Warning to my mother: Some of this is about sex.
When I started this blog, I didn't really expect people to read it. So, I didn't think twice about what happens when you're dating someone and you want to write about them, until my friend, Brian, expressed that he would have trouble dating me, knowing that there's a chance I'd be chatting with the internet about our relationship.The truth is that if these guys are facebook friends, which some of them are, they probably read it. (And hey look, Brian, we're not even dating and I'm still chatting with the internet about our relationship.)
There are some un-Brian-like guys who, even if I'm completely blasting them as human beings, actually like that I write about them. It's an ego thing, I believe. Coop has made it known that he reads it. I know that Mr. Writer/Personality is a "silent follower". Even Trivia Guy has made a couple of comments to me about a few entries. I suspect that there are others out there who keep their readership a secret.
I love people's reactions when they read it, especially when they laugh. It makes me feel really great. It's also gained me some exposure and has presented me with opportunities to write for other blogs (and even become an editor for a dating short story website, a job that I'll be starting later this month). It's an extremely rewarding hobby.
But, there are cons. There's Brian's Argument. And then, the problem of, when I do like somebody and I write about it, I'm playing my hand, which is dating homicide. While I wear my heart on my cardigan, it's the maintenance of romantic surprise that keeps the beginning of a relationship interesting.
Most recently, I went out with a guy who let me know right away that he reads the blog. He also let me know that he didn't mind if I blogged about him. And all in all, this leads me to the biggest benefit of all...when a guy blows you off, you get to Taylor Swift him. I wrote this story earlier in the week last week, right after our date. And then, later in the week, I asked what he was up to, and he told me he was "really busy". So, I changed my tone. My post-blow-off comments are in bold:
"This guy and I met last summer. I was volunteering backstage at a music festival. He was playing guitar for one of the bands. Let's call him Les Paul. [Let's call him CC DeVille.] He's one of the most talented guitarists I've ever heard. And I loved that he was as into music as I am. We talked for a couple of hours that day. We had an obvious connection, but kept it platonic..and about music. What bands we were into. The first concert that we ever went to. He told me about his first AC/DC concert. I told him that I can drum most of AC/DC's catalogue but only because the beats are the same on 90% of the songs. It was revealed later that we were both seeing other people at the time, which is why it stayed a platonic conversation. But, the connection was clearly there and we exchanged numbers with the ruse that we would let each other know about upcoming shows.
Over the past year, we kept in touch. In the meantime, I had become single and as I found out later, so had he. One night, a few weeks ago, I caught him by text on the road. They weren't playing that night and he was just hanging out in a dive bar in Madison, WI playing pool. I was getting over a cold and I was having trouble sleeping. We exchanged some flirty texts and finally made a date with each other. Since he was coming back from his tour and he lives an hour and a half away [and is a lazy ass], I agreed to come down to his hometown.
He was down the street at a neighbor's house when I arrived, and he told me to feel free to let myself in. He has two gigantic adorable dogs that were happy to see me. His home was really cozy and welcoming. He came in a few minutes later. He was adorably nervous [and high] in the beginning, but simmered down after a while. We laughed so much and had so much chemistry. We shared a kiss in his kitchen about one hour into the date and just really enjoyed getting to know each other.
I had been watching the clock since it was a Sunday night and an hour and a half drive home. And so had he. He said to me, "I'm not ready to let you go yet. Just stay here. My roommate's away and you can sleep in her room. I'm just not ready to say goodbye." I was resistant. I knew that if I did stay over, it wasn't very likely with the amount chemistry that we had that I would be sleeping in his roommate's room. But, earlier that night, while we were discussing musicians in general, I had playfully accused him of having a woman in every city. He had told me that I had the wrong idea about him. That he wasn't into one-night stands. That he was a relationship-type guy. He said, "I think you're falling for me" and I said, "I think YOU'RE falling for ME" and he responded, "I fell for you the day I met you". And a voice [probably his] told me to trust him. And so I stayed.
In the morning, he held me until it was time for me to go. He told me to text him so that he knew that I got home safe. And I drove home, recapping the night in my head with small smile. I couldn't wait to see him again [until he blew me off.]"
Me, again. Now, I'm sure you could have predicted what was going to happen. I realize that I was being naive. A man who wants to sleep with you can make anything sound good. Hell, Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight" is a whole song about it. Of course I know that everything that he said to me that night was a line. I'm positive that if I hadn't spent the night that night, there would have been no bold writing here. I just was feeling hopeful, that after the time that we had spent together, just this once, this one guy would be different. For once, a man would feel as connected to someone after having sex with them as he did before, like a woman does.
