October 2005 Archives

I'm going to drop dead sometime in the next fifteen days.

in case you haven't seen the listings, here's recap -

already seen this month:

the decemberists
the frames
the wrens
prayers & tears of arthur digby sellers / the mountain goats
tom brosseau (twice)

coming up for the beginning of november:

prayers & tears again, in a panic after perry said that he may not tour and just go write a book or something after this... so that's a must... that's monday night, after spending the weekend on martha's vineyard for a wedding.
the cloud room, two days later
clogs and bell orchestre the next tuesday
charles bissell and okkervil river two days after that, in boston
jeff tweedy three days later
andrew bird the day after
and then, three weeks after that, I go to seattle for eight days.
and then it's christmas.

and did I mention that kristin's got me writing a book?

right.

maybe I'll just write it about a girl that goes to see so many bands that her eyeballs come flying out of her head.

~vvb

the oddest part of the night wasn't getting to hang out with greg, or to find out what charles likes to eat for breakfast, or to flirt unashamedly with kevin. while all of those things are strange and fabulous in their own right, they still didn't take the cake.

get this: I got recognized for my blog.

now, we've all got our own little corners of the internet, and we show them off to our family and friends, or we link people to them when we're trying to prove a point. however, if you're anything like me, you tend to forget that anyone reads your blog. except for maybe like, four or five people. and a friend you forgot about will go, "hey, yeah I saw the pictures you put up!" or "that story about charlie post was great!" - but other than those little moments, the impact that your blog has on the stratosphere seems minimal, at best.

I get to the eclectic house at wesleyan last night around ten, having driven past it four times and finally determining that the pirate flag over the door was a signal from the universe. I was right, and stumbling past cigarettes and pabst cans I finally make it to the door. the kids behind the table usher me in eagerly, after being able to say that one glorious sentence - as not accurate as it may have been, but kind of, but still:

I'm with the wrens.

what awaits beyond the entryway is your typical old mansion turned sparsely furnished frat house. sweeping staircase directly ahead, complete with chandelier above. cavernous room to the left with exposed beams, big old windows, and a makeshift stage. this, as they say, is where the magic happens. to the right, a smaller and slightly less cavernous room, with some merch tables and a few scattered places to sit. I must pause here to note that one of those places was giant red armchair, ten feet tall, circa alice in wonderland (yet slightly less glamourous). after a few fervent calls to kristin about being four feet away from various wrens and not knowing how to function, I took up residence in the big chair to review the shots I'd taken so far. I managed earlier to say hello to greg, giving much thanks and politely excusing myself. now I've got direct orders to converse, to ask about halloween, and to not look back.

I jump.

I strike up a few odd sentences with greg, and when he ever so sweetly asks if there's anything he can do, or get me (the beer ran rampant, being a frat house and all), I answer honestly and tell him it would be great to hang out for a little while - being that I was a twenty nine year old who wasn't getting drunk and had come to a frat party by herself. he gladly obliged, and the tables turned. I'm standing behind the merch, with greg, stashing my stuff in the bucket of cds. and I've got no delay, so I'm joking with him about how I've got to pretend like I'm just having a regular conversation with him instead of standing a foot away from a guy who plays in a band that puts out music that changed my life.

it actually worked out well, because I had to come up with these funny everyday topics to discuss, like what he does on saturdays and what he buys at the grocery store and stuff. as it turns out, greg has an eighteen week old blond lab mix named lola. she's doing better with her housebreaking, she does still have accidents, but by the door, which is their fault, really (he says) since she's making it over to the door and they're just not getting there in time. apparently he and kevin have varying desk jobs in manhattan, where they do everyday things. and they did in fact all live in that one house until recently, when greg got married he and his wife bought a house and then charles and kevin bought a house five houses down. so that's where they hang out and do what wrens do and are hopefully going to be recording a new album at sometime soon.

jerry wasn't able to make it to the gig, so standing with us was another charles (who took a GREAT PICTURE - and I HATE how I look in pictures - of me and greg and charles b.) who had - get this - flown in from LA to sub for the gig. these are my kind of people. we get to talking as well, and I ask him if he's posted on the message board, because he looks like one of the guys that commented from time to time. and he goes (steady yourself, this is the blog part) yeah, I post on there sometimes, wait, (grins) don't you - don't you have a blog where you journal and put up pictures and stuff? and I go, yeah, and he goes, well, you had posted a link to some pictures once, and my girlfriend read your stuff, AND SHE FOLLOWS YOUR BLOG (he said it normal, I'm just making the point that SOMEONE FOLLOWS MY BLOG)(!!!) and she had said, look out for this girl with the red hair.

my girlfriend follows your blog. it's still hanging there, out in the air, for me to gaze at in amazement. I know it doesn't make me famous or anything, but still. it was pretty cool to know that someone I didn't know read my stuff, liked it, and follows it the way I follow the blogs I like.

oh, by the way, if you're reading, hi! tell your boyfriend to send that picture, stat! my email's on the bottom of the right column. you're the best! and your boyfriend is nice, and just as importantly did a bang-up job filling in for jerry. I never even noticed, which is a good thing.

