January 2006 Archives

ah, the pure bliss that is one monsieur meloy. photos forthcoming, of course. I came in boldly with my camera and the printed email with the decemberists' open photography policy from the management people, and get shushed to the side. one guy was ready to give me a photography pass, the other one ran away and returned with The Good News: that colin says it's fine, as long as I don't flash.

that means he kind of, like, talked to me.

current rotation, by the way, courtesy of the divine dave lewis:

national eye - roomful of lions
head like a kite - random portraits of the home movie
metal hearts - socialize

the first two are starting to get under my skin. I'm also hankering for much newness and catchings up, I don't know if I talked about it in the last post but I'm way behind. good thing kristin and steve are full blown crackheads with handfuls of new releases on tuesdays, with access to a server. I'll have to repay the debt when I'm not broke, but for now I can stay up to date. the thing is, I really will purchase the albums I like when money's not so much of an issue. if I could, I'd wear a shirt every day that said don't steal music, you fucking asshole. but somehow I don't think my mom (or strangers in the grocery store, for that matter) would really go for that.

so - yeah, the show. it was so bizarre, going to a show kind of in midtown, which is what I associate times square and the theater district with because it's all near the museum of television and radio. so all the goings on during kexp in nyc time take place there, and it's mostly office buildings and shopping and then hustling bustling big bright theater chaos. so many lights that you turn the corner to 42nd street and you almost hit things. buzzing marquees and travelling red lights around huge signs and clocks and just all this stuff. what a ridiculous amount of electricity - so - after all the one way dilemmas and a thirty dollar parking lot, we manage to get in to the theater as the opener for the opener is finishing. perfect timing.

our fourth row seats were perfect for colin and for laura viers as well - she sang of white spider stars exploding down from the sky and about how if you came spelunking into the cave of my insides, would you see the bats and still want to stay - perfect. that, along with a good amount of loops and voiceovers and recorded beats rounded out the set nicely. I mean, I wouldn't pay thirty bucks to park to just see her, but I'd for sure catch her again and possibly get into some of her albums. she's good stuff.

they didn't keep us waiting long for colin, and his cast of characters on a red cloth covered table. erick, the sheep, to remind us of life. cheryl, the woman's skull, of course, for death and our ultimate demise. and a pirate ship, to represent, um, ships. and all things maritime related. rounded off with a bottle of ancient shiraz (cabernet, I think) that he misunderstood someone yelling about and thought we wanted to name it girard. and girard it was.

he took us through so much, decemberists songs and new songs and these beautiful brilliant moments that you would have paid every cent you had for. in the middle of some of the songs, during a step away to strum, it was like he got into our blood and bones and insides just for a few seconds, not even a minute, and pulled us in. everything from los angeles to shiny to california one / youth and beauty brigade to the shirley collins songs, red right ankle and the bicycle song and swinging back and forth like ben and laura and everyone from the northwest seems to do as they strum, regardless of tempo. there were crushed red velvet seats dedicated to women named may and authors and poets, heavy pulled back curtains, high ceilings with carved archways and gilded railings and worn carpets. he sang weird and wonderful and nothing turns out right and engine driver and something about these hideous butchers and everything came out of the corners of his mouth so perfectly, I wanted to crawl up onto the stage and just lie there, arms spread, taking it all in through every pore.

it was, simply, gorgeous. we love colin endlessly.

the ride home, as the ride there, found us with one wrong turn and a sudden unfamiliar highway - I think amy was my bad luck charm in that respect! just kidding - but otherwise the trip was perfect. we talked the whole time and saw other girls from the toad's show, who actually yelled out my name as I took pictures of the venue at intermission. I think people that have no association with aa, the regular people if you will, are not only way less desensitized than we are - like when our friends like, smoke crack or whatever - but there's also a degree of being desensitized to the other end of it too. the day to day existence of wanting to live better, talking about whatever's going on, being open and self aware and stuff - I just don't know if everyone lives like that or not. she seemed to think that I was pretty insightful, and I was like, no, this is just how we are.

this is just how we are.

more to follow, kiss kiss,

~vvb

how excellent it is to be able to go back to last month, or six months, or a year ago to read most of what I was writing and to see where my head was at.

god bless kristin.

and, um, the internet.

I think.

