09.08.2002
feeling kinda
birthday countdown: 10 days.
oh, i must be feeling better. i've been in rare and cranky form today.
not sure what it is; could be PMS, could be stuff at work, could be the ex husband (more about him later). most likely, it's some particularly lethal combination of the three.
it hasn't all been crankyness. got thru work at the day job, and decided to try driving down to the night job, just to prove i could do it. i've avoided driving thru the Big Dig like the plague, but was curious to see if i could, just because. i briefly contemplated looking at a map to cross-check the roads, and promptly started laughing. whatever map i have couldn't possibly help in a town where roads disappear and appear with maddening frequency and no announcement.
did pretty well; got as far as Govie and did the rest by dead reckoning. there's a lot nearby the tent for $7 all night, which isn't too bad, considering. and it was really comforting to know that Penny would be waiting for me after the show. it might still take me an hour door to door, but at least i'd be sitting in my own car, listening to my choice of music.
the show itself? oh, yeah. Keller Williams and Bela Fleck. i'd never heard of Keller, and was impressed by his sound check. any guitar guy with long hair, with not one but *two* guitars slung around him, wins my affection. wandered down to the stage, and exchanged that brief 'hi. hey. how are you. yeah, we're cool.' sort of nod. and i thoroughly enjoyed his set. it was the geek's music wet dream - just him on the stage, building loops on a half dozen instruments. drum, flute, keyboard, bass, vocal, guitar... incredibly fun and funky.
i tried to get myself introduced, but apparently he's shy and didn't want to come out to do autographs. i settled for buying a CD, which is a rare thing for me to do at a show. i had to hear that music again when i got home. chatted up a cute boy while waiting in line; cute boy knew quite a bit about Keller. i found myself being unusually stammery shy, for reasons that hit me afterwards: cute boy is a dead ringer for Ewan McGregor. there's a good chance i'll run into him at another show this fall, and i've determined not to be shy if the opportunity presents itself.
then, there was the headliner... oh. my. god. torture. torture! i dare you to name a famous banjo player. one that's still alive - dead country stars don't count. can't do it, can you?
by halfway thru the set, i wanted to claw my eyes out, ram ripped programs in my ears, scrabble down the pier rocks and swim across the harbour. it was sheer torture, i tell you! worse, there was nothing to do. it wasn't even a half sold show. i finally put myself in a spot by the stage to work security, just for something to keep me occupied. even that was so boring, i ended up counting the stripes on BumbleBee Boy's shirt. it was that bad.
it didn't help that i was cranky. one thing that really set me off at the beginning of the night was being inventoried. you know when you see someone and they don't just say 'i like your earrings' or 'nice haircut'; instead, they say 'you haven't always had those. when did you get that piercing?' or 'it hasn't been that long since you did your hair. why only wait 3 weeks this time?' there's something about that inventorying of my actions that makes me insane. just make a comment, and leave it at that. when i choose to cut my hair or wash my car or tattoo my ass is none of your business, certainly not to the level that you need to track my every move.
i even snapped at Joe. he playfully held the cabinet closed when i went to get my bag. and all i said was 'don't. fuck. with me.' in that dead quiet voice that threatens bodily harm. he got out of the way.
soooooo glad that i had Penny with me so i could avoid the T, miss getting stomped on again, and blast John Wesley Harding's Bridegroom Blues.