so, we talk about pictures and he takes one of me and greg and charles and I just want to die, because I'm afraid I'll be making a funny face or something, but what winds up happening is that I am completely and totally beaming and excited and it totally shows. so I'm thrilled, and we continue our banter. now I talk to charles (b.) for a few minutes, and have the same giggling beginning where I tell him that it's a little difficult for me to just like, stand there and talk to him and stuff. so I ask him what albums he's listening to, and what he wants to be for halloween. as it turns out, they're going to england or something in like, a couple of days, so they'll either be there or just be back that sunday, so no big plans. charles did come up with some good stuff though, like how there are two types of people: the people who get to the day before the party and grab whatever they have in the closet just to wear something, and the people who show you stuff in july and go "this is what I'm going to wear for halloween" and they've got it all planned out and there's like, various mechanics involved with the workings of the costume and stuff. and then I asked him what he had for breakfast. and as luck would have it, it was cereal. apparently charles got by for a long time on cereal and peanut butter and jelly. but the cereal wasn't a good budget stretcher, because charles has quite a fondness for his whole grain consumption. not fruit loops or cocoa puffs, but like, raisin bran and stuff. like, killing a box of it in a day or two. I told him I do the same thing with peanut butter, that it's a total nightmare and that I can't even have it in the house. he agreed - the cereal is off limits. multiple bowl a day habit. to counteract, he generally has toast and a strong cup of coffee. but really, he wants cereal.

right.

I'm reading back over this as I'm writing, about how I got to talk to 3 of the 4 guys in the wrens for like, two hours almost, and I asked about cereal and halloween and not about what inspires them and what makes them write and all that stuff. but then, I always feel on the spot with that - well, sometimes at least. sometimes I'd much rather talk about how I can kill a tube of cookie dough in two days when left to my own devices than try to sound all suave discussing the logistics of fante and nabokov and what I really think about howl. or something. not that those aren't good things, good fodder for talk, but it's a high bar to stay at all the time.

so, cereal. oh, and t-shirts, one of which I will be wearing this evening, gifted from the glorious greg himself. fabulous. then, because it was bound to happen at some point, kevin came ambling up and greg made the introductions. we went on round three of trying to have regular discussions about stuff, with me interrupting into fits of giggles between responses. covering my nose with my scarf and looking at him with a sparkle in my eye, saying, okay, we can keep talking, but you're like, touching me, and I think I'm going to freak out, and then managing to pull it back into logisitical discussion about him being excited for england, and as the rest of them had mentioned, not having big halloween costume plans as a result. he came on the scene there a little closer to show time, so I was like, do you have to write up set lists and stuff, and he's like, shit, yeah, I need to do that, and I'm like, um, okay, so can I like, have it, when you're done? and he and charles look at me like charles did when I asked for his pick, totally flattered and grinning. double checking to make sure I really wanted it. and he slipped off and scraped up the oddest scraps of paper, ever - mine wound up being the inside of a package of cake mix or something - and came back as they continued readying for the set.

one of the other interesting things of the evening at wesleyan was the bathrooms. co-ed, and not only co-ed, but you'd go in and people were like, drinking beers and hanging out and stuff. one time I went in and these little hippie girls were making out with each other, which I of course brought back in full report to the table. and this spawned a discussion about how kevin doesn't really get into girl on girl action - and as an aside, doesn't like blondes or young chicks, or so I've been told. greg calls him over immediately to discuss this, and once again he's standing right next to me and the conversation turns to something else and I'm just all wide-eyed and wanting and I'm like, I'm sorry I keep having a hard time, but when you put out the kind of music you do, it's just hard to stand here and pretend like it's all normal and stuff, and he's like, really, it's okay, I kind of like it actually, and I'm like, okay, do you want to go make out? and we're both busting up laughing, and I'm like, well, we've got like, ten minutes before the band is done, I'm sure those girls in the bathroom won't mind, and it was like flip-flopping between being totally aware that I was talking to him and being totally unaware and making jokes and flirting with one of my friends, and I loved every second of it.

and then they played.

the light was dark and ill-placed, think lamps and torchieres in a vfw hall. not the best for shooting, but great for ambience. I'm actually loading shots in as I type, so I'll see how they came out in a little bit... if I managed six good ones out of the 200 I shot, I'll be thrilled. so I'm testing out the light in front, on the side, and I'm on greg's side for once, usually being stationed dead between kevin and charles. and I'm like, do you mind if I'm like, here, or here, or here - and he goes, you can go where you want. really. and I'm like, can I climb up back there? and he goes, yup. and I go, can I go behind the drums? and he goes, sure. victoria, you can seriously do whatever you want! and I'm like, are they going to get mad? and he's like, are you kidding? shoot away. and so I did.

the crowd, being as they were, busted into full blow mosh pit body surfing chaos. pushing into the stage, knocking over microphone stands, yelling stuff at the band, jumping and screaming and just totally freaking out. I thought a few times that the speakers were going to tip, but they got saved every time. I even managed a save when I was up behind the amps behind greg, and the keyboard almost went flying. it felt great, being there, being involved, and to top it all off, they played a sick fucking set. the same as what I've heard, meadowlands mostly, but it was different this time - I mean, we talked about dogs and cereal and stuff, and then I got to see them in show mode, jumping around, freaking out, totally doing what they do when they play live - and it made it that much better. the tangibility that I talk about, the fact that I heard the meadowlands for the first time and cried in my car in the parking lot outside of my work in the rain, and then being able to stand next to kevin and talk about it. to lose my shit at a show and then help load out. to send love letters, and then discuss housebreaking behind the merch table.

I've realized at various points during this recap of last night that I still haven't written up the frames, and that I'm not writing like a reviewer. I think it's because actually having conversations with these guys just kind of left me stupid and smiling, so it just seemed like I needed to write about it, and that I'm not a reviewer. maybe I'll go back and turn this into a story for rolling stone, but this is for me.

and you.

