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"Who watches over you?"
Aug. 19th, 2004 12:59 amMy mind was wandering from lack of sleep, three cokes and a Twinkie Lunch, and I was ignoring the fax that I was in the intense process of typing. My cell phone rang.
"Hey Paul."
"Dude, Kris has a pretty bad headache, and can't go with me to a concert tonight. Wanna go?"
"Who is it?"
"They Might Be Giants."
"At the House of Blues?"
"Yeah...but you have to be here by six. Doors open at six thirty."
"Um...uh...uh, crap....Yes. I'm in. I'll be there by six ten, okay?"
"Yeah."
I looked at my watch. Four forty five. Another fifteen minutes of pain and then...
...I called home and made sure the Grandmother was okay, and having sufficient reason to believe so, I cruised up the 405 to the 110.
Traffic. Always traffic with this city, but if you know how to ride the wave, it flows. And going *into* Los Angeles is the perferred direction during the five o'clock hour. None-the-less it still took nigh on twenty minutes to get from the 10 interchange to Staples Center. I could have walked three times that distance in that time. But, I had music, and a re-fit attitude towards the world. And a good concert to go to.
I made it onto the enterchange onto the 101 north and rolled off of it onto Santa Monica Boulevard at six oh five. I called Paul, Dante, the former Go Go Box Whore and told him I was at the apartment. Six fifteen.
I mentioned that I was looking for caffine. Hadn't really eaten, slept, and was running out of steam. Paul handed me caffine in pill form. No Doze is wonderful.
We rolled to the House of Blues on Sunset, found paid parking and walked on over to get in Line. We were, needless to say, early, and were able to get in without incident, problem, and whatnot. We walked over to the bar, got snackage (chicken wrap. Mmmm Mmm good.) and beer. After a quick bite, it was over to the floor to stake out a place.
Through a neat piece of serendipidy, Holly (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chatoyn) was already going to this show, in the fifteen minutes of chaos that was me getting out of my office, I buzzed her and we figured we'd try and meet up. Knowing this, I should've held onto my beer better when she pounced. But I only spilled a little, and hugs are chocolate for the soul.
Holly was there with friends, but ended up peeping the show with me 'n Paul. We were in the bounce zone, you see. More bounce for the ounce.
This guy Cornmo opens up for TMBG, and is a funny, witty, accordian rocking good time. Kinda a cross between Meatloaf, Jack Black, and Frank Black. With an Accordian. He even did an AMAZING (Yes, I said AMAZING) cover of Queen's We Are The Champions, in which he vamped for like 5 minutes about making your dreams come true. And the funny thing is, he kept on going off about stuff that I've been saying to myself--"If you want to go out and start a band! Go and Start a fucking Band! If you want to Write, start fucking Writing! You can go and do it! Be it! Fucking do it! I'm living the Dream! I quit my fucking job that I hated for seven years, picked up my fucking Accordian and started playing shows, and now I'm touring with They Might Be Giants!" Well, I haven't quite been saying all that, but I had a moment none-the-less. The Shining.
Then the lights changed, the music swelled and They Might Be Giants come on stage. I haven't seen TMBG since 1994. And I got to see them twice in so many months. This was a better show. A really good time. And we were spittin' distance from the stage. They were awesome, fun, and loud. Some new songs, some old songs. A bit of witty banter. Audience participation and a whole lot of half hearted cursing. And dueling Accordians during Particle Man.
Paul cracked jokes, I sported a shit eatin' grin, and Holly bounced around, happy as a clam, wearing her own lovely smile. Happy people are a good thing, I think.
After a great show, and a neat glow of energy, Paul and I headed towards the CD booth for Paul, and Holly went in search of her peeps. Paul and I lost track of her, and ended up climbing the hill back to the car. I turned on Poison's Greatest hits, as a post-concert, mental sorbet of sorts. Loud. We sang along.
I dropped off Paul at his place, turned back onto Sunset, onto the 101 to the 110 to the 91 and off onto Santa Fe. Enjoying the afterglow of a decent day, capped off with a great night out.
A pair of helicoptors wove back and forth overhead, their spotlights searching back and forth in the streets, like halos from on high trying to find their missing angels. One accidentally passed over me, and for a moment the car was bathed in light. Everything glowed.
