Killing Me Softly With THIS song.

Almost all of the music that I own, or at least the songs that I don't skip while I'm toiling the hours away at work, are insanely depressing. While I know I should be giving 110% to my job, it is somehow very easy to drift out of productivity mode and sink into an abyss of melodic doom. 

I hate to admit this, but I'm a wallower. Lately, Doubt and Melancholy have reared their uninvited heads into my life. I'm not sure if I'm having a mid-life crisis (and if so, does this mean certain death at age 64?), or if these feelings are just a catalyst for the next stage of my life... That was just a nicer way of saying mid-life crisis. Either way, it sucks. As a wallower, I secretly love a singular element of shitty times like these... The soundtrack. 

When Mermaid Avenue, the Billy Bragg/Wilco collaboration of Woody Guthrie songs came out in 1998, I was 20 years old and sneaking into bars that were either playing the likes of Lynyrd Skynyrd or Montel Jordan. I was a drunken waitress who was having a lot, a lot, a LOT of fun. Sure, my boyfriend and I had dramatic arguments and everything seemed catastrophic and impossible; but, I was 20. I had a phenomenal ass, and with the exception of school, I did not have a lot of responsibility. Of course, I did not appreciate my youth, my freedom, my ass, or Mermaid Avenue.

Several years later, Matt and I were schooled, HARD, in dealing with stress and depression. We were newlyweds, but we were exhausted... not from all of the passionate lovemaking, but from caring for his sick Grandmother. Watching a sweet, loving woman lose herself to Alzheimer's was just as sad as watching her family witness her demise. It was in those long, sleepless nights that I would take self-indulgent comfort in the BB/Wilco version of Guthrie's song, California Stars. I lived in California as a kid, and even though they were not the happiest days of my family's history, I have idealized the West ever since we moved to this small Maryland town. That was twenty years ago. 

Wanderlust plagues me. As an Army brat, I don't know where "home" is, but it is not this place that I have been held captive for the last twenty years. It is unbearably egocentric to expect my husband, who is completely in tune with his life in this town, near his family and all that has been familiar to him for his entire existence, to just pack his bags and leave. So, I plan trips. I visit friends all over the country and feel a flutter of satisfaction when I see that the landscape may be different, but the lives are pretty much the same. Still, on my flight home, I feel immediately wistful. Wanderlust, amplified. Lonely, with the knowledge that if I ever go anywhere, it will be on my own. 


At My Window, Sad and Lonely ~ Wilco

When thirtysomething meets Beavis and Butthead. (Rhett Round 3 and a bunch of mature adults.)

Between a rock star, my husband, his friends, and the return of the NFL, my weekend has revolved around boys and acting like 12 year olds.

I am still in a slight state of squee since I went to another Rhett Miller show on Friday night. Matt could not come along but I went with Dave and Kelly and met Marie and her husband George, at the show. Before the show, Matt's cousin Dave requested that Rhett play "Come Around" for his wife. I brought my old camera with mediocre video recording capability, but since the battery dies so quickly in this old thing, I wasn't really recording at all. In a moment of rare intuition, I started recording as Rhett was finishing a song, and captured Dave and Kelly's moment.

So sweet. When the show was over, Rhett walked off of the stage and Marie nudged me to grab the set list. It was on the floor of the stage, next to the mic stand. Dave and Kelly told me later that they were a little worried that I was trying to hop up on the stage and run after Rhett. (Good grief, guys! Give me some credit! I at least try to appear cool.) 

As I stepped up to the stage, I noticed that the small piece of paper was kind of far back. I visualized the mockable fail in my head. I would propel my 5' self from the stage, fall short of the list and someone would upload my fruitless leap of shame on youtube. I guess a little bit (and no more than a little bit) of gin gives a girl super powers, because in one exceptionally smooth movement, I hopped on the stage and swiped the set list. The funny thing is, Dave is 6'5". It would have been nothing for him to simply stroll by and pick it up, but I guess the universe wanted to see my comical, acrobatic maneuvers. When I read the set list and noticed that Dave & Kelly was written next to Come (Around), I had to hand it over to them to keep as a special memento from the evening.  

A few minutes later, Rhett met with fans again and this time, when it was my turn to chat, I managed to put words together to form sentences. 