I did get the set list delivered, remembered, directly from kevin - as promised. it's absolutely the best one so far, handed over with flirts and smiles and enough goodness to make me spin around in the middle of the room between piles of gear. and then the post show lingerings turned into babysitting gear in the other room and hugging goodbyes, of nice to meet you's and see you soon's and hey, I'll send you some pictures - at three in the morning, outside a van from new jersey, on the front lawn of a frat house in middletown, connecticut.

that was my night with the wrens, better than anything I could have imagined when I woke up, or ever, for that matter.

frames pics tonight, at a minimum. promise. I'm off to hear tom brosseau do an opening set at the iron horse, and then wolf parade at cafe nine if I'm up for it.

this is, in fact, my life.

and bottomless bowls of cereal all around,

~vvb

ps - sorry if there's any typos, I'm just throwing this up and running out the door - I'll edit later...

...since I haven't done a stitch of work in two days. it's been full frontal personal life dealings, OPD (Other People's Drama), and the like.

hi. I live here.

and on that note, sometimes I like living here. I'm in love with new haven and the way it sings to me. and while I'd like to move, and while I'm sorting through wanting to move and not wanting to move and why and wherefore and all of it, I've realized one very important thing: that I need to put it all down. all of it. Let Go. and when I'm ready, like kristin promised, I'll know.

she read to me the other night, about waking up and becoming alive and the smile that spread from ear to ear when seattle began to beckon. and I want that, I want what she has - I want to shift and know and have it come to me. as much as I'm sure of things that I want, or think I want, or need, or think I need, it's all a far cry from Knowing.

I'm being told I'll know. actually, I'm betting on it.

so I should talk about tom brosseau, as it was a week ago now that I had wandered into work still high from the time spent with him and mary - but first, to catch up on the mean girl stuff: so there were these girls, and they were like, being mean. and they got caught out talking about something. and upon confrontation and inquisition and all those jabbing uncomfortable itions, they threw me under the bus.

it's fun. you should try it sometime, this being under the bus business. I'm told it builds lots of character. and you know how much we love building character.

so, cue a few things: me feeling sorry for myself, what with all my hurt feelings and bruised ago. me getting a call from a boy at 8:30 in the morning to see how I was doing (which was the fun part), and a bunch of semi-snotty text messages throughout the day (which was the part where I wanted to react really, really bad and didn't). I love how drama junkies all of a sudden "can't believe what a big deal you're making out of this" and how they "don't have time for stupid petty bullshit" when the drama involves them. it's funny how it happens like that, every single time. anyways, I whine and complain and take walks and by that evening I am in the car with my sponsor, on my way to hear her speak at a meeting.

now, less than twenty-four hours after said event, I have become The Most Grateful Person In America. suddenly these things don't matter - not like they ever did, in the grand scheme of things, but there's a huge difference in someone asking you to look at how important something isn't, and having something snap in your head and realizing how important something isn't. like the whole reading the book about the ocean versus standing in the ocean thing. I mean, I've stayed sober through some pretty serious shit, and people that I don't really know too well making assumptions and judgement calls about me - well, it's just not that big of a deal.

and until you hit that wall with it, it's easier said than done. what other people think about me is none of my business, don't make decisions based on fear, you can be content knowing that you've done the right thing - that's all easy to practice when nothing bad is happening. and to go from zero to distraught to gratitude in under a day is just a testament to my growth as a result of what I have learned in the context of the twelve steps. I am taking what I've learned, applying it into other areas of my life, and evolving.

by the end of the night, the worst thing I was dealing with was coming to some form of acceptance for how these girls are handling these things - instead of trying to understand how they were being the way that they were being. because I'm not going to. because I don't get it. or, more accurately, they don't get it.

I just amaze myself sometimes.

so, on to tom... the gorgeous, tall, sweet, wonderful talented tom brosseau. as usual, I'll start with a blow-by-blow, and probably wind up discussing every single second with you. but we'll see.

so last tuesday I leave work in the afternoon and head out to tweed. and for me, there's a degree of famousness involved - I mean, I know I'm not going to pick up mick jagger or anything, but it's that tangible thing that goes on in my world where I meet the wrens and talk about the concept of "break a leg" with luke temple and cary brothers asks me to come and check out his set in brooklyn.

and in this case, where tom brosseau sleeps on the floor of my apartment, after refusing to take my bed (without me in it) for about an hour.

so I'm in my new favorite hoodie that I'm wearing every day it seems, it's olive green and has these beige and blue flowery things crawling up part of it and it says "rock city" in big gothic letters on the back. erin and I found it in forever 21. who knew - so I'm in my hoodie with the sleeves pulled over my hands, with a little striped scarf and my new york sneakers. and I'm waiting, and I'm pacing, and all of a sudden mary jones and tom brosseau come off of the plane and through the entryway (and by the way, if you've never been, the waiting room at tweed is the size of my living room - there's about ten chairs and a rental car chick - seriously). and I'm all, omg, you're tom brosseau! hands over mouth as I try to sort of hold it together to remember that we need to walk to the car. and tom hugs me and mary is giggling and off we speed in my teeny little car, now filled with carry-ons and a band guy and his manager and a '63 martin in a hard case. it was total bliss.

so we listen to the decemberists and stop at sound check, where I proceed to hear a few teasing parts of songs I know off of "what I mean to say is goodbye" and that's when I'm really blown away. his voice is like a bell, and the space is empty, and he's onstage going, hey victoria, did you get yourself a snapple there? and I can't help but go, um, he's talking to me, you're talking to me, yes, did you want one? and he's giggling and all, no, I'm good, and mary is smiling at me because I'm freaking out, and it's just too good to be true. I'm in the space. with tom brosseau. and his manager. talking about snapple and where we want to eat dinner. in new haven. 'cause they're like, going to get back in my car and stuff.