~vvb

so I guess I should like, update or something. for the three people out there who only keep track of me through my blog, it may seem that I've been teetering on some precipice of mental health... or at least away from the computer for a while and when I'm on, a little too busy to update.

it's a little bit of both, but mostly the latter.

hi. I'm doing just fine.

so like I talked about on the last post, the general discomfort wound up being a series of things and events that had to bubble up to the surface and be dealt with. kind of like emotional pimples. that's gross, but fairly accurate. so things are getting better, or clearing up, or whatever. it really all came down to some fears and insecurities I had going on in various areas of my life, along with some necessary ego deflating. and I sit here recovering, in my mental oatmeal bath (to minimize scars), with the need to report in. to you. whoever you are. I write all assuming people check in periodically, and I think they actually do. I'd love for everyone to leave me messages on the board so that I know who's really there - it makes me think of the few random blogs I read regularly without ever commenting. they'll never know. maybe I should go say hi to them.

so colin meloy is tomorrow night, and valentine's day is fast approaching. that means I've got to like, think of something. the budget's still tight, so far I've got plans for a date box full of relatively inexpensive suggestions for days and nights out. I might have a lead on some baseball tickets, but it's all very hush-hush and I've got to see how many loans I'm closing next month before I spend more than ten bucks on anything.

shit, I actually have to go back to work and do my pipeline report. before I leave. to go to the gym. that's right, you heard me.

so there were all these cool shows I couldn't get to and good things I had to pass up on in the name of sanity, but things are looking up. I've got some great pictures tacked up on my walls courtesy of snapfish (simplest thing EVER, highly recommended) and I'm hoping to sneak in the camera tomorrow via my photography email from the decemberists from when I went to toad's. you remember that, don't you? and oh yeah, valentine's day. so (I keep saying so) the last bunch of valentine's days that I was actually emotionally entangled found me in tears in the card aisle. most memorably the last one at the end of my marriage, where I stood there reading all these cards, going, I can't even buy any of these. at all. I don't even mean a tenth of what these say. and invariably I'd default to getting a funny one about farting in bed or stealing the covers or I'd send something from the cat, because it let me avoid the whole thing completely.

this year, I actually want to go find a good card that says all the nice things I want to say. but since most of them are either "you're really nice" or "I love you forever for being the world's greatest husband", I might have to use a little white out. like, "I like you a lot right now for being the world's greatest boyfriend", or something. but point being, it's fun and exciting and the way it should be. I never knew that it was supposed to be like this, fun and heartmelting and good kissing in the car late at night. I actually thought something was wrong the other day because I wasn't consistently aching for him. in reality, that's because I'm not torturing myself or in any kind of self inflicted pain as a result of dating this time, so most days it's just... nice.

just like jitm doing his AND cheryl's sets today. fabu.

so I guess that's it. writing for a sense of obligation to an imaginary audience is better than not writing at all, and not quite as good as part two of the book that opens with a ridiculously good sex scene. nanowrimo 2006, here I come.

so here's to all those kisses, and the little love note I got for no reason that told me I was one of the strongest women he knew.

(sighs, and cues that old funky version of "try a little tenderness".)

~vvb

editor's note:

paragraph breaks in this entry: 11
paragraph breaks in this entry that started with "so": 6

just in case you're like, counting. or something.

so I woke up this morning to a couple of things: a super clear performance of "engine driver" from a cellphone transmission, held out lovingly by kristin, three thousand miles west of here. a cool morning that smelt strangely like springtime and dirt and mowed lawns, even with the cold greyness of all of it everywhere to remind me spring was, as a matter of fact, nowhere near. and currently, I'm two songs into the archive performance of colin meloy on KEXP.

all of these, and the realization that my addiction to peanut butter may, quite literally, annihilate me. I just can't stop. like a kid eating warm undercooked brownies out of the middle of the pan.

the upside to that last one is that I've been going to the gym again, doing elliptical for cardio and some basic weight training. hang on, colin and cheryl are talking. I'll be right back.

***

I'm forcing myself right now to channel my frustration (see below, the not doing enough / being enough kind) into inspiration - but cripes is it tough to do... I should see people like cheryl and colin meloy and even jon rodgers as people pursuing their craft, people that I can learn from and take direction from, but instead there's a jealousy and unrest that I'm not quite able to shake. it doesn't always feel like this, but it does lately. it feels all kinds of wrong and uncomfortable - I'll just have to see if it passes.

that seems to be the theme lately, with the aforementioned frustration and unrest. things just don't seem okay, nothing fits anywhere (colin tunes his guitar, mmm), and then one by one, they bubble up to the surface. (and he starts to play a song called 'everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right') and I'm fat, because I gained six pounds, so I go back to the gym. and confess about the peanut butter. and I'm having some surrounding category angst, where if I just built these shelves that I can't afford (and get a haircut and a whole new wardrobe of clothes) then everything would be fine. and that's not the case. and I'm too focused on me and raf was in the hospital, and people asked about him and I talked about me and people asked about my mom and I talked about how we were fighting and it came up to the surface and got clear and changed. (and colin laughs and almost drops the chords, sweet clementine...)

and I just deleted a bunch of stuff that didn't fit and didn't make sense, but I'll come back later and do it right. there were some other things that came up to the surface yesterday, that I'm still processing, that I don't want to be choppy about. that, and I have to get back to work, because I've been typing for the last hour and a half.

kisses and sweeping realizations and peanut butter addictions for all,

~vvb

and to help things along, in the last seven days:

I've missed one wrens show because it sold out and there was no room on the guest list, and one wrens show because of my car dilemma,

along with a killer ben gibbard solo set at the bowery, and yes, he played "a lack of color" the song before the last,

I've gotten more bills than the available balance in my checking account,

I've gotten my car stuck on the little cement strip you park up against (that I drove over, and had to have my car lifted off of),

and all the other shit that I already posted about. six pounds, emergency room, coffee on my favorite scarf, getting towed, car breaking down, having to spend (credit) money that I don't have, etc. etc. etc.

we've come to the startling realization that I'm simply under the influence of a perspective disorder. we're just not sure what the solution to that is, other than riding it out.

right. ride it out. if it takes too long, at least I can sleep for some of it.