Even though I've had that skill for more than 30 years, I am a huge nerd and I turn into a nervous 6th grader. Right before I said goodbye, he made me laugh and I nearly snorted. Dorky and goofy? Yes and yes. But I definitely felt better about that than I did my catatonic performance in New York. 

On the way home, Dave was kind of over the moon about the dedication and the set list. He asked me to upload the video right away. He was borderline swoony but I know he was just trying to impress his lady. It was 3 am when I finally went to bed. What felt like twelve minutes later, Matt woke me up and asked about the night. I told him that he missed a fantastic show, that Rhett Miller made me almost snort, and how thrilled Dave was that the evening went as he had hoped. That last bit was particularly interesting to Matt. He prodded for details on Dave's reaction. 

Fast forward to Sunday. 

It was a cool, rainy morning and I knew Matt planned on watching the first Sunday of NFL football at home. Aren't lazy Sundays the greatest? I was sitting in my bathrobe with my wet hair in a towel, drinking some tea and reading my book, when suddenly, I hear the front door open. Matt neglected to tell me that he had invited Dave and his friends Ray and Tommy over, to watch football. I have no choice but to walk past them in my post-shower getup to get to my bedroom and change. I hear, "Oh hey Steph, nice outfit." Assholes. I kid. I love having company. I just kind of like to know that they're coming, MATT! 

I got dressed and joined the guys. Years ago, I hated hanging out with Matt and his friends. I refused to do so for a couple of years before we were married. I thought they were all so immature. I'm not sure how I've mellowed out, but now, they make me laugh so hard. Something happens when you put a few guys in their 30's in a room together and suddenly, everyone is in junior high again. 

Dave asked Matt if I had told him about the show on Friday night. Matt responded with, "Yeah, I heard you gave Rhett Miller your panties." Thus commenced the roast of David Sylvester. I love how guys can tease one another without getting bent. While Matt could use a lesson in romantic gestures, it was funny to hear the guys ribbing Dave, who was a good sport about it. 

The guys were in a silly mood all day. Later in the evening, I discovered through Dave's new profile picture on Facebook, that someone was having his way with the vegetables in my kitchen. 

Why?! Guys are so immature! Women would never do such things... Then again, this photo showed up in my twitter stream today from my friend Lorena, who was visiting the Moulin Rouge in Paris: 

Let's face it. Being 12 is so much more fun when you're in your thirties.  

Gaga - a stream of consciousness recollection.

Last night, I went to the Verizon Center in DC with my cousin Dave to see Lady Gaga perform. After about three hours of sleep and a full day of work, my brain is only partially functional, so here is my roadkill recollection of the night. 

The opening act, Semi-Precious Weapons, was appalling. I'm not saying that there isn't a time or a place for a band like that, but judging by the number of little Lady Gaga worshipping girls in the audience, I don't think that this was it. Can the word slut be used in an empowering way, giving a woman ownership of her sexuality or whatever? Sure. Is this something that your 8 year old daughter or son would understand? No. So, when the opening act is calling for all of DC's sluts and bitches to get laid, maybe there should be some sort of rating to warn parents. Although, if they caught the Alejandro video and brought their kids anyway, well, that's on them.

When did I become such a prude? 

For the last couple of months I have been volunteering with Big Brothers and Big Sisters, I thought about whether this concert would have been a good activity for me and my Little. Since it was a school night, the tickets were pricy, and the venue was not really close to home, the answer was no. But my Little Sister does love Lady Gaga. We were listening to the CD in the car one day and I had this sudden realization that some of the lyrics were pretty skanktacular. (For example, "we might have fucked, not really sure, can't quite recall." Yeah. Forgot about that line as we were driving to see Toy Story 3). 

I haven't had this type of lyrical awareness since I was about 15 and riding in the backseat of my parent's car. In particular, I remember Janet Jackson's "If." I loved the song, but became extremely uncomfortable when I heard the lyrics in my parent's presence. "You on the rise as you're touching my thighs, and let me know what you like, if you like, I'll go down, down, down,..." It gets more explicit and I remember declaring that I was "sick" of Janet Jackson so that someone, (anyone, PLEASE), would change the station. And then I would go home and listen to it over and over again on my headphones. 