!!!

so they do (get back in my car) and we tumble up the stairs to my apartment to drop off gear, and then back down to go out for dinner. I decide to take them to miya's, since you've got to do miya's, or mamoun's, or the pantry, or thai taste - just some kind of new haven staple - if it's your first time here. the conversation is easy and the lighting is dim, and we eat family style off of big plates with our shoes off cross-legged on the floor. drew takes care of us and we wind up leaving miya's with a $30 tab - unreal for the amount of eating we've managed to do. a quick stop back at the apartment, some wine and some postcards and much brushing of teeth, and we're back at the space with twenty minutes to spare.

donna and sal have made the trek from branford, and we all stalk one of the front row couches as the last two open mic performers finish up. some boys in local bands I believe, who really pulled off some gut wrenching stuff. and steve comes up to tell us a bunch of stuff about the space - and then there's tom. ambling across the stage, tuning, tall and blonde and sweet... he opens with a song about yodeling and donna and sal have been won over instantly, smiling and happy and curled up with me - socks and cups of tea and goodness.

tom plays for a good forty minutes, with stories and dedications and explanations and smiles. he played the first track off the cd for me, going "this one's for you, vic" because we're long lost friends now. vic and tom bombs (a nickname for a tom at our office, fondly re-adapted to suit our performer). I shoot away and he leaves us wanting, but happy nonetheless, and as the set finishes we wander around taking in the scene. every time you've been to the space there's some new thing on top of some other thing, like an army figurine on top of an old lunchbox behind a new painting on a piece of cardboard under a string of evil doll-head lights.

so the first part of our evening comes to an end, complete with soundboard recordings and poster stealings and strangers with cake (and later, a loaf) and we all pile back in the car to head back to my apartment. it's at this point I realize that they may want to go out or something, but they seem quite content to don soft socks and fill their wine glasses in my kitchen - and that's what we do. everyone settles in and checks emails and putters around and points at the things on my walls... mary's working, and tom and I are writing postcards. then tom is blogging and I'm taping things up on my walls - flyposting, as mary calls it. andrew bird and the barsuk compilation take us through the night, and there's showering behind plastic fishes and picture perusing and finally dim pink christmas lantern lights and soft rain lulling us to sleep.

I cannot believe, as my photo gallery says, that all of that actually happened.

the morning comes and everyone's smiling and rested, even me, although I've spent the night waking mid-dream and realizing that tom brosseau is asleep on the floor about two feet away from me, and it's like the night before christmas when you're small, where the anticipation just keeps you from going to the restful sleepy place. we dodge the monsoon and break bread at the pantry, where I've done a good job of pimping the california eggs benedict (for the fat kids: that's regular eggs benedict with avocado and grilled tomato in there, super delish!) but we all opt for lighter fare and brave the rain once more to get back to the car. I proudly serve up the willoughby's and taxi over to union station, where we spend about a half an hour trading addresses and emails and phone numbers - yes, PHONE NUMBERS! I hoped for emails at best, but much to my amazement, I was treated to tom's home mailing address and a cell phone number. which he apparently doesn't answer much, but still. and we're joking and laughing and I'm going, so I could just like, call you, if I wanted, and he's all, actually, I'd be dissapointed if you didn't! not in the boy-girl way, just in the new-friends way. and as luck would have it, tom just might be playing the week I'm in seattle in december with kristin and steve - which was met by grins and hugs of approval.

and then the all aboard call came, and suddenly everyone was gone.

so this catches you back up to the morning last week, where I came in fresh from the station, and we've got the pictures to prove it.

next up: the bliss of the frames at irving plaza in new york city. yum.

and perfect guitar-neck photography for all,

~vvb

well, mean people suck. but mean girls are way more nasty about it.

I went to start typing just now about tom brosseau, and I'm all distracted and annoyed. I don't want to stain such a gorgeous man with such smelly vibes.

so tom, the frames, and the freakishly tall guy I met at the frames, all to follow. actually, he wasn't freakishly tall, but it's been a while since I've hugged someone over six feet. people usually reach up to hug me, except for when I hug kristin. 'cause she's like, crazy tall. but she's also in seattle, so I can't say I have a lot of fresh hug memories of hers. so, yeah. the tall guy.

play nice, will ya?

~vvb

I (kind of) just got published!

they could have put the photo credit in the paragraph or something though. I feel like it takes away from the shot. but still.

!!!!!!!!!

life is just flying by. people wake up at all these different stages, but anytime I've done something like this, and made changes I was terrified to make, I sat there and wondered why I hadn't done it before.

I'm awake. and I don't want to waste any more time.

I love the long winters. I just ordered ultimatum and some harvey danger too.

the rain seems to have stopped, all of a sudden.

I guess that's it...

it's one of those stretches of days where everything fits, and nothing at all. and I'm afraid that if my coworkers come in here and interrupt this that I'll throw my tacky desklamp at them. but let's give it a whirl anyways -

I'm doing a temporary fast, just to get out of the habit of habitual eating. I can't stand it. most of the time I'm not even hungry, I just do it because it's there, because I'm bored, because that god damn cookie dough is so good and I know it's just sitting there so I consume. it's getting like cigarettes. if I'm not careful, I'm going to lose the - well, gain, I guess, but - loss that, even though stalled, is still a solid twenty five pounds. go to the grocery store and pick up twenty five pounds of potatoes. it's a lot.

so maybe it's the change of seasons, where we got a hint of scarves and leaf-changing and then the monsoon of rain that's come for days. maybe it's that I haven't been writing, like this, or like anything. maybe it's me feeling scared and displaced for reasons I can't quite figure out. maybe, maybe, maybe... but whatever it is, it's feeling off. donna calls it "the vague uneasies". I call it yucky, but necessary. I love it and hate it, because I know I need it, but then I don't know when it's going to go away, and then I wonder if I need medication. I'm happy, but all I want to do is sleep. maybe it's just my metabolism and the end of my twenties fatness.