~vvb

or gimme somethin'. anything. as they are prone to say in my world, sometimes I need a revelation. sometimes it's all too much to take -

and that sometime, my sweet furry friends, is now.

this tends to happen every time work slows down. I get all kinds of broke, I have way too much time on my hands, and I begin inspecting (and completely dismantling) my entire life. nothing's right. nothing fits. and it seems like if I just had a bunch of money, new hair, and a new wardrobe, that everything would be fine.

that is not, nor will it ever be, the case. that stuff doesn't fix anything.

see, I'm surrounded by all these musicians and uber-creative types. the kind of people that don't work a day job and sit around and make music all day. the kind of people that - well, in my case, make me second guess my entire existence. I'm not doing enough, I'm not creating enough, I'm just in my safe little bubble of new haven and some occasional good photographs. I'm not leaving an impression on the world. I'm going to be forty (in eleven years) and I've never gone to school or felt good about myself for more than thirty days in a row without wondering whether or not I'm really okay, or just kidding myself. I buy things to feel better about myself. I gained six pounds and I think I'm obese. and so on, and so forth.

and I can't stop sleeping.

then, as I type all of this out, it seems fairly ridiculous. I am somebody. I've done important things, if not just for me. I wasted almost ten years getting drunk and high and annihilating my entire life, and it turned me into who I'm supposed to be. I got sober and after two years was in a committed relationship, married and owned a house after three. come the fourth year, surrounded by everything I've ever thought I wanted, I realized it wasn't enough and took care of myself leaps and bounds more than I ever have in my life. I left. I got rid of stuff. and now, another year and a half later, I'm more myself than I've ever been. I'm (hopefully) turning into the me I've always been meant to be, and on the days I'm not, at least I'm heading in the right general direction. I know these things, they're not things I was told by someone else and then had to convince myself that I believed. they just are.

so why, then, the state of diress? today I'm a broke almost forty year old who's feeling nuts, trying not to take it out on her relationships, and wanting to crawl under her desk. to sleep. because the fourteen hours last night wasn't enough. I don't know how to be around people. I'm perpetually in the "I carried a watermelon?" state. I don't know how to communicate with my boyfriend, and I'm starting to wonder who the hell I thought I was for thinking I was ready and able to be in a relationship at all. I can't seem to get to work before 10 am. I have a cat and I live in one room and I'm just not enough. nothing seems like enough.

did I just mention the boyfriend thing? it's like I can't shake the holidays. I'm crying at the drop of a hat, among a multitude of other behaviors. and where I used to be all, oh, he won't like me if he knows I'm crazy, I'm more look, I am kind of crazy, and you don't have to be okay with it, but this is just how I am right now. and he's been nothing but patient and understanding, but, I just - I want to say here that I want to be who I really am around him, but I'm doing that. I guess a part of me is like, look, no, I'm really good, there's so much more to me than all this crying and diress - but I just need you to stick it out, and then I feel like who am I for asking someone to stick it out. hey, guy I've been dating for three months, sorry I'm out of my mind. but ride it out, willya? I'll come around at some point. promise.

(sigh.)

is this manic, or seasonal displacement, or what? I'm either on the hamster wheel, or I'm asleep.

hopefully it's just pms.

~vvb

Well, everybody's current favorite bootstrap-raising success story is only going to seep even deeper into the national subconscious, as they have just announced the itinerary for their first-ever American headlining tour. (No pesky National to steal their thunder this time.) It will kick off March 6 in frontman Alec Ounsworth's hometown of Philadelphia, wind its way down south for a little Langerado and SXSW action, head west and back, all in time to end up in the band's adopted home of New York City in mid-April.

are you kidding? plus a cynical, jaded article about the cloud room here. I promptly emailed j to wish him well, and he reassured me that the band is doing great. at least they'll get some press out of it.

I can take better pictures than that asshole, too.

~vvb

Jan. 9, 2006 issue - Music fans, rejoice: "list season"—that wintry instant when our nation's critics whittle a year of records into tidy top 10s—has come again. According to the album-review aggregators at Metacritic.com, Bob Dylan scored highest in 2001. Tom Waits took '02, '03 was Led Zeppelin's year and Brian Wilson owned '04. So who's winning this round? Some guy named Sufjan Stevens. That's "SOOF-yawn"—in case you haven't heard of him.