When I bought the tickets to see Lady Gaga, I wondered if her show would parallel Madonna's performances in any way. Having seen Madonna a few times, I can say that it is a phenomenal production from start to finish. The stage design, the choreography... everything is an over-the-top visual spectacle. Gaga's dancers were definitely good, but they did not take my breath away or really capture my attention. The set did not wow me either... there was a car which breaks down as Gaga and her crew are trying to "find" the Monster Ball. I love Broadway, but this was cheesy and contrived. 

I'm sure there are some "little monsters" getting their sequined panties in a bunch about my review, but I do have some positive things to say about the show. 

Lady Gaga writes her own music, plays the piano, (while standing in a bikini and stomping her stilettoed boot on the keys), and she does sing live at her shows, which does not always happen with many popular singers who are doing a lot of dancing. She also has an empowering message to those who need to hear it. Lady Gaga is very popular with the gay community; something that certainly helped with Madonna's success for the last 20+ years. Lady Gaga spoke to the audience frequently about gay rights and the absurdity of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. She said that she was sorry for being a "political asshole" but that she was not going to sing songs in bra and panties and not stand for something. I completely agree with her views; however, when she began to tear up, I wondered if it was slightly disingenuous. If I really think about Pakistan or the Congo or Sarah Palin, I could cry real tears of hopeless despair, but I'm probably not going to burst into tears just thinking about it while I'm performing my job duties. And I'm about as sensitive as a girl can be. I'm very conflicted about this because I really DO think that she cares, but on the other hand, it really seemed like she was manipulating her audience,... and why not when they're responsible for your multi-million dollar bank account. (I feel so cynical, but this IS the music business we're talking about here.) 

One thing that I would have loved for my Little Sister to hear was when her idol, Lady Gaga told the audience to check their insecurities at the door. To be free to be who they are. She asked the audience not to leave loving her more, but to leave loving themselves more. Even though my old, jaded ass wonders if it was all manufactured positivity, the joy on the faces of everyone around me was proof enough that there is value in what Lady Gaga is doing. 

"I've got my imaginary friends."

Susan is my "imaginary friend." What I mean by this, is we met in an untraditional setting and even though we don't live close to each other, we talk a lot and I love her as if we hang out all of the time. Susan, introduced me to the Old 97's and I'm telling you this now, in this way, because I'm not clever enough to weave this into the story in a more eloquent manner and you need to know this later.

So, remember that time when I gushed about Rhett Miller of the Old 97's? Well brace yourselves, folks, cause I'm about to do it again.

Back in April, when I posted this photo:

I had no idea who the "extras" in the background were. I posted the photo on twitter and tagged @rhettmiller. That's when the red-head standing behind me and leaning on the wall found herself in my picture on the Internet and introduced herself by thanking me for being short... Because Rhett had to bend over to take a photo with me, she said she had a fantastic view from where she was standing. Ha! I learned that her name is Marie and we began to "follow" one another on Twitter.

Through Marie, I befriended Lori and Cindy on the Twitter and we all agreed to have a "tweet-up". Tweet-ups (Twitter-inspired meet-ups) are not uncommon but I'd guess that they're typically local and do not involve hotel rooms. So, was it a little nuts to go to New York alone and meet up with three other women? Perhaps. I thought it was unlikely that more than one of them would be a psycho-killer and if one did turn out crazy, the normal three would outnumber her. Fortunately, all three turned out to be normal and fabulous. I had so much fun hanging out with them in one of my favorite cities.

I'm happy to report that our stay at the Four Points Sheraton in Soho was bed bug free. In case you haven't heard, bed bugs have invaded Manhattan and have knives for dicks. (Sorry Dad, Jon Stewart said it, not me.) This Daily Show clip is worth watching, but beware... it's really fucking weird.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Bed Bug & Beyond
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

After taking the train to New York and settling into the hotel room, Marie and I sat on the patio of the Japanese/Mexican fusion restaurant in our hotel where we washed down some delectable sushi with gin and tonics.

Lori arrived soon after and joined us on the patio. It doesn't get much better than great conversations with new friends over sushi and alcohol on a sunny day in Manhattan. Except it totally does, later in the night! 

