I arrived at Bumbershoot yesterday about twenty minutes before the gates opened. The line for the gate stretched over a city block. I picked up my ticket (quietly ruing the purchase of a four day pass, since I was only able to attend the last day of the festival) and joined the back of the line. It was brisk and I was feeling underdressed (and too old) in my shorts and t-shirt, watching the “Impeach Bush” booth across the street. I was also feeling rushed. I had to pick up my wristband for the evening’s headliner act, turn around, and head back home to run some errands with Lisa before I returned in the afternoon. (She flew this morning to New Jersey for a few days work.) Once I got inside, I waited in two longer, slower lines (shades of Soviet food shortages? reflections of the tragedy of the commons? or just poor organization?) before I got my wristband. At one point I changed lines only to find myself worse off than when I started. People were queuing up without knowing what was at the other end: potatoes? Toilet paper? Maybe a wristband for the evening’s show? All things considered it wasn’t too bad: 45 minutes start to finish. But I hated turning around and leaving, even if I was coming back in four hours.