Stevens's success (and the dinos' decline) neatly sums up a year that saw "indie" rock suddenly selling to scenesters and suits alike. In November '04, Conor Oberst—the genre's poster boy—snagged the top two spots on the singles charts, and Death Cab for Cutie's 2005 record "Plans" debuted at No. 4 on the Billboard 200. Despite a dip in overall sales, indie labels now claim 27 percent of the music market—their largest share in recent memory. "This year, there's a real consensus around 10 records," says Adam Shore of Vice Recordings. "And they're all this type of indie rock."

Connoisseurs are crediting "Yupsters"—Yuppie hipsters—for the change. (Need help? Take a look at "The O.C.'s" Seth Cohen, who stocks his Range Rover with Death Cab discs.) For the past decade, indie records sold primarily to obsessives because, without major-label distribution, the music was tough to find. But now a few clicks and an iPod are all it takes for would-be Yupsters to indulge any curiosity. Just ask Metacritic's eighth-ranked act: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. A year ago they were unsigned—and unknown. But hot MP3 blog Stereogum.com posted a track in February. In June, Pitchforkmedia.com gave their debut a rare 9.0. Now they've sold 50,000 CDs—one of which provided the cube dwellers of NBC's "The Office" with the soundtrack for a recent BBQ. "We're at a crossroads," says Stereogum's Scott Lapatine. "Indie bands are gaining in popularity—and indie Yuppies are using the Web to discover them."

Expect the hybrid to thrive in 2006. Audi now advertises on Pitchfork. John Varvatos crafts custom Converse. Apple is set to unload as many iPods in the next three months as it sold between '01 and '04. And on Feb. 6, Sufjan Stevens will vie for indiedom's just-invented answer to a Grammy: the New Pantheon Award. Who knows? Come next list season, you may even be able to pronounce his name.
—Andrew Romano

are you fucking kidding me? how about stereogum, pitchfork, and all those people writing uber-hip blogs talking about what they read on stereogum and pitchfork just stop it already and figure out for themselves what they like or not. it's shit like this that makes a packed house at the iron horse disperse after clap your hands say blah finishes, leaving less than fifty people to see the national. who were the headlining band. who now are nominated for eighty bazillion plug awards and making everyone's top ten, twenty, and fifty of 2005. what the fuck, people? what. the. fuck.

and it's not like I'm all uber-indie or anything, christ I just started listening to the wrens last year. and I don't know what's cool and what's not, but there's some very interesting and depth-oriented people in my life that go here, listen to this. it might change your life. people that knew about death cab and the seattle scene while you were still going to new kids on the block concerts. people like kristin, who carried around a minidisc player when we were in high school because she was such an audiophile. and shit, if I hadn't fucked up my life drinking myself into a coma, I probably would have continued to peruse the indie scene too, but I didn't. and I don't pretend like I did.

so, yeah. so by association, I've managed to get hooked up with some pretty cool people who are into some pretty cool shit. but you know what? the arcade fire album didn't slay me. and you know what else? I haven't even heard sufjan stevens' full album yet, because I haven't fucking gotten around to it. and if they keep using that M.I.A. song in that fucking car commercial, I'm going to stab someone. I can only associate this with the rave scene flaring up for a little while there, and it eventually wound back up into obscurity, but I'm sure that all the hardcore ravers got all pissed off at people barging into their scene.

fuck, I'm all like, barging into someone else's scene. but it's because I like this stuff, not because someone told me I'm supposed to. for instance:

here's KEXP's top twenty of 2005, and my supporting commentary:

20 Broken Social Scene / Broken Social Scene
I don't even know who this band is, or if I know any of their songs.

19 Minus The Bear / Menos El Oso
ditto. except for thinking it was matt bivins from jump when he did a station ID.

18 Kanye West / Late Registration
I bought this because some hip old black guy told me it was an excellent album. it's alright, I guess. some of the songs are really good, but there's a lot of filler.

17 Gorillaz / Demon Days
I like what I've heard off of this, but never went out and got it.

16 Sleater-Kinney / The Woods
sleater-kinney should be shot and dragged out into the woods somewhere. I fucking hate them. now, go ahead, take away my honorary seattle card...

15 The White Stripes / Get Behind Me Satan
I heard that this was great too, but I never got around to it.

14 Okkervil River / Black Sheep Boy
this I did actually acquire, and was enchanted by. good stuff.

13 The New Pornographers / Twin Cinema
bought this because all the cool kids were buying it, and it didn't really slay me much...

12 Sigur Ros / Takk
what? ha. I've heard of this guy and everything, but that's about it.

11 M.I.A. / Arular
this I like, and should buy. never got around to it either, like the U.S.E. album from last year. galang-alang-alang.

10 Bright Eyes / I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
bought it, loved it, worship it, and was led to the light by kristin.