Marie, Lori and I walked around Chinatown and Soho for a little bit before heading back to our room to get ready. We met Cindy in the lobby and headed for the City Winery. Our hotel was literally a block away from the venue which was the perfect pedestrian commute for my red patent leather heels, which I adore, but do not usually wear because they cause debilitating pain. (The whole point of la dee dah shoes like this is to achieve a confident sexy feeling which is diminished when you're in so much pain that you're walking around like Quasimoto on spikes.) Later, I met another Twitterer, Joslyn, who was super cute and funny. We had a nice conversation about living in New York, (she used to and I just wish I did), Veronica Mars, The Old 97's and our mutual love of red patent leather shoes. 

The opening act was Harper Simon. In my typical oblivious fashion, I missed the conversation where someone told the rest of everybody that Paul Simon, Harper's father, was in attendance. Maybe it's a good thing. I may have made a fool of myself with a Chris Farley-style ambush. "Remember when your music was in The Graduate? That was awesome." 

Rhett hit the stage and that was all she wrote. I forgot about my camera. I forgot about everyone else in the room. I forgot about my husband. (Just kidding, honey. Wait, he doesn't read this blog... I wasn't kidding.) Fortunately, the other girls were prepared with their recording devices and they captured a lot of great moments in the show. While I daydreamed of being called on stage to sing Fireflies with him, (because Rhett Miller can read minds and surely, I was the only girl there fantasizing that very thing), the audience was treated to a much better version than I could have provided when he had special guest Tracy Bonham join him for a few tunes. See Cindy, Lori, and Marie's recaps here, here, and here. 

Now, Rhett Miller is familiar with these girls. They have all seen him perform numerous times and have met with him after several shows. Cindy even has a very impressive three-part interview about the Old 97's new album that is coming out next month. That video series can be viewed here. So, Rhett would recognize any of these ladies on the street. Me? Not so much. While I've seen him perform a handful of times, I only met Rhett the one time and was awkward and weird.  I was sure (hopeful) that he didn't remember me... but when the girls decided to get a 40th birthday gift for him, I decided that it didn't matter if he knows me or not, I'd be happy to contribute to a gift in return for all of the music he has given to me. (Schmaltzy McSchmaltzypants.) 

After the show, Rhett met with his fans and of course, we lined up to give him his gift. Marie found a signed galley copy of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest. When he realized what it was, he seemed genuinely appreciative and excited about the gift. 

Marie thought ahead and bought a few cards to throw in with his gift. Since Rhett Miller is a delight to follow on Twitter, I decided to sign my card with my twitter handle. The next day, he was following me! (That was when I died.) 

Since we were in a winery, the venue had commemorative bottles of wine. I bought a bottle of Rhett Miller Syrah for Susan and had him sign it for her. (I haven't given it to her yet, and she may be learning about it through this blog. It's apparently a felony to ship wine from Maryland so I'm going to have to give it to her in person when we see each other in Chicago in a couple of months.)  

Anyway, I finally had a minute to chat with Rhett as he signed the bottle for me. I asked him to make it out to Susan because she introduced me to the 97's. When he said, "oh, you are so generous," I lost the ability to form a sentence and instead uttered "yeahhhhhh." Seriously, Steph. That was the best you could do? "Yeahhhhh" like some self-absorbed beyotch who doesn't know how to say thank you? Not, "well, she's awesome and she loves your music and thanks to her, I love you guys!"  Luckily, I think that he is used to girls losing their ability to speak in his presence and just let me shut up and smile for the camera. 

I photoshopped the shit out of this close-up to clear my skin of wrinkles and freckles. Thank you, technology! Unfortunately, I turned us both Boehner orange. Damn you, technology! 

And one with all of the girls in normal human color:

So, the moral of the story? Always run away from home with complete strangers and a good time will be had by all! Okay, obviously don't actually do that. I was really lucky to have a whirlwind weekend in New York with women who turned out to be fun and non-violent. 

I am looking forward to seeing Marie again next week at Rhett Miller's York, PA show and then celebrating my 5th wedding anniversary this December at the Old 97's show in Towson. Between all of these shows and the forthcoming new album, this has been a 97-centric year and an absolute blast. 

Thanks to Cindy, Lori, and Marie for agreeing to this crazy idea! It was so much fun and I hope to see you again at future shows (I'm game for Texas or anywhere on the West coast.) And Susan, I don't mean to get all Golden Girls on you, but seriously, thanks for sending me Fight Songs so long ago and for being an awesome friend! We seriously need to live closer so we can go to concerts together.