Ahoy, mateys! Ishmael McGee the salty seaman here. I’ve been adrift on the Pacific fer the last three decades, so pardon if me communicatin’ skills be a tad rusty. Anyhoo, my ol’ whoremongerin’ buddy A. Birch Steen roped me into scribblin’ some balderdash about this lil’ festival ye blasted landlubbers throw every year called Bimboshot… er, Bumbershoot. Arrrr, gotta lay off the grog before noon.

Now, back before ye were born, Steen and I gave the Rat Pack a run fer their hell-raisin’ money. Let’s just say we knew how to have a good time—some of it was even legal. And apparently a good time—nay, maybe the best time ever—’tis what the nice folk at Bumbershoot have planned fer ye blessed hedonists.

Aye, I am, as ye young’uns say, out of the loop. But I went to the library and had one of them nice librarians log me on to the internets, and she called up that pretty Bumbershoot page: www.thestranger.com/bumbershoot. Lordy, my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. What a glut of entertainment! What ye call “popular culture” done exploded somethin’ fierce while I was squanderin’ me life on a godforsaken ship.

Aye, from the looks of things, every newfangled musical style will be on display at Bumbershoot, so no need to carp. That upstandin’ young man who said President Bush doesn’t care about black people will be headlinin’ the Mainstage on Sunday, and I fer one will be tappin’ my pegleg to his hippityhop songs. While I was harpoonin’ whales and workin’ on my cirrhosis, a whole new genre of music called “rap” done surfaced and took over the world, it seems. A Tribe Called Quest, Atmosphere, Common Market, Lady Sovereign? Sounds like a rip-roarin’ good time. Blondie, the English Beat, Jamie Lidell, Deerhoof? Never heard of ’em, but they sure seem interestin’.

On top of all that racket, there be theater, visual arts, poster arts (Flatstock), artsy-fartsy movies, home-ec workshops, beer gardens (thank Neptune), enough food to send a pod of whales into a coma, and comedy. I’ve never seen these Tinkle upstarts, but ain’t no way they could be funnier than Don Rickles or Buddy Hackett. Still, I’ll keep an open mind—and gullet.

So, a toast to Bumbershoot’s organizers fer their Herculean efforts to make yer Labor Day weekend one fer the history books and another to The Stranger—ye whippersnappers be all right fer a bunch of godless pinko shirt-lifters. This here guide ye scallywags assembled made my head spin—or is that the grog? Ooohhh, Jayzus…

That good enough, Steen, ye merciless bastid?