9 Wolf Parade / Apologies To The Queen Mary
heard they're excellent, missed them at cafe nine, probably should listen to it at some point.

8 Spoon / Gimme Fiction
I like the songs that got airplay, and the album's probably worth a listen.

7 My Morning Jacket / Z
I run hot and cold with them, some songs are stellar, some aren't. definitely wouldn't be in my top ten.

6 Beck / Guero
barf. hey, I'm like, different! I'm all old school, because I'm beck! so you must like me.

5 The Decemberists / Picaresque
loving the decemberists, long time. again, kristin led me to the goodness, that I must go see colin meloy solo at the iron horse. I obeyed. the rest is history.

4 Death Cab For Cutie / Plans
good, but I like kristin's mix better.

3 Bloc Party / Silent Alarm
heard a few tracks on KEXP, never got around to the album.

2 Clap Your Hands Say Yeah / Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
clap your hands say go fuck yourself.

1 Sufjan Stevens / Illinois
I'm sure I'll hear it soon. in a tampax commercial. seriously though, I've loved every track of it I've heard so far and I'm looking forward to checking out the album.

see? I'm not cool. not even a little bit. this year I fell in love with tom brosseau, and devin davis, and luke temple - jesus, how did he not make it on here? he was 2005, right? and hopewell and goldspot and the prayers and tears of arthur digby sellers and the cloud room (yum!) and andrew bird and the national. and the long winters, and the wrens! not hearing them until now officially makes me SO not cool. and I love all these bands, not because I wanted to like different things than everyone else, but because they spoke to me and stopped me in my tracks and drove me to tears. like ray lamontagne and the frames and stuff.

I wish I could go up to these urban outfitter-ed kids and rip their nanos out of their ears and go really, tell me, what is it exactly that moves you about clap your hands say yeah? what songs on your playlist make you homesick for places you've never been? have you ever stopped the car in the middle of the road, weeping, from hearing the words that have been in your head for so long coming out of someone else's mouth? to chords you could never figure out? tell me, oh indie rock yupster princess. what moves you?

none of this matters in the grand scheme of things. the lovers and poets will prevail, because we just do. and while we're at it, seth cohen can kiss our asses.

kisses,

~vvb

me? oh, not much. I spilled curdled yogurt all over myself yesterday - it smelled great. really. and last night, as a result of aforementioned hospital trauma, I slept through the meeting, most of the night, and stumbled downstairs around 9:30 this morning to no car. it had gotten towed. that was as much fun as the yogurt thing, only with the ticket and the tow I'm out $75.00 now. that's cool. I didn't like, want to paint my apartment or anything. let's couple that with the fact that had I stayed up, gone to the show, and come home and parked on the correct side of the street, that it would have been cheaper than the ticket.

moral of the story? check your expiration dates, and get to the show at all costs.

or something.

so there's so much under my skin, I don't even know where to start. I got off track with my diet and gained back seven or eight pounds. I'm having a hard time with my mom right now, which really makes me feel like a giant piece of shit, with her going through chemo and all. I have no money and no vision for my apartment, my bed is creaky and I need to change things to make it a living environment that I want - so I put my shit on craigslist and someone wants to buy my futon, and now I don't want to sell it. because where am I going to sit? and those little ikea couches don't cut it, really. so now I feel like I need to move. or throw away everything I own.

at the very least, I need a rug under my bed.

so I think it's one of those times to get down to what I want alot and what I need to have, and to ask for help, and to get with whatever the universe wants me to be right now. because all I can come up with is how much nothing seems to fit.

any suggestions?

~vvb

I think this might be hell. only with nice plastic edging.

dear universe,

I don't know what your plan is here, but I'm going to have to go with it. not like I have a choice or anything - well, I suppose I could buck the system and all, but I'm not going to.

so I've been at the hospital with raf for two days, well, I went to work and everything, but we got there sunday at 10 am and pretty much have set up camp. his arm blew up from a bad tattoo, and much to his dismay, I suggested the emergency room over football practice on sunday morning. he went on iv antibiotics, and I played nurse and slept in the equivalent of a mesh lawnchair for two nights. complete with offending bar mid-back and a return to full upright position whenever you weren't forcing the chair back down with your weight.

it was, to say the least, awesome in every way. but raf's alright, he got released today, and I'm about to head home for a much needed nap. that, and there's about eighty loads of laundry I haven't done that needs tending too. plus I think chacha thinks I left the country.

so thanks, universe, for that, and a friend backing out of the ben gibbard show tonight at the last minute, and my obstinate aunt wondering about the seating at brunch like a six year old holding a grudge, and an extra six pounds, and the shitty sandwich from subway today. it's been a hell of a week.

I talked with brooke for a while today. apparently it's just all in the perspective, because according to her I'm smart, beautiful, caring, sober, and I have a good head on my shoulders. that, and the boyfriend I second guess because I'm not used to being treated right actually does like me, and that we've just all got a little batch of crazy going on right now.