But, let me be clear that I also realize that none of this is a "me" problem. This is all a "him" problem. And this is something that I hope everyone thinks about themselves when they're the "dumpee". The best way to get over someone, no matter how brief your relationship, is to focus on their flaws. Everyone has them...EVERYONE. With CC DeVille, obviously, he has trouble facing his problems head on. In the past year or so, he has shown me some insecurities that I think would get tiring after a while. And, I know that I would always be the one to initiate plans and that I would have to provoke attention from him, unless I gave him beer. But, his biggest flaw of all...not realizing how freaking awesome I am. My sense of humor can be very self-deprecating, but the reality is, I have a pretty high opinion of myself and rightfully so. I'm beautiful, incredibly talented, so so smart. I'm kind and I care about others' feelings and I always try to be as considerate as possible. I'm blessed enough to have a good sense of myself. I know who I am and I'm very lucky to be me. And woe to CC DeVille for letting me go.
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Monday, March 17, 2014
There are Two Too Many Hands in my Pockets.
Since Coop (the Ross to my Rachel) and I are "on a break" and since I don't think we'll get together again until the end of the series, and that's if I actually make the decision to get off the plane, I went on a brief hi-date-us. However, one romantic night in Paris with a Dutchman later, I am now back in the game.
This past weekend, I had a first date with a younger guy. Now, I generally date men who are about 5-7 years older than I am. I tend to click with the maturity of the men in the next high school generation. I've never really understood the concept of cougars and why they would want a younger guy, although my sister, Lori, put it in perspective for me. ("They do it because they want someone who will allow them to go out, have a good time, and make out with young men...and you already do that".)
Anyway, this particular young man is incredibly sweet and very smart and seemed like a good person to end my dating-waiting period. We decided to meet up in a bar in Harvard Square. I strategically planned this as my favorite Huey Lewis and the News cover band, Power of Love, was playing at the Sinclair and I had made plans to go. I figured if the date didn't go well, later plans would give me a Get Out of Date Free card, and if it did go well, he could come with me.
When we first met at the bar, he seemed really nervous. So, I suggested that he have a glass of wine, hoping that that would put him at more ease. I began to rethink this decision when he told me about his past "partying problems", and how as a result, he doesn't drink much. As an aside, it's very hard for me to judge the level of alcohol tolerance of others. Mine is extremely high. I could probably polish off a bottle of beaujolais by myself and then perform an appendectomy. But, I realize that there are people out there who have one or two glasses of a full-bodied wine, and next thing you know, they are getting into the back of a delivery car, because they think it's a cab.
And I happened to be out with one those people.
When we got to the concert, I introduced him to my friends and all seemed well. However, as the concert went on, it was like he forgot where we were: not in his bedroom, not in his car, not in a closet. He kept turning my head toward his and I would kiss him, but pull away before it got too passionate. I'd be moving his hands away from certain areas. It was like I was in some modern dance routine. I didn't know quite what to do. So, I gave him a talk, "Hey! I like you, but I'm not a really a PDA type person, so maybe we can slow it down a bit?" He said, "Sorry! You're right." And then five minutes later, it was like the conversation never happened and he was back to kissing my neck. Finally, he went to the restroom and I was able to breathe. The first thing I did was whisper to my friend Kristin, "he's so handsy." And she said, "yes, he's all over you. We've all dubbed him Hands Across Melissa". We didn't have much time to talk about it because he and his handsy hands were back.
I think that my friend, Ryan, could tell that I needed a bit of a break, so he asked if I wanted to go do a shot with him at the bar. He said to HAM, "we'll be right back" and he told me later that by the look on HAM's face, HAM wasn't that happy about not being invited along. As Ryan and I had a shot, we got into a conversation about plans for his upcoming wedding and next thing I knew, I got a text from HAM that said "Good night. Sorry you didn't have a good time. Best of luck to you." Well, I felt terrible. I didn't think we had been gone that long, and I thought that HAM would be ok and take my absence as a chance to get to know my friends better. When I showed the text to Ryan, he said, "He's tricking you". But, I still texted back. I smoothed things over, and he wants to give it a second chance, so we planned a second date.