I'm going in circles.

so thursday was like, killer. and having tom brosseau here was equally killer, moreso in the fact that he was hanging out in my apartment way - which I'll write about soon, I promise. I keep listening to other people talking and I just want to put on earplugs to block it all out because I can't pay attention. so, anyways, by all standard measures, I am happy. I'm trying to rid myself of unnecessary things. my fat pants are too big, which means I get to pick up a few pairs of jeans at old navy for the inbetween. from last year to now, the progress has been nothing short of tremendous - I was stumbling around in my apartment in branford, not knowing which end was up, thinking a relationship was going to make me feel better, coming alive at the front counter of cafe atlantique in my ninety nine cent notebook, spending hours on the phone with kristin. being pulled and letting myself be pulled and fighting it sometimes and all of the metamorphosis that tends to come along with the coccooning.

and now - I live in one room. I need less. I write more. I'm persuing my interests. I'm going to write a book. my hair is varying degrees of manic panic red, an exaggeration of self, the part of me that I hid behind for so long now cranked out and undeniably loud. so I don't forget, so I don't cop out on myself. I even know what and where my next tattoo needs to be, and I can't wait - but I'm going to, because I know I need to feel healthy to go so it's not a total nightmare like last time. butterflies being seared into my skin. it was quite poetic but it took everything I had not to punch zee in the face and flail around from the fucking pain.

tom brosseau, looking at my industrial: did that hurt?
me: yes. it hurt a lot to get done, but then the healing was easy.

I think that has to mean something. it has to.

so - when I gauge things against things, I'm so much more myself. and maybe I'm right where I need to be, with everything I need to have, and I just don't know it. I've got a flexible job that pays me good and lets me go see lots of shows and have periodic writing fits, mid day, like right now, or whenever I need them. I can afford to do things like go to seattle for eight days and not worry about whether or not I've got vacation time or whatever regular people have to worry about. and I can stream kexp all day at work, and now the national is on, and I can say what I mean - but then if this was enough, would I be wondering what else is there? is there something else, or is it because the chase is all I know? I don't know.

so I don't know why I'm feeling disconnected. I'm losing the popularity contest that I don't even want or try to be in. the light is grey and the corners of my mind are twinged with sadness. and it's not an ungrateful thing, I swear - I've got it so good. and all this cool shit is happening and I'm growing and evolving and yet I'm sitting here, fighting that, going, no, but I'm not okay right now.

consensus, while not as necessary to me as it used to be, says that the change in seasons is not an easy one, even though we welcome it with open arms. and not just a sadness for the summertime, but - well, this is the same time last year I said, I just can't do this, and then everything changed.

(I'm writing a book, and it's genius.)

I want to go intern for a radio station but I don't know if I'll be scared when the money runs out. I want to change everything, again, but I don't want to leave my mom. I feel guilty when I don't answer the phone, and then when I do that these things are all that comes out. I know that kristin is my family, in the realest sense of the word, and that I need to be near her, and how it felt to see part of the ani difranco dvd before I fell asleep again - and the letters that she sends and the houseboys that we'll have and the kittens that we'll save and the mix tapes that we'll make and the books that we'll write and -

I'm struck, suddenly, by maybe being afraid of things being that good? of having comfort in the mundane, because I can handle this, not as bad but kind of like a bad relationship, where you don't go because at least it's familiar and not terrifying. or something like that. see, because I can handle the speed here, I can retreat from the scene, I'm not trying to be anything, I don't feel inferior, and as scared as I am, people trying to be things would push me to be more in the good way, if I could seperate the good from the bad and -

Universe, please, please make it obvious. I'm feeling a little tortured - if I could, I'd know what I needed, when I was supposed to, because it would sparkle somehow, and then when I felt like this I'd know which way to go. I'd feel that undeniable pull, and not just making it up (like, if the light changes right now, that means I'm supposed to _________). I want to be pulled out into the moonlight to feel myself breathing. I want to feel like it feels when you're travelling and these everyday things are all magical and perfect, even when it's just coffee, and then they get more familiar but you don't tire of them - you just get a little more used to it. and there's pictures to take and notebooks to scrawl furiously in and - see, it's all here, but - there's no pull. I can find these things, but there's no pull.

I need the pull.

I think.

and starlit paths for all,

~vvb

from tom brosseau's blog (!!!!!!!!!)

New Haven, Connecticut
*off of Whitney Ave, near the great school of Yale
Traveled today from Chicago to New Haven- not a bad day to travel. It is currently raining here, in New Haven. Myself and Mary Jones (www.maryjonz.com) are staying with a friend- Victoria. She has tooled us around to the show and dinner. I played tonight at the Space, in Hamden. Thanks to Cindy Lou who drove from Beantown. Also, thanks to Jacq. for the spice cake and mix cd. We ate sushi at a place called Mia’s. If you come to Yale, might want to check out Mia’s. I was impressed with the Space. The Space is a venue, located in an industrial park. It’s a lot like the Mercury Lounge in Goleta, California- there’s all sorts of lights and trinkets and things like ashtrays and funny pictures on the wall and memorabilia from the 50’s and the 60’s. I was the featured artist at the open mic. I grew up on the open mic circuit in ND and San Diego. We are listening to Andrew Bird. I really love him. We are listening to ” the Mysterious Production of Eggs “. I feel just like I felt when I first saw Harvard University. The cd player has switched to the Barsuk compilation. The night is about to end.

it's about 11 am on wednesday, I've just gotten into work. I spent the morning with tom brosseau and mary jones, running around new haven, and getting them to the 10:43 train to the city. I haven't slept, really. there was a spiced loaf involved. but I'll get to that later.

so, as you can tell from the pictures, I saw the decemberists at toad's place on thursday night. it was such a great night that I've got to at least post the highlights, and whenever I say that I inevitably wind up giving a blow-by-blow of the entire night. we'll see how long winded I am this time...