I think I need to sleep. from absorbing everything.

(big, tired, exaggerated sigh)

~vvb

oh, and ps - wish gregg and allyson luck tonight getting up front for the show. I hope they enjoy my tickets, and I'll enjoy the ten bucks I profited from not going. I'm sure they're quite nice and all, but right now I hate them a little bit.

and on that note, I think I'm moving to new york.

I've still got the original typing in a photo album someplace, for posterity's sake.

so, don't like, tell anybody or anything, but I like being domestic once in a while. last night I baked three trays of brownies and a loaf of banana bread for my friday night commitment. all from mixes, but still. there was a sense of satisfaction coming back into my apartment and having it all smelling like melting fudge and bananas, like I was june cleaver. for like, five seconds. then I made a bunch of mixes for my friends and didn't do the dishes.

I was also struck by this making oatmeal with the boy last sunday. he wakes up freakishly early, because he goes to work around 4 or 5 in the morning during the week. we usually, um, work up an appetite, and then pass back out for morning naptime. this week found us side to side by the stove, making tea and big hot steaming bowls of oatmeal and a few eggs over medium. I'd be lying if I didn't say I loved it.

and to wrap up this little friday update, in a very un-june cleaver-y kind of way, I hate kristin a little bit right now.

(ring, ring)

screen: unavailable

I ignore the call, and then realize it's kristin calling from work. I listen to the voicemail.

kristin: (on voicemail) omigodomigodomigodomigod call me. omigod.

I dial furtively and she doesn't even give the big pharmacy hello.

(ring, ring)

kristin: hi.

me: um, are you fucking kidding dude?

kristin: (giggling) no.

me: well, what happened?

kristin: um, so they announced that like, john roderick was going to be playing in pioneer square, at gibson, and like, they said if you were the tenth caller that you could like, go, and like bring someone, and like, a few other people were going to go, and then I called, and I like, dialed, and they were like, you're the fourth caller, so I called a few more times, and it was like, busy, you know? and I like, gave up, and then I just called one more time, like, randomly, you know? and they were like, you're the tenth caller!

me: are you kidding?

kristin: no.

me: are you kidding?

kristin: no.

me: I'll turn my phone off at three.

and then the conversation continued, ending with me going, dude, I hate you a little bit right now, okay I love you, bye. the funniest part of all of it was kristin sounding like a little kid telling the big part of the story, like a little kid getting excited about a puppy or something. lots of "ums" and all wriggling in her seat and stuff. of all the tenth callers, she's the best. I'm glad the universe loves her so much.

(sigh)

and so do I. endlessly.

my arms miss you,

~vvb

VICTORIA VANBRUINISSE, you have purchased the following:
-----------------------------------------------
Ticket face value: 20.00
Service fee: 4.90
Total charges: 24.90

Event: Ben Gibbard (of Death Cab For Cutie)
Venue: The Bowery Ballroom
6 Delancey Street
New York, NY 10002

Seating: GENERAL ADMISSION
Time: Tuesday, January 10 (8:00 PM doors)
Quantity: 1
Delivery: Will Call

I've already got the email in about photo policies... more to follow!

:*

~vvb

it was a whirlwind of all things local and seattle-y. shows, random interjections with famous people (famous in our world at least), sporadic views of the needle, visiting the mother ship, lots of mountains, lots of coffee, and a houseboat full of love. the octopus of love, to be exact.

the trip started with an uneventful flight, leaving me wondering why I was taking a five day vacation a week and a half before christmas. there were cards to mail and scarves to finish and many visits still planned along the consumption superhighway as designated during this particular month of the year. with a to-do list as long as my arm and no plans to touch it until hitting jfk again, we landed in the foggy night with no more than a little bump and it was off to baggage claim.

I love kristin endlessly, as she called me while wandering though the belts of duffle bags and golf clubs, pretending to still be outside, saying she didn't know when I asked if she was right behind me. it was so gorgeous to see her in the flesh, she had become almost intangible with most of my contact through typing and phone calls. hearing and seeing her simultaneously was reminiscent of meeting john and cheryl, only with an old perfect pair of jeans kind of comfortable familiarity angle instead. I felt her fleece against the side of my face and smelled her hair and we giggled and sat on the floor to wait for my bags.

it took until the next morning for it to compute that I was in seattle, with kristin, on the boat. I had slipped into the vortex of travel and it felt like I wasn't three thousand miles away somehow - and as it sank in I curled my toes at the thought of days and days ahead, of good shows and time to just do nothing together and hoping that the weather would hold out. we had breakfast at the jitterbug with deb, janet, and deb's daughter that morning, with stellar cheddar chunks on a fancy egg sandwich and the best granola I've ever had in my life. homemade, with whole peeled hazelnuts in it. I managed to hold off until the next morning when I ate it with warm milk and strawberries - I could barely contain myself. we left breakfast with "see you at the show"s and "so glad you're here"s and such, and headed straight to the laughing buddha.