All of this leads me to why I wrote this entry in the first place: I date older men for a reason. They're not still in a place where they miss making out on the dance floor of a frat party. They don't think you've ditched them when you've left for a few minutes and they realize that your disappearance is a good time to get some intel from your friends. And they can handle their liquor. So, while I'm interested to see where this goes...since he's smart, cute, funny, and gets both my Saved by the Bell and Seinfeld references, I'm not sure that a younger man is for me. I guess we'll wait and see. I do know that on the second date, I'm suggesting that he have a Coke.
This past weekend, I had a first date with a younger guy. Now, I generally date men who are about 5-7 years older than I am. I tend to click with the maturity of the men in the next high school generation. I've never really understood the concept of cougars and why they would want a younger guy, although my sister, Lori, put it in perspective for me. ("They do it because they want someone who will allow them to go out, have a good time, and make out with young men...and you already do that".)
Anyway, this particular young man is incredibly sweet and very smart and seemed like a good person to end my dating-waiting period. We decided to meet up in a bar in Harvard Square. I strategically planned this as my favorite Huey Lewis and the News cover band, Power of Love, was playing at the Sinclair and I had made plans to go. I figured if the date didn't go well, later plans would give me a Get Out of Date Free card, and if it did go well, he could come with me.
When we first met at the bar, he seemed really nervous. So, I suggested that he have a glass of wine, hoping that that would put him at more ease. I began to rethink this decision when he told me about his past "partying problems", and how as a result, he doesn't drink much. As an aside, it's very hard for me to judge the level of alcohol tolerance of others. Mine is extremely high. I could probably polish off a bottle of beaujolais by myself and then perform an appendectomy. But, I realize that there are people out there who have one or two glasses of a full-bodied wine, and next thing you know, they are getting into the back of a delivery car, because they think it's a cab.
And I happened to be out with one those people.
When we got to the concert, I introduced him to my friends and all seemed well. However, as the concert went on, it was like he forgot where we were: not in his bedroom, not in his car, not in a closet. He kept turning my head toward his and I would kiss him, but pull away before it got too passionate. I'd be moving his hands away from certain areas. It was like I was in some modern dance routine. I didn't know quite what to do. So, I gave him a talk, "Hey! I like you, but I'm not a really a PDA type person, so maybe we can slow it down a bit?" He said, "Sorry! You're right." And then five minutes later, it was like the conversation never happened and he was back to kissing my neck. Finally, he went to the restroom and I was able to breathe. The first thing I did was whisper to my friend Kristin, "he's so handsy." And she said, "yes, he's all over you. We've all dubbed him Hands Across Melissa". We didn't have much time to talk about it because he and his handsy hands were back.
I think that my friend, Ryan, could tell that I needed a bit of a break, so he asked if I wanted to go do a shot with him at the bar. He said to HAM, "we'll be right back" and he told me later that by the look on HAM's face, HAM wasn't that happy about not being invited along. As Ryan and I had a shot, we got into a conversation about plans for his upcoming wedding and next thing I knew, I got a text from HAM that said "Good night. Sorry you didn't have a good time. Best of luck to you." Well, I felt terrible. I didn't think we had been gone that long, and I thought that HAM would be ok and take my absence as a chance to get to know my friends better. When I showed the text to Ryan, he said, "He's tricking you". But, I still texted back. I smoothed things over, and he wants to give it a second chance, so we planned a second date.
All of this leads me to why I wrote this entry in the first place: I date older men for a reason. They're not still in a place where they miss making out on the dance floor of a frat party. They don't think you've ditched them when you've left for a few minutes and they realize that your disappearance is a good time to get some intel from your friends. And they can handle their liquor. So, while I'm interested to see where this goes...since he's smart, cute, funny, and gets both my Saved by the Bell and Seinfeld references, I'm not sure that a younger man is for me. I guess we'll wait and see. I do know that on the second date, I'm suggesting that he have a Coke.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Sponge of Love
I think that the lead singer of the band, Sponge, love potion number nined me the other night. But, more about that later.
I've taken a few trips to the House of Blues in Boston recently. This past Saturday night, I saw the Summerland Tour. If this tour hasn't hit your town yet...go. GO! It is so awesome. It's put together by Art Alexakis of Everclear, and the lineup includes Everclear, Filter, Live, and Sponge. Granted, some of my friends gave me a tough time about going and yours will too (Crazy Pete: "Oh right! I forgot you took a time machine back to 1995 this weekend"). But it's worth the gibes and barbs when you jump headfirst into a nostalgia of flannel and wallet chains, eyebrow rings and long-sleeve billabong tees.
