Me: 2; Bumbershoot: 0

Just like the last time I went to Bumbershoot, I didn’t require any cash money to do so. I felt a little bad about sneaking in when I now can afford not to, but given that I was only going to see The Decemberists’ noon-thirty show, I didn’t think the 28-dollar entry price was reasonable. Fortunately, a secret, covert operative friend of mine was working the EMP on Sunday, and through a complicated chain of subterfuge he was able to sneak my sister and me into the festival. It turns out that if you’re an EMP member, you always have access to the Sky Church, the built-in venue in the EMP. Sky Church is also a stage at Bumbershoot, and opens into the festival at large, so any EMP members in the venue have to wear a special pink wristband. Guards at security checkpoints leaving the Sky Church check to make sure people coming out don’t have wristbands so that EMP members can’t get into Bumbershoot for free. The obvious loophole to this security set-up is that plastic bracelets are easily torn off. Once my operative friend delivered us our special members’ bracelets, we waltzed into the Sky Church, tore off the bracelets, and walked out into bumbershoot. I did buy a $4 hot dog at one point, which took the sharpest edge off my guilt.

The Decemberists were the only band playing that day I cared to see, and they did not disappoint. They even opened with “The Tain,” their epic 22-minute song available on the EP of the same name. You could tell that no one in the crowd had ever heard it before, and also that Colin Meloy and company couldn’t have cared less. They put on quite the live show, and although I would have chosen a different song selection — come on, no “Legionnaire’s Lament”? — overall it earned my stamp of approval. I was disconcerted by the overwhelming number of 14-year-old girls and their ilk present, and wondered if it was just the early show time or if I really liked music popular in that demographic. Come to think of it, many of my musical neighbors on last.fm are teenage girls as well.

I sort of wanted to pack it out after The Decemberists finished playing, but Jenn convinced me to stay for the Dashboard Confessional set an hour later. If the number of 14-year-old girls at the former show made me pause, the latter show practically put me into a pysch ward. The sad little urchins were everywhere, practically underfoot, singing along loudly with every song, a practice encouraged by Chris Carrabba during the lulls. Some of them had brought their tiny little emo boyfriends, and these couples mostly stood with their arms around each other swaying and looking very serious. Even better were the single 14-year-old emo boys that came, standing by themselves with their ironic t-shirts, tight pants, studded belts, bad hair cuts and pouty lips. Some were so tiny I swear I could have lifted them with one hand. It was pretty amusing, even if the music made me want to slash my wrists at every chord change.

Disappointingly, I couldn’t find the hippie guy selling the jars filled with that colorful, swirling, shimmering liquid. Does anyone know what I’m talking about? What happened to that guy, anyway? My place needs some panache.