Posts Tagged 'concerts'

i shouldn’t meet people i admire because it doesn’t turn out well

A few weeks ago, I got to see one of my favorite groups live: Electric Six. Afterwards, my friends managed to get Dick Valentine to take a picture with us. I got to be the one with my arm around Dick Valentine! He was really sweaty and I think tired because in the first picture his eyes were wonky and half closed. Our picture-taking friend gave him shit about his wonky eye so the next picture came out with him looking extremely astonished. This was either his attempt to have open eyes or his reaction to me stroking his back while we posed. I was just savoring the moment. And I was too tongue-tied to even offer a simple, “Great show, thanks,” in exchange. Now in Dick Valentine’s world I am forever the ungrateful creepy silent back-rubber.

Tonight I got to see Starfucker, which really is amazing music to experience live. It completely surrounds you and fills up your senses. I think the show was a bit frustrating for the group due to some sound issues, and so when I came face to face with a sweaty, tired, but still smiling Ryan Biornstad over the merch table, again a nice, “Great show, thanks so much,” would have been well placed. Instead I stared. Gripping handfuls of cash. Here’s the conversation that finally got going:

Ryan: (after a pause) “Hi, how are you?”
Me: “Good, thanks!…(pause) You?”
Ryan: “Good.”
Me: (long pause) “Can I have the large of the cat one, please?”

My coworker (who is the super serious Starfucker fan and the one who told me about the show and maybe later regretted telling me about the show) stepped up and offered a gracious thank you while the ungrateful creepy staring money-clutcher paid for her shirt. And stared some more.

Proximity to greatness should inspire us and give us something to aim for. But instead I get paralysis of the brain and revert to my primal cavewoman ancestry.

But at least I have a sweet-ass cat shirt. And I gave Dick Valentine a back rub.


how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night

I told you I had the crazy. Well now I am blaming it on my computer. My dead, dead computer that abandoned me and went to computer heaven. I came home to an uh-oh smell one day (computer, were you using my hairdryer?) and the next day my unresponsive computer was being proclaimed deceased by an apathetic Geek Squad dude who added to my disappointment by not even faintly resembling Chuck. (Where were you, Chuck? You could have saved my computer. You are gorgeous and so is your red couch I want it in my apartment and I wouldn’t mind if you were on it too.)

I can’t think without my computer. I’ve been going around every day in a slight fog, not quite sure who I am without customized desktops, iTunes playlists, and bookmarked tabs. What do I even like to do? Computer, you took all my projects with you.  Where is my Google calendar that tells me what to do? Not in front of my face every morning where I need it.

And that is how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night.

We thought we were seeing these good people. Which is all the better for being a polar opposite brand of strange.


There we were, in line outside the Knitting Factory in Bodo wearing our corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup. A cheerful summer sun is baking down on us and everyone in line is staring. The thought going around under my ratted up Helena Bonham Carter pompadour is we would stop looking so crazy if the sun would just fucking set already.

That’s when I notice everyone in line appears to be a twenty-something male wearing Hollister. This is all such an unexpected, uncomfortable conundrum for us until we get up to the door where we see this sign.

“Rasputina is on the 20th.” Sister points out to me.
“Yeah, I know,” I retort. I’d seen the concert was on the 20th back when I’d had a computer. And left to my own devices in the post-computer darkness, I had managed to blunder into a rock-hard certainty that the 20th was a Tuesday. This Tuesday.
“E,” she coaxes. “What’s the date today?”
“Um…” I break into a sweat. Realities are colliding. My mind is ripping apart. “…Not the 20th?”
“Let’s get some dinner.”

And that is how my sister and I ended up at Solid in corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup, eating burgers and curly fries to live bluegrass being performed by a dude I went out with a couple of times in 2008.