I leave work on thursday around 4:30 and I'm parked directly in front of toad's at 5:00, behind the super-galactic tour bus with trailer, complete with oregon plates. there are decemberists everywhere - jenny smoking a cigarette, chris funk needing a shave, colin in a bright yellow t-shirt - and I'm doing my best to contain myself. I'm armed with iced coffee and a half of a wheat bagel, just to sustain. the manager and sound guys are ambling around as well, and I walk straight into the side door like I know what I'm doing. I introduce myself, as I've seen bill do many a time, and thrust forward the emails from the management people at big hassle regarding the open photography policy. there is no way that I am going to fight a sea of fifteen year olds for first place in line, and then be sent back to my car because toad's won't hang with detachable lenses. I'm assured that everything is going to be fine with a series of shrugs and grunts from the manager, and I take my place dutifully at the front door. a few stragglers have started to linger, and I determine that it might be a good time to hit the ladies' room once more - with an hour left before doors, I also determine that a book might be a good idea.

I will have no idea until later in the evening what a fateful decision that will wind up being.

that should like, be a line in a song or something. anyways.

first I go looking for some fante, because I've loved what I've read so far (ask the dust) and I know I'll dig anything else this guy puts out - but what I've read is all they have, so I slide from f to p and see the ever-recognizable font of the bell jar staring back at me from the shelf just above eye level. I grab it and make my way to the cash register, where I proceed to get into a discussion about National Novel Writing Month with the guy behind the counter. he looks at me like I'm slightly insane. I give him the website. and it's back to the door of toad's.

I manage to get partway into it before some of the people that have come by over the course of the evening start falling into place behind me - there's always so much to talk about with those first few people in line, they're usually just like me, only younger. happy and excited and in this case, totally freaked out about their first live decemberists experience. I pass the time by telling them about the people that have come by over the last two hours that think I'm working the door, asking me what time doors are, hearing soundcheck and so on. the best part was when a girl with cass mccombs came up to see if I was running the door later, and I was like, no, I just want a good spot, and I asked her if she was with the decemberists, and she was like, no, I'm with cass mccombs. so in my infinite wiseness, I go, yeah, I think I saw her open up for them at the avalon in boston - to which she replies, um, cass is a guy? and smiles politely and goes inside.

right.

so finally they start letting people in, and the kids I've made friends with fall in to my left (I'm just right of center, as usual). there's some yale school of drama students that are actually quite nice there as well, and they fall in to my right. amy (one of the drama students) and I make our way to the bathroom, and by the time we make it back the crowd on the under 21 side is already about ten people deep. people just give you the nastiest looks when you're cutting back through, and it's all, no, really, I was here already - and they tend to not believe you. so we settle in and do some light checks and cass mccombs finally takes the stage.

I wish I would have seen them in a little coffee shop somewhere, they seemed to get lost in the expanse of the stage at toads, harsh lights and bad sound guys and a crowd that wouldn't stop talking. but what I was able to make out I did like very much, they were interesting and thoughtful and they made for some great shots since they weren't moving around much. they pulled a solid half hour and left us sufficiently warmed up for our headliners.

the usual stuff followed - another bathroom run, procuring of beverages, a worse crowd fight-through than before, still shots of stage lights and birds and stands and equipment and instruments and what not. and again, as usual, right when you just can't take another minute, the lights go down and they all filter out. colin, petra, chris, nate, jenny, and the drummer (whose name is escaping me at the moment) - bathed in green spotlights and just delirously perfect from the first note forward - it's funny, over the course of the day I found myself being a little offhanded about things, you know, I've seen the decemberists a bunch already, no big whoop - and then they start to play and I'm screaming like a teenager.

they did what the decemberists do - they took us all on a journey through the books in their minds, into corners and behind doors, where sinews and pantaloons abound. where we all believe in robin hood, and we all obey colin's every gesture. we become part of their experience, if just for an hour and a half, and it's majestic and spellbinding every single time... there's moments of laughter and moments of all the switches just being on, where they've all just got this thing running through their veins, and just to witness it is a privlege in and of itself. it's just - glorious. like indie rock church, in the accordionista pirate ship kind of way.

now, before making my voyage to york street, I had emailed back and forth not only with kristin but also with the esteemed ms. cheryl waters, of kexp fame. cheryl proceeds to tell me, after a fulfilled request on the air, to make sure I drop the kexp tag when I talk to them. when I talk to them. because that's like, totally going to happen, cheryl. sure. and I joke with her that I don't get to live in that world, unless we're at the museum of television and radio and I'm helping load in or something. for those few days a year, that's when it all fuses and I talk to cary brothers and luke temple in the same span of days, or walks get taken with band boys, like devin davis in times square - but the other 355 days of the year, I'm a fan, like everyone else. and conversations with colin meloy - well, they're just not a reality.