Now, I don't believe that I've mentioned this before, but I hate the House of Blues. I love the acoustics and I love the bands that they get. But some of the employees there are really mean and take their job way too seriously. I've seen people get kicked out for singing loudly, dancing silly, tripping up the stairs even though they're not drunk, just klutzy. And when you pay $50-70 dollars to see a band, getting kicked out for no reason at all is a big deal. Luckily, it's never happened to me, but I do think that a lot of the security there needs to take a page from the Middle-East-Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-You-Want-Just-Don't-Get-Us-Shut-Down Playbook and maybe ease up and relax just a tad.
All that being said, they don't let the over-zealous police academy dropout types in the Foundation Room, which is the VIP room at the House of Blues. It's not as VIP as you think. It only costs $20.00 extra to your ticket to gain access. But, it makes you feel important when you walk into a "members only" section of a concert venue, even if you only paid twenty bucks. And this was a special event as we were treated to an acoustic set by Everclear and a meet and greet. (Note: I've been to a few meet and greets, they are usually as awkward as flipping someone off in your car and then having to stop next to them at a red light. But, the members of Everclear are probably the friendliest, warmest musicians that I've ever met and we had a nice, cozy time.)
Ok, so back to Vinnie Dombroski and the magic rock star spell he put on me. When Sponge took the stage as the first band, I was excited! Molly! Plowed! I still remember being as mad as Glenn Beck at a bra-burning bonfire when I realized after I bought the Empire Records Soundtrack that Plowed wasn't on it! Those guys rocked! And I had heard about how sexy Vinnie the lead singer was, so I was psyched to see him on stage, as I'd never seen him before.
He took the stage...he was wearing a gigantic pyrite chain necklace, a jacket with no shirt, and a cowboy hat. I thought to myself...this is the guy? The sexy lead singer of Sponge? The one girls go crazy over? I came to the conclusion that maybe he just wasn't my type. "Just not for me," I thought to myself. And then he gripped the microphone and sang his first note. By the end of the show, I was pumping my fist in the air and jumping up and down, hoping that he would be able to get a glimpse of me among the crowd. I was THAT girl in the audience. That was ME. After their set, when they were signing CDs, I went up to him and said, "I really liked the new song." He looked deep into my eyes and said, "I think I'm in love with you." or maybe he said "thank you." Whatever. I do remember that he then asked me what my name was and when I told him, he wrote: "To Sweet Melissa--Vin" on my CD. And even though I'm sure that he's written that to every woman named Melissa who has ever approached him with something to sign ever, it made me swoon. By the way, I'd like to personally thank the Allman Brothers for giving lead singers a hot way to sign my stuff.
In the past few days, my crush has developed into an unhealthy obsession. I went from "well, he's tall and goofy" to not being able to breathe when I come upon a picture of him on the internet. I'm scaring myself; I don't know my own stalker strength. I have found out where he lives (Detroit suburb). I've seen pictures of a barbecue at his friend's house. I'm close to friending his brother on facebook. If this is creeping all of you out, just imagine how I feel! I'm usually pretty laid back about my crushes. For example, I think that Seth Meyers and I would make a good couple and eventually it would be great if we could get married, but if it's meant to be, it'll be. I don't need to chase him down. But for four nights straight, I've been hugging my autographed CD to my chest before I go to bed every night. I've been trying to find the antidote by looking at pictures of him smoking cigarettes, smiling with his gold tooth in view, a desperate attempt to remind myself that he's probably disgusting. But, to no avail.
There's only one logical explanation...Vinnie Dombroski is a warlock. I'm under some form of hex. My PBR was spiked with the number niner. I wish I could remember how Tate Donovan and Sandra Bullock solved this problem, but alas I don't think I've ever seen the end of the movie.
To make it even more mysterious, the one thing that I can't find out about him is who he's married to. He was wearing a wedding ring, but there's no talk of his wife anywhere on google or wikipedia, or facebook. I think that it's all part of his evil plot. As we all know from George Costanza, wearing "the hardware" automatically makes women want to have sex with you. I suspect that Vinnie the Wonderful Wizard of Sponge knew exactly what he was doing and now I'm left with the daunting task of attending every Sponge concert in New England. Someday, I hope to find the cure for this Sponge sickness. Until then, Godspeed.
