sights of the most recent Western Washington Fair (aka “The Puyallup”)

In its 102nd year (not counting the WWII years when its site was used as a Japanese-American internment camp), the fair was its ever-lovin’ boot-stompin’ best, an entertainment and people-watchin’ spectacle at least equal to anything staged at Seattle Center.

(I suspect it’d even be a superior fun-time to that certain tres-overhyped googah in the desert Southwest if said googah didn’t have any nekkid people.)

My date for the afternoon was a devout vegan who, for some reason, didn’t know beforehand that the cows on display at the fair were likely to become next month’s filet mignon–until she ran into a Beef Marketing Board counter in the beef-cattle barn, offering free samples from some of the same breeds lolling about in the stalls.

On a more immediately practical level, my companion found nothing that met her strict dietary standards at the fair’s dozens of fast-food stands (all non-chain; many run by third-generation families that have become cozy insiders with fair management). If just a few of these ol’ standbys were asked to give up some of their multiple stands around the fairgrounds, other folk could join ’em with a wider variety of meal/snack offerings.

One could easily imagine an allegedly “healthy” food concessionaire who could hype their wares as part of the fair’s original mission of promoting agriculture in Washington. They could promote their entrees, salads, desserts, energy drinks, etc. as products from higher-profit-margin crops that could fiscally save some family farms.

Why heck, such a food stand could even cross-promote its wheatgrass shakes and veggie platters with the guys who hawk blenders and choppers in the Modern Living barns.

…old-time department stores, even whilst some of them are still with us. (He seems to particularly miss the stores’ old mission as definers of a downtown-centric social culture.)

…independent artists hawked their wares in Occidental Mall on First Thursday. And once again, the bigshot corporate gallery owners made bluster in the daily papers about wanting the non-represented riffraff out of Pioneer Square for good. One gallery boss was quoted smearing the indies’ works as mere “flea market trinkets” that don’t deserve to exist in the same neighborhood with, say, expensive glass bowls. Thus, defenders of the li’l guyz sported T-shirts scoffing at the scoffers.

FUN WITH ELECTRICITY: When first we heard of the Calif. megastore chain Fry’s Electronics coming to Renton, we scoffed. We’d heard so many times of Northern Calif. institutions whose reputations turned out to have been due to little more than being from Northern Calif., that hubris-capital of North America.

But Fry’s turns out to be worth the hype, I must say.

It’s not just another Circuit City/Best Buy clone grown to Goliath size. It’s been designed from step one as Techno-Geek Heaven. Acres of hardware, software, parts and pieces (yep, even that Torx-6 screwdriver I’ve been looking for). Prices aren’t all that great, except for a few loss leader specials. It’s the selection that makes it different, that and the whole vastness of the joint, and the staff that speaks Geekspeak like natives.

While it’s not in an established strip-mall zone, it’s easy to get to by public transport because it’s reasonably close to the main Boeing Renton bus stop. (Not that Fry’s is all that keen on non-drivers shopping there; its delivery fees are tremendous, and staffers write down the serial numbers of anything customers bring in in backpacks that’s even close to merchandise Fry’s sells.)

Between Boeing and the also-nearby Kenworth truck plant, it’s right in the heart of our industrial heritage. But the fourth big institution in the neighborhood, the giant Cirque du Soleil tent complex, heralds a postmodern, postindustrial, upscaled culture built from the forms of populist working-class entertainments of olden days.

Fry’s is intended for “knowledge workers,” for engineers and designers and coders, not for assembly-line grunts. You can find U.S.-built products in the store, but they’re more readily found in cheaper categories (DVD discs) than in expensive ones (DVD players). No, Fry’s is a store for an America that, to quote an old Doonesbury line, “doesn’t have to make anything anymore—except SUCCESS.”

…will be posted in two installments. Watch this space later this week for some quaint human-interest studies at the R.E.M. gig.

But for today, some of Labor Day’s other Seattle Center sights.

THE VAIN ALTERNA-HAIR SALON had a booth selling, among other products and services, this retro Joan Jett purse. I attracted the awe and respect of everyone working the booth when I told ’em I’d seen Joan Jett perform at Wrex, the old new-wave bar where Vain is now.

THE EMP SKY CHURCH SPACE, wide and very tall yet relatively shallow, remains one of the wonders of the rock world. No wonder VH1’s shooting an entire concert series there. Here, Lesli Wood of the loud-fast combo Ms. Led.

In the where-be-they-now corner, Mary Lou Lord (once the darling of KNDD’s old Loudspeaker show) continues to patiently ply her trade, major-label offers or no major-label offers.

My fave act of the day, though, was the harmonic driving pop of the New Pornographers, featuring several Vancouverites and ex-Tacoman Neko Case (center). I could spend a lifetime in the universe of their happy/skeptical tuneage.

I’M STILL FEELING ERRATIC ACHES and dizzy spells at varying times of the day following my recent panic-type episode. (I’m still waiting for at least one reader to email their sympathies.)

But I did get to spend most of Friday at Bumbershoot.

Firstly, I spotted this loving pair on the way to what band’s set? (C’mon, it’s an E-Z guess.) (OK, the answer’s at the bottom of this post.)

Prior to that, however, I got to see plenty-O-rockin’-action at the Exhibition Hall, starting with the wonderful Visqueen.

Later, during The Divorce’s set in the same space, I finally got my very own Charles Peterson moment.

Beer gardens are everywhere on the B-shoot grounds, in keeping with the festival’s ongoing capitulation to the national mania for revenue enhancement. The Ex Hall’s beer garden is festooned with lovely Lava Lites and similar products.

Jessica Lurie performed a typical mind-blastin’ set with her ensemble at the Northwest Court stage.