but then, I have just spent the last eighteen hours with tom brosseau. so maybe things are looking up. but you know what I mean.

and this time, well - it wasn't a conversation per say, but I did manage to completely accidentally fatefully have direct contact with colin meloy, and when it happened I could barely even hold it together. you've seen the photos, and if I haven't told you about it a hundred times on the phone already, here's the story:

so I'm shooting away, on picture number two hundred and twenty something, just digging the scene and all. and periodically over the course of the show, colin, nate, and chris will all come and play about three inches from my face - there's a monitor directly in front of me that's pushed back a few feet, and they took turns coming over and playing all balls-out and making us scream like girls. so one of the times colin comes over, I try (in vain) to get a good shot of him but I'm so spun about the fact that I could totally pull him off the stage if I really wanted that I can barely hold the camera straight. so on top of my brain slowly seeping out of my ears, I almost collapse when he goes, "whose bag is that?" and I've got this little brown bag on stage, just enough to hold my wallet and my camera and of course, the book. so one of the drama school guys and I pick the bag up simultaneously and back off a few steps, thinking he wanted us to move it so he could sit and play or walk around in the crowd or something. and he squats down and peers into my bag, and I just know to hand it to him, and he takes it and pulls out the book - and he says, "I could see the font" (at which I need to mention that if you've ever seen or owned a copy of the bell jar that the cover is written in this very recognizable font, to the point where you could in fact see it from several feet away and know what it was).

so I'm exploding, and colin meloy puts my bag down and takes the book up to the microphone and starts to read from it. talking about how this really must be such a college town - standing on stage at toad's, holding my fucking book. I am so not kidding. and what you've got to do right now is put on that copy of the live solo show that kristin made me that I have most likely sent you, and remember his voice - when he goes something like, "we're going to move from the something related material to the nautical related material" and he's got that storytelling - drone, but it's not a drone in the bad sense of the word, it's just - his voice. complete with cocked eyebrow and dramatic pauses.

and so he reads:

I left Joan to pay the driver and hurried into the empty, glaring lit room. A nurse bustled out from behind a white screen. In a few swift words, I managed to tell her the truth about my predicament before Joan came in the door, blinking and wide-eyed as a myopic owl.

The Emergency Ward doctor strolled out then, and I climbed, with the nurse's help, onto the examining table. The nurse whispered to the doctor, and the doctor nodded and began unpacking the bloody toweling. I felt his fingers start to probe, and Joan stood, rigid as a soldier, at my side, holding my hand, for my sake or hers I couldn't tell.

"Ouch!" I winced at a particularly bad jab.

The doctor spoke in a low, curt voice to the nurse, and she hurried to a side table and brought back some rolls of gauze and silver instruments. "I can see," the doctor bent down, "exactly where the trouble is coming from."

and as he comes back over, the page marked with bookmarks now strewn across the stage, ones that the guy behind the counter had given me, I am completely and totally dying. I cannot stand it, not for one more second, and he hands the book back to me and smiles, and I am just a puddle of teenage heart-throb angst. I am so totally and completely starstruck, on top of feeling like an absolute dork for having a copy of the bell jar in my bag - and my knees are weak and my fists are clenched and then my hands are over my mouth because I'm just exploding with pure glee. I seriously feel at this point like beams of light are going to shoot out of various parts of my body - stomping my feet and all. and then they go on with the show.

there's another half hour of songs to throw us out further into the stratosphere, chris funk parading into the crowd, much whales and general debauchery. in line I've told a girl the story about the mariner's revenge, and she's never heard it before, so I'm all, "and so there's this guy, and his mom is with this dude who's like, all fucked up and leaves them with gambling debts and she goes crazy and the son is cleaning toilets in a boat or something, so then they're out at sea, the son, following the bad guy that drove his mom crazy, and they're about to catch up with him, and then they both get swallowed up by a whale - and the crowd goes all nuts and screams and stuff - and then as fate would have it, you know, it's just the son and the guy and he goes to wipe him out but first he has to tell him all the stuff that his mom had said to say if he ever found him -" and as the song is playing I'm completely laughing to myself, at picturing her hearing it for the first time, and how funny it must have been to remember the story I told and how right along with it the song went - and then the rush of "thank you, new haven, goodnight"s and such, and we were left reeling.

shows just totally wipe me out, in a good something besides blood running through your veins kind of way.

so we lingered and traded emails with all our new friends (kacia is on the scene by this point, making it up to the third row or so just before they went on) and scouted out the merch table before spilling back out onto the sidewalk. now, I don't know if I just encourage random conversations or what - tom brosseau did just tell me that I was very charismatic, that I had the charisma of ten people combined - which I found so odd - but the merch guy, who was a punk rocker from london who has a girlfriend that knows somebody and they had him come on the road with them, talks us into these $25.00 limited edition prints, which we agree to buy one of if he will go downstairs with a sharpie and do the deed.

we do. he does. and the rest, as they say, is history. there's a few candid shots from the car, there's procuring of giant sized advertisement toad's posters, and frenzied half-speak reeling calls to kristin.

and that was my thursday.

I like thursdays. but I like tuesdays too.

more on tom brosseau, spiced loaves, and postcards later on.

till the radio plays something familiar,

~vvb

book purchased to kill time waiting in line for the decemberists: $13.00
new camera, battery, lenses, filter, and warranty: $999.00
having legit shots of colin meloy reading from "the bell jar" on stage after he pulled it out of my bag:

totally and completely fucking priceless.

more to follow, I promise.