I've taken a few trips to the House of Blues in Boston recently. This past Saturday night, I saw the Summerland Tour. If this tour hasn't hit your town yet...go. GO! It is so awesome. It's put together by Art Alexakis of Everclear, and the lineup includes Everclear, Filter, Live, and Sponge. Granted, some of my friends gave me a tough time about going and yours will too (Crazy Pete: "Oh right! I forgot you took a time machine back to 1995 this weekend"). But it's worth the gibes and barbs when you jump headfirst into a nostalgia of flannel and wallet chains, eyebrow rings and long-sleeve billabong tees.
Now, I don't believe that I've mentioned this before, but I hate the House of Blues. I love the acoustics and I love the bands that they get. But some of the employees there are really mean and take their job way too seriously. I've seen people get kicked out for singing loudly, dancing silly, tripping up the stairs even though they're not drunk, just klutzy. And when you pay $50-70 dollars to see a band, getting kicked out for no reason at all is a big deal. Luckily, it's never happened to me, but I do think that a lot of the security there needs to take a page from the Middle-East-Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-You-Want-Just-Don't-Get-Us-Shut-Down Playbook and maybe ease up and relax just a tad.
All that being said, they don't let the over-zealous police academy dropout types in the Foundation Room, which is the VIP room at the House of Blues. It's not as VIP as you think. It only costs $20.00 extra to your ticket to gain access. But, it makes you feel important when you walk into a "members only" section of a concert venue, even if you only paid twenty bucks. And this was a special event as we were treated to an acoustic set by Everclear and a meet and greet. (Note: I've been to a few meet and greets, they are usually as awkward as flipping someone off in your car and then having to stop next to them at a red light. But, the members of Everclear are probably the friendliest, warmest musicians that I've ever met and we had a nice, cozy time.)
Ok, so back to Vinnie Dombroski and the magic rock star spell he put on me. When Sponge took the stage as the first band, I was excited! Molly! Plowed! I still remember being as mad as Glenn Beck at a bra-burning bonfire when I realized after I bought the Empire Records Soundtrack that Plowed wasn't on it! Those guys rocked! And I had heard about how sexy Vinnie the lead singer was, so I was psyched to see him on stage, as I'd never seen him before.
He took the stage...he was wearing a gigantic pyrite chain necklace, a jacket with no shirt, and a cowboy hat. I thought to myself...this is the guy? The sexy lead singer of Sponge? The one girls go crazy over? I came to the conclusion that maybe he just wasn't my type. "Just not for me," I thought to myself. And then he gripped the microphone and sang his first note. By the end of the show, I was pumping my fist in the air and jumping up and down, hoping that he would be able to get a glimpse of me among the crowd. I was THAT girl in the audience. That was ME. After their set, when they were signing CDs, I went up to him and said, "I really liked the new song." He looked deep into my eyes and said, "I think I'm in love with you." or maybe he said "thank you." Whatever. I do remember that he then asked me what my name was and when I told him, he wrote: "To Sweet Melissa--Vin" on my CD. And even though I'm sure that he's written that to every woman named Melissa who has ever approached him with something to sign ever, it made me swoon. By the way, I'd like to personally thank the Allman Brothers for giving lead singers a hot way to sign my stuff.
In the past few days, my crush has developed into an unhealthy obsession. I went from "well, he's tall and goofy" to not being able to breathe when I come upon a picture of him on the internet. I'm scaring myself; I don't know my own stalker strength. I have found out where he lives (Detroit suburb). I've seen pictures of a barbecue at his friend's house. I'm close to friending his brother on facebook. If this is creeping all of you out, just imagine how I feel! I'm usually pretty laid back about my crushes. For example, I think that Seth Meyers and I would make a good couple and eventually it would be great if we could get married, but if it's meant to be, it'll be. I don't need to chase him down. But for four nights straight, I've been hugging my autographed CD to my chest before I go to bed every night. I've been trying to find the antidote by looking at pictures of him smoking cigarettes, smiling with his gold tooth in view, a desperate attempt to remind myself that he's probably disgusting. But, to no avail.
There's only one logical explanation...Vinnie Dombroski is a warlock. I'm under some form of hex. My PBR was spiked with the number niner. I wish I could remember how Tate Donovan and Sandra Bullock solved this problem, but alas I don't think I've ever seen the end of the movie.