it's almost like I've got to pierce or tattoo or otherwise alter myself in seattle, like being there begs for it. last time it was my nose, and the hair followed at home soon after. I've wanted to do the inside of my ear for a while, and before I knew it I was laying on the table wincing. it's totally perfect, the same gauge as my industrial, with a hematite ball - I absolutely love it. after that it was off to solstice for some girl time, really getting to talking about stuff - I love that the closeness between kristin and I has re-evolved, where I can tell by a sigh or a tone when she's not alright, where I know when she wants to talk and when she doesn't - we splayed on the leather couch with tea and nowhere to go for a while and just hashed some stuff around... there's no more perfect afternoon than that. I caught up on some calls for a bit and we left, I can't quite remember where we went... bubble tea? or was that another day? no, that wasn't the first day. I don't think.

later that night we had plans to meet up with mary jones and tom brosseau for dinner before he played - they are in my phone, after all - and we pulled it together and headed over to hattie's hat for seven o'clock. mary and tom came about a half hour later, and it was so good to see them - and tom's just so great, putting his arm around me and asking how I'm doing, and really listening, and not feeling like a famous guy at all - he's just feisty and funny and warm and sweet and honest all at once. apparently we needed to wait for some "friends" to eat, pete and brandy, who rolled in and shuffled us up the street for thai food.

pete wound up being pete that happens to be the president of loveless records, and in a band that made kristin and steve blink - mellers? mullers? (sorry, dude. I spaced it - email me.) brandy was his girl and a singer in her own right. we had satay and tom took my bracelet off and told me it smelled like me. a little while later he played, I shot a few black and whites, and all of a sudden it was late and we were leaving among tough girl rockabilly roller derby winners covered in bacon stickers. I kissed tom on the cheek, knowing it would be a while until I saw him. he promised to call. we headed back to the boat for the night.

and all of that was just the first day.

thursday brought the promise of sushi with mark and lori, and the meeting of the infamous willie. (hi, I'm an overly intelligent slightly obstinate border collie. because that's just what I do.) kristin and I filled the day with puttering, maybe this was the bubble tea day? I think it might have been. and the granola and the old navy that's better than ours and sparkles from the makeup store and weeping like a little girl through parts of pride and prejudice at a movie theater reminiscent of york square. only better. and in seattle. there were mountains and two red mustangs and we gathered mary and sake and edamame and headed out for dinner.

mark and lori are so nice, and so warm and welcoming, and it just felt like the perfect local seattle apartment with a few typical but interesting local seattle couples, and a border collie and a guest from far away and booking agent thrown in for good measure. there were christmas lights and handmade rolls and perfect music on the stereo, then some tom brosseau and fireside and views off the back porch and "we'll have to do this again"s and "totally look me up when you're out east"s and couch offerings and huggings. the spread was ridiculous and the night was just right. queen anne is fabulous, like all the other little seattle sections, with its own distinct personality and types of shops and windy roads that stop and start and hills and lights and greatness. we stole some shots in the dark before heading back to wrap up the second day.

friday brought one of the big money shots, the first night of two shows in a row at neumo's. wrens double whammy and overall gorgeousness. the daytimes are a blur, I'm trying to remember where we went... I had on a goldspot t-shirt, and around four we were at freemont coffee typing furiously, but the day... shit. hang on a second. oh! right. the station tour, for one. we saw deb and janet and john in the morning, in the afternoon. the vault and the instudio studio and the offices and the people and the dj booth and the conference room - it was a total mothership experience. it's where it all stems from, where it all happens, where everything starts for us - for me, at least. it's where putting little labels on things becomes the most important task of the day, because it's what needs to be done to further the thing you believe in. and it's also where we got posters and flipflops (yes, kexp flipflops) and invitations - so casually - to come to the vip party before the gig. lisa, kevin cole's assistant, uber-woman extraorinaire, guestlister of the privileged and few. one of my new favorite people to have met at kexp. we left the building skipping and reeling and loaded with schwag. the full connection of actually being in seattle happened at that very moment, and we started pulling the day together for gig #2.

I still can't put together what else we did during the daytime - more errands maybe? oh, the water was out and we had to go to the gym so kristin could shower, and then some puttering I think - and yes, the station, and then super goodness freemont coffee with panini and tea and - well, I'll just let kristin tell you about it.

nighttime fell with caffienated beverage a-flowing and mary jones in tow. she had me for a plus one, and when I asked cheryl if we could work or volunteer so everyone could go, she just added kristin and steve. and then we all got listed for the party. so we went. super goodness pcc food spread, shower radios, elbow rubbing, and hellos with cheryl. we drank bawls and ginger soda and I gawked at the venue and at the knowing that the wrens were either in the building, or somewhere in the very near vicinity. I got to spend time with janet and deb, we spotted greg and his wife for a moment, and I was smiling so much the whole night I thought my face was going to break. brain matter was dripping out of my ears, the music was perfect, and we went on with the show.