The Bumbrella Stage’s banners include plugs for two sponsors I’d never expected to see on the same piece of screen-printed fabric.

One big change this year: The Small Press Book Fair was turned into the Ink Spot. Its aesthetic premise was also changed, from circa 1973 (Port Townsend-esque nature poetry) to circa 1983 (punk zines). Above, local zine vet Gregory Hischack (Farm Pulp).

(Answer: Modest Mouse, of course.)

…I’d even do what this guy’s doing.

ONE OF THE TEMPORARILY-REVEALED old advertising signs on the north face of the Commodore Hotel on Second Avenue, during the construction of the condo tower where Bethel Temple had been.

SOMETIME NEXT MONTH, Belltown’s first worthy cyber-cafe successor to the burnt-down Speakeasy Cafe will come in the form of the new Zeitgeist/Top Pot branch on Fifth Avenue. Coffee, donuts, free Wi-Fi, art, and a large meeting space.

…this AOL puff piece, Seattle ranks a respectable #7 among US cities with “the best looking people.” That renowned closeted-sailor hangout of San Diego, CA placed #1; our neighbors to the south in Portland placed ninth; neither NY nor LA made the top 10.

THE HYDRO RACES went off flawlessly. Alas, so did the near-annual coronation of Miss Budweiser, the 5,000-lb. gorilla of the sport.

Still, it was a great afternoon of noise, sunburns, partying, and debauchery. And the power boats themselves still express the union of some eternal dichotomies: The sky and the sea, power and beauty, triumph and frustration.

WHILE WE ATTEMPT to get our lovely main digicam either fixed or replaced, we’ve got a backlog of dozens of cool pix taken on it. They’ll appear on this site at the usual erratic frequency.

A new Jack in the Box commercial begins with the guy in a plastic clown head (allegedly voiced by Matt Frewer) in a damp, dark forest setting, in front of a crew of dingy, ponytailed hackey-sack players. As the rain beads up on his plastic face, he announces the fast food chain’s new “Northwest chicken salad.” Halfway through the ad copy, the clown realizes a mistake. Cut to a cue-card holder who says “Sorry dude.” Cut to a hastily revised cue card now reading “Southwest chicken salad.” Instantly the scene changes to a bright, sunny playa. Instead of the hackey-sackers, there’s an energetic marimba band.

This is no way for the San Diego, CA-based chain to treat our region. First they kill some of us, then they insult us.

CONTINUING OUR RECAPPING of events we’d documented but not uploaded during our early-summer bout of computerlessness, the Fremont Solstice Parade.

This “silent protest” just might’ve been inspired by our own photo series, Signifying Nothing.

Dr. Seuss’s Sneetches, those universal metaphors for self-titled hipsters and the futulity of exclusive scenes.

The now world-renowned body paint bicyclists and other public nudes have, for several years now, upstaged the parade’s more organized attractions. And for good reason. For two hours a year it’s quasi-legally-tolerated to appear naked on a public street, and to be seen by bystanders of all genders and ages.

Solstice Parade nudity isn’t overtly sexual. Nor is it the formally informal “natural” nudity of naturist camps and free beaches. It’s a whole other thang altogether. It’s a statement of freedom and pride, as much as anything at the Gay Pride parade the following week.

The essential message: We’ve all got bodies, and they’re all great. They’re fun to look at, and fun to live in. A simple and obvious message, but one us repressed Americans still need to hear regularly.

…got a lot of local alt-media hype this year, depicting it as a free-wheelin’, politically-savvy, homespun li’l community gathering.

Uh-uh.

This year’s installment was a little one-block street fair, less than fully bedecked with booths, serving as the excuse for the three blocks of fenced-off, paid-admission music stages and beer gardens.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Block Party ’03 served that traditional Northwestern compulsion–the striving to spend as much time in the summer outdoors as possible, even whilst doing traditionally indoor things such as drinking and listening to rock bands. Many of the bands, such as longtime local faves Maktub (pictured below) put on stupendous sets. Others, such as the D.O.A. reunion, seemed a bit off-putting. (When, exactly, did anti-sentimentalistic hard punk become nostalgia music?)

In any event, there was always the people-watchin’, which the Block Party offered much of, in all the individualistic spectacles that are Capitol Hill hipsters.

AS PROMISED, here are some of the pix I took but was unable to upload last month, starting with what’s commonly known for short as the “Gay Pride Parade” (the official name’s almost as long as the parade itself).

This year’s parade was to have been hardly different from any, except for the larger and more numerous surrounding beer gardens. (They’re here, they’re queer, they’re drinking beer.) But recent news events gave the paraders a couple extra things about which to feel proudly.

First, a court in Ontario ruled gay marriage legal in Canada’s most populous province. The move capped a half-year in which the Great White North, once seen as quaint and stuffy, suddenly attained a reputation as North America’s bastion of Euro-progressivism and (relative) political common sense.

Then the U.S. Supreme Court, in a rare victory for libertarian conservatives instead of authoritarian conservatives, said Texas couldn’t criminalize “sodomy” (a code-word for gay-male sex). G.W. Bush, who as Texas governor had supported the law, was uncharacteristically quiet about its overturning.

Thus, an event that, as late as a week before, might have held a mood of brash defiance, instead took on an air of only slightly-muted celebration for lesbians and gays, and for everybody who’s been yearning achingly for even the slightest hope.

Hope for a way out of the right-wing nightmare.

Hope for an America that would run on compassion and common sense, instead of greed and fear.

Hope for not just a more prosperous future, but for any future at all.

The new age people say anything we do to maintain a positive attitude will help us achieve our goals. Let’s hope this time they’re right.