To make it even more mysterious, the one thing that I can't find out about him is who he's married to. He was wearing a wedding ring, but there's no talk of his wife anywhere on google or wikipedia, or facebook. I think that it's all part of his evil plot. As we all know from George Costanza, wearing "the hardware" automatically makes women want to have sex with you. I suspect that Vinnie the Wonderful Wizard of Sponge knew exactly what he was doing and now I'm left with the daunting task of attending every Sponge concert in New England. Someday, I hope to find the cure for this Sponge sickness. Until then, Godspeed.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Port Chuck's fans Hit Higher Decibel than Bieber's
Did you know that soap opera stars like to sing 80's monster hits? Did you know that middle-aged women like to shed their sweatpants, don shiny sequined shirts, and dance and scream to a level rivaling any tween with Bieber Fever? Did you know that it's possible to sing Whitesnake's Here I Go Again badly? I learned all of these things and more at the Port Chuck concert last Friday night at the Wilbur Theatre.
Port Chuck is made up of four actors from General Hospital: Steve Burton, Scott Reeves, Brandon Barash, and Bradford Anderson. Basically, they travel across the country with a backup band and sing rock covers. When my sister, Stacy, asked me to go, I said yes immediately. I just couldn't pass up a chance to see this phenomenon in person. Plus, Steve Burton is super hot.
The band members came out first. They had a guitarist, bass player, keyboardist and a drummer. I quickly exclaimed to my sister, "Oh awesome, they have a female keyboardist!" However, when the stage lights came on, I realized that it was a just a guy who should rethink his haircut. The Soap Guys came out next. One by one. And the women screamed...loudly.
The music started and the guys lined up in front of the stage with four stand-up microphones. They sang (awkwardly) and danced (badly). It was reminiscent of the time when I watched some Theta Delta Chi brothers sing karaoke at one of their house parties. They would sing into the mikes, and during the breaks in lyrics, while the music played, they'd look awkwardly at each other and sorta hop around the stage. I think that this all could be fixed by hiring a choreographer. So, I'm surprised that after they've been touring for a few years now, they haven't done that. To add to the weirdness, at times, it was like the audience wasn't really there. Every once in a while, they would notice the screaming and blow a kiss or do something that induced more screaming. They sang such hits as the Outfield's Your Love, Springsteen's Born to Run, and more I'm sure...except I left early, so I couldn't tell you about them.
During the show, I noticed a few things. Scott Reeves seemed like he was high on something, and I don't think it was "life". Audience members seem to get up and go to the bathroom during country songs. Also, it is possible for bouncers and security at a rock concert to look even more bored than I originally thought they could.
I have to say that the sheer hilarity of it all did make it pretty fun to watch. My only disappointment is that Steve Burton kind of lost some of his hotness for me. I just can't handle it when people put their finger to their ear a la Christina Aguilera when they sing. I don't think that it does anything except make me laugh. He did it a few times. And I wish he hadn't. Because he's so pretty.
All in all, the next time they whisk through your town on their white motorcycles with the wind blowing through their luscious locks, you might want to check them out for the experience. Just lower your expectations in terms of performance and go into it much as you would a Harlequin romance novel.
Port Chuck is made up of four actors from General Hospital: Steve Burton, Scott Reeves, Brandon Barash, and Bradford Anderson. Basically, they travel across the country with a backup band and sing rock covers. When my sister, Stacy, asked me to go, I said yes immediately. I just couldn't pass up a chance to see this phenomenon in person. Plus, Steve Burton is super hot.
The band members came out first. They had a guitarist, bass player, keyboardist and a drummer. I quickly exclaimed to my sister, "Oh awesome, they have a female keyboardist!" However, when the stage lights came on, I realized that it was a just a guy who should rethink his haircut. The Soap Guys came out next. One by one. And the women screamed...loudly.
The music started and the guys lined up in front of the stage with four stand-up microphones. They sang (awkwardly) and danced (badly). It was reminiscent of the time when I watched some Theta Delta Chi brothers sing karaoke at one of their house parties. They would sing into the mikes, and during the breaks in lyrics, while the music played, they'd look awkwardly at each other and sorta hop around the stage. I think that this all could be fixed by hiring a choreographer. So, I'm surprised that after they've been touring for a few years now, they haven't done that. To add to the weirdness, at times, it was like the audience wasn't really there. Every once in a while, they would notice the screaming and blow a kiss or do something that induced more screaming. They sang such hits as the Outfield's Your Love, Springsteen's Born to Run, and more I'm sure...except I left early, so I couldn't tell you about them.