I rolled up my window, held in the warmth and made the turn onto my street.
"Hey Paul."
"Dude, Kris has a pretty bad headache, and can't go with me to a concert tonight. Wanna go?"
"Who is it?"
"They Might Be Giants."
"At the House of Blues?"
"Yeah...but you have to be here by six. Doors open at six thirty."
"Um...uh...uh, crap....Yes. I'm in. I'll be there by six ten, okay?"
"Yeah."
I looked at my watch. Four forty five. Another fifteen minutes of pain and then...
...I called home and made sure the Grandmother was okay, and having sufficient reason to believe so, I cruised up the 405 to the 110.
Traffic. Always traffic with this city, but if you know how to ride the wave, it flows. And going *into* Los Angeles is the perferred direction during the five o'clock hour. None-the-less it still took nigh on twenty minutes to get from the 10 interchange to Staples Center. I could have walked three times that distance in that time. But, I had music, and a re-fit attitude towards the world. And a good concert to go to.
I made it onto the enterchange onto the 101 north and rolled off of it onto Santa Monica Boulevard at six oh five. I called Paul, Dante, the former Go Go Box Whore and told him I was at the apartment. Six fifteen.
I mentioned that I was looking for caffine. Hadn't really eaten, slept, and was running out of steam. Paul handed me caffine in pill form. No Doze is wonderful.
We rolled to the House of Blues on Sunset, found paid parking and walked on over to get in Line. We were, needless to say, early, and were able to get in without incident, problem, and whatnot. We walked over to the bar, got snackage (chicken wrap. Mmmm Mmm good.) and beer. After a quick bite, it was over to the floor to stake out a place.
Through a neat piece of serendipidy, Holly (
chatoyn) was already going to this show, in the fifteen minutes of chaos that was me getting out of my office, I buzzed her and we figured we'd try and meet up. Knowing this, I should've held onto my beer better when she pounced. But I only spilled a little, and hugs are chocolate for the soul.Holly was there with friends, but ended up peeping the show with me 'n Paul. We were in the bounce zone, you see. More bounce for the ounce.
This guy Cornmo opens up for TMBG, and is a funny, witty, accordian rocking good time. Kinda a cross between Meatloaf, Jack Black, and Frank Black. With an Accordian. He even did an AMAZING (Yes, I said AMAZING) cover of Queen's We Are The Champions, in which he vamped for like 5 minutes about making your dreams come true. And the funny thing is, he kept on going off about stuff that I've been saying to myself--"If you want to go out and start a band! Go and Start a fucking Band! If you want to Write, start fucking Writing! You can go and do it! Be it! Fucking do it! I'm living the Dream! I quit my fucking job that I hated for seven years, picked up my fucking Accordian and started playing shows, and now I'm touring with They Might Be Giants!" Well, I haven't quite been saying all that, but I had a moment none-the-less. The Shining.
Then the lights changed, the music swelled and They Might Be Giants come on stage. I haven't seen TMBG since 1994. And I got to see them twice in so many months. This was a better show. A really good time. And we were spittin' distance from the stage. They were awesome, fun, and loud. Some new songs, some old songs. A bit of witty banter. Audience participation and a whole lot of half hearted cursing. And dueling Accordians during Particle Man.
Paul cracked jokes, I sported a shit eatin' grin, and Holly bounced around, happy as a clam, wearing her own lovely smile. Happy people are a good thing, I think.
After a great show, and a neat glow of energy, Paul and I headed towards the CD booth for Paul, and Holly went in search of her peeps. Paul and I lost track of her, and ended up climbing the hill back to the car. I turned on Poison's Greatest hits, as a post-concert, mental sorbet of sorts. Loud. We sang along.
I dropped off Paul at his place, turned back onto Sunset, onto the 101 to the 110 to the 91 and off onto Santa Fe. Enjoying the afterglow of a decent day, capped off with a great night out.
A pair of helicoptors wove back and forth overhead, their spotlights searching back and forth in the streets, like halos from on high trying to find their missing angels. One accidentally passed over me, and for a moment the car was bathed in light. Everything glowed.
I rolled up my window, held in the warmth and made the turn onto my street.