~vvb

the highlights of last night - if it moves me, I'll journal it up at some point, but the condensed version is: great show. I couldn't go back to work without mentioning that, or that the encore was a balls-out version of of while my guitar gently weeps. fucking killer.

and also I had to drop the bomb that between the two openers I talked to the girl that's coming in with tom brosseau. on my cell phone. because I'm like, picking them up. at the airport. in my car. here's the gist of the conversation, on the heels of a just-missed voicemail:

(ring, ring)

mary: (something and something - company or something)
me: hi, it's victoria, you just left me a message?
mary: oh, hi, victoria! how are you?
me: great, I'm actually out at a show and in between sets, I just got your message and - holy shit, it's 10:30! I'm so sorry to call you so late!
mary: hey, don't worry about it. it's only 9:30 here, I'm in chicago.
me: are you sure?
mary: no problem.
me: okay, so, I'm friends with the guy that booked you, and I'm actually a huge fan of tom - so like, I will totally pick you up wherever you want and find you guys a place to crash wherever you want and if tom could like, sleep on my futon and serenade me to sleep, well - forget you guys paying for a hotel. I would actually pay you for that.
mary: (laughing) oh, excellent! and we want to take the 10 am train in the morning...
me: seriously, do not worry about a thing. I will take you wherever you want to go, whenever you want to be there, and I seriously can put one person up at my place and I'm sure we can put the other one of you up someplace and we will totally take care of you.
mary: that's great -
me: just email me your itinerary again and I'll be there at the airport with like, a sign and stuff.
mary: okay, do I have your email?
me: well, I got a forward from the people that booked you, but let me give it to you just in case.
mary: okay...
me: it's drinking, like, beverages, stars, with an s.
mary: drinkingstars? (I can hear her smiling)
me: yes. at gmail.
mary: that's great.
me: I love it! okay, shit, they're starting to tune up now - I can't hear much - drop me an email and we'll see you on tuesday!
mary: great! looking forward to it!
me: okay bye...

um, this is my life. this is, in fact, actually happening.

with a big ol' pair of sunglasses on my head, and stars for all.

~vvb

and, of course, vice versa.

it's a hell of a monday and I've got some observations, y'all:

1. shows in my hometown are good.

how good, you ask? how about seeing built to spill, in perfect resonance, from the soundbooth. with anthony orangetruck. which means you can go to gourmet heaven and like, buy stuff, and like, carry it in. like water. and chocolate. which also means you are privy to load-in and sound check times for other bands playing this week. like, the decemberists maybe. who might be expected around two on thursday, and might be soundchecking around five. so I could like, stalk. or maybe be where they might be, looking cool. or something. did I mention the two hour set they have planned? holla!

bands should come to new haven more often. and play at toad's. when people I know semi-intimately are working.

2. peanut butter and expensive sunglasses should be illegal.

I fucking swear to - whoever. the shit is like crack. only at least you lose weight when you've got an excess of crack. with the peanut butter, you're just trapped there, with like, a spoon. and maybe some m & m's. and the sunglasses - I'm not ready to talk about that part yet. at least I look good. which leads me to...

3. occasional bonding over retail therapy = good.

especially with a friend who likes to shop. if you're going to shop big, or shop at all for that matter, you've got to at least do it with someone you can shop with. and that person isn't necessarily who you get along with well in other arenas of your life. take my mom, for example. love her. tremendously. but shopping with her makes me want to stab myself in the neck. now my friend erin isn't my best friend by a long shot, but when we shop together, it's like a light goes on. we just fit. even if it's just flip flops at old navy. there has to be that combination of helpfulness and space, honesty and cosigning. kind of like the perfect relationship. only there's money involved. and lots of bags. and sometimes one of those warm pretzels...

4. occasional retail therapy, in and of itself, is good.

especially if you really don't do it, ever, or rarely at best. I'm probably one of the top ten most frugal people in america, but being that way allows me to have a binge every now and then and not feel bad about it. so when the boy who got you all hot and bothered goes from "I really don't want to date right now" to "I kind of want to date one of your friends," well, you've got some room. for something big to hide behind. like, maybe a pair of obnoxious sunglasses. or at least a shirt that costs more than eight dollars and makes your boobs look fabulous.

or both.

5. there are more than two people in seattle that want me to visit. which makes me, like, officially cool. or something.

even though kristin and steve take the cake. but to have a few new semi-friends that you've made a good first impression on is a treat, and something that I'm new to. it's uber-fun. and it feels good. better than shopping. especially when it's combined with one of your top five bands reciprocating a shout-out.

Yo Victoria-we had a kick ass benefit show last night
for KEXP. Math and Physics Club, Athlete, John
Vanderslice, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, THE NATIONAL,
M83... Super fun, super crowded, raised lots of cash
for the station. My 4 year old sent me with strict
instructions to get "autographs and photographs".
Where does she come up with this stuff? She told my
husband that she felt sorry for me because I probably
had to wait in loooong lines to get autographs last
night. I had Clap Yer Hands sign their CD for her.
She wanted to see it first thing this morning. Very
sweet, my Isabelle... I was talking to the fiddle guy
from The National (Padmir?) and mentioned that we have
people from all over the country giving us love and
dollars, and that you had come from Conn to be at the
broadcast in NYC, and that you had to leave early on
Fri to catch a train to see The National in Boston
that night. He was like "I remember that girl!" I
said, "Victoria, with the red hair? She is
fantastic!" and he agreed! Anyway, just had to let
you know I shouted you out to the band and you were
well received and remembered fondly. Shannon is on
her way to England this morning, to bask in the
accents and some Brit band atmosphere. Still coming in
December, I hope??

Deb

'nuff said.

~vvb