During the show, I noticed a few things. Scott Reeves seemed like he was high on something, and I don't think it was "life". Audience members seem to get up and go to the bathroom during country songs. Also, it is possible for bouncers and security at a rock concert to look even more bored than I originally thought they could.
I have to say that the sheer hilarity of it all did make it pretty fun to watch. My only disappointment is that Steve Burton kind of lost some of his hotness for me. I just can't handle it when people put their finger to their ear a la Christina Aguilera when they sing. I don't think that it does anything except make me laugh. He did it a few times. And I wish he hadn't. Because he's so pretty.
All in all, the next time they whisk through your town on their white motorcycles with the wind blowing through their luscious locks, you might want to check them out for the experience. Just lower your expectations in terms of performance and go into it much as you would a Harlequin romance novel.
Monday, October 15, 2012
A night at PA's
For those of you who have never been to PA's Lounge in Union Square Somerville
At some point, in the recent past, the genius owners at PA’s thought that it would be a good idea to take the wall down that separated the two rooms. There is no longer a wall between them, meaning now the townies and the rockers mingle amongst each other. It’s madness. Musicians being heckled by townies who can’t hear Pawn Stars over the music.
My first experience since the wall came down at PA’s was on Saturday night. I went to see two of my friends’ bands play, Sinnet and J/Q. Both good, and you should check them out sometime. But, what I want to discuss is what happened before the show.
A mix up with the times resulted in my arriving early (already awkward in itself as I've mentioned before). I decided to order a drink and hang out at the bar. I had made the mistake of wearing heels, meaning when I walked in and across the floor, all eyes were on me. The clientele consisted of 8 or 9 men who had clearly been drinking the day away, and one woman who seemed perturbed that competition had just walked through the door. I tried to tell her not to worry with my eyes.
As I walked up to the bar, a man who was probably in his 40’s but looked much older, said to me, “Hi there! Are you staying??” I didn’t really understand the question. So, I said, “I think so.” And he said, “I’m Juno” and shook my hand. I told him my name. Then, he asked, “Do you sing any SHA-day?” I looked at him blankly. He said, “You know…[singing] Smooooooth Operator”. Again, I didn’t understand the question, so I smiled and walked to the other side of the bar. (I found myself humming Sade many times on Sunday and cursed Juno every time.)
I sat down next to this guy who looked harmless enough. He was even kind of cute, probably in his early 30’s. He glanced up from his texting and looked at me as I sat down. After a few minutes, he turned to me, and said, “Excuse me, I’m a horrible speller. Do you know how to spell ‘tongue’?”
I was a little weirded out by the fact that I was helping him sext, but when he started spelling it “tou…”, I couldn’t help myself. Those of you who know me personally know that I have an incessant need to be right…ALL the time. “T-O-N-G-U-E”, I told him. He typed it in and looked at it for a moment. “That can’t be right,” he said.
“Trust me, it’s right,” I said. (There’s that incessant need again.) I continued, “I was a champion speller in elementary school. I won both fourth and sixth grade.”
“They have spelling competitions?”
“Yes”, I responded, “they’re called spelling bees.”
He sized me up for a moment and said, “Spell ecclesiastic.”
“E-C-C-L-E-S-I-A-S-T-I-C”
“I’m guessing that’s right,” he said. “Spell onomatopoeia.”
He had to ask me to spell onomatopoeia. That is the one word that, for some reason, I can NEVER remember how to spell. As I was writing this, I needed spell check. And after spelling it wrong a second time, I copied it, so I can just paste it in from here on out.
“I can’t spell onomatopoeia. I never could.”
He looked at me, triumphantly. (Here comes the need again…) “Do you know what onomatopoeia means?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s when a word is spelled like the sound it makes. Like ‘oink’”.
Who was this guy??? He didn’t know how to spell tongue, yet he knew what onomatopoeia meant? I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because the next words out of his mouth were, “WHY are you here??”
“I’m here to see my friends’ bands play,” I told him.
“Oh, there are bands here tonight?” And, without another word, he got up and walked out the door.
So, yes, for the rest of the night, I pretended that the PA’s wall was still up, and I stayed on my side, the rocker’s side. Today, I’m echoing the plea of indie rockers everywhere, “Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, close this gate! Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, Put Up This Wall!”
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