we caught the purrs, who were generally and technically good but didn't do much in the way of "slaying us", as mary jones would put it. then we chilled upstairs for some of emergency, and I wandered down to catch the end of the set and ran right into andrew. we chatted for a bit and I looked around for deb and janet, and andrew was all, just go downstairs, I'm sure they're down there. I was traumatized and elated, and had him lead me down in case I fell over or got asked who I thought I was by going downstairs - and there they were, sitting on the couch, not five feet away from kevin whelan and charles #2, sipping their drinks. I was all kinds of "I have arrived" and hung out until the okkervil river set with them, so happy to be there. and a kexp photographer took what is quite possibly the best polaroid I've ever seen of me and deb. well, it's the only polaroid I've ever seen of me and deb, but we just looked so cute - and I hate being photographed.

I didn't want to be all, hey, remember me? to any of the wrens, so I just kind of laid back and did get up to say hello to charles #2. a few moments later kevin, two feet from me at this point, erupted with a "hey kiddo!" and in that moment I didn't care if he didn't remember my name, it was just so cool to be remembered, period. not only that, but he and greg both were like, weren't you just coming tomorrow night? and I thought I was going to leap out of my skin. deb and janet, well aware of my wrens affliction, watched from the couch with grins - and my night could have ended there and been just fine.

we positioned ourselves upstairs next to the stage for the okkervil river set, where I got the same little double take from charles, the "hey, I remember you, but not your name, but hey, hi" kind of hi, which was enough for me. we watched okkervil put on a sick set, tight and live and perfect. multi instrumentalists and the wonderful polariod guy from downstairs handing me these big gorgeous lenses going "try this one!" and "here, use this!" and me standing on the side of the stage taking pictures that were making me want to quit my day job.

and then the wrens played.

looking back I keep comparing it to saturday, which was not only a more energetic set but a second night in a row of mindblowing goodness, but it was a great set in its own right. it's still hard, even after seeing them a few times now, to put it into words accurately - there's really nothing quite like it. you're talking to these guys, who are the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet. they're humble and sweet and they listen and hang out like you've known them for a while, at least a little while. it's almost time for the set and you go out to get a good spot in front of the stage while they disappear to get ready for the show.

and then - this thing happens. this thing where those nice guys retreat into the shells of the musicians on stage, and a switch flips somewhere... all of a sudden that guy you were laughing with downstairs is screaming his head off and disappearing into furious perfect chords and jumping all over the stage. they quiet down for a moment, and then blow the roof off of the venue. and you can't stand still, and it runs through your veins, and it goes on for an hour at least. and in my case it ellicits pictures that come out so good that, as mentioned, they make me want to quit my day job:

we were around for a few minutes before we started getting shushed out of the venue, but not before I could sit with cheryl waters on the stage for a few minutes to talk about the set. there had been a guy in the close vicinity, chatting with a few of the members of okkervil river and this girl I had seen at the wrens set in new york. he seemed the band-y guy type, and I asked cheryl who he was.

"him? that's john roderick."

my heart exploded. "shut the fuck up!" I whispered.

"john! come over here and meet my friend victoria."

he started walking over. under my breath I'm going, omigod cheryl stop it stop it are you kidding and she's grinning and john roderick is standing about eighteen inches away from me before I can run my fingers through my bangs.

"hi." cheryl gives him a big warm hug.

"john, this is victoria. she's here from the east coast for the benefit and to see some friends."

he shakes my hand. "nice to meet you." smiles.

my brain is now literally coming out of my ears for the second time that night. I wanted to tell him he was brilliant and my hands miss you and I'm writing a book where I meet you by accident and you're in love with my friend who lives on a little houseboat that looks like a cupcake and I drew them a heart and -

cheryl saves the day. "can you imagine, victoria being jealous of little old us, getting to see you on new year's eve!"

he's still smiling. "naw, we're just going to play a bunch of covers."

kristin and steve appear. "I'm going to have to sell my ticket then," kristin quips, grinning. she'll inform me later that john was standing right behind me the entire set.

I feel obligated to make introductions. or maybe that just happened in my head. no, I think it happened out loud. can you fucking believe it? john, these are my friends kristin and steve. john roderick. hi. I think I love you, just a little bit.

fate (and one of the bouncers) whisked in at that moment and took us out on a high note. we tumbled out onto the sidewalk, reeling from the goodness. holy wrens. holy kexp party. holy shower radios. backstage and long winters and cold hilly walks to the car and neumo's and djs and bliss.

and we got to do it all again the next night.

saturday came too early but with giggles and leftover showness. we piled into the car, grabbed a latte and we were off to paws where kristin volunteers. we picked up her friend chris and headed off for the land of cats in cages, some sad and some not, wanting to love them all. it was neat to see a place like that from the inside out, and even though I wasn't allowed to really play with all the little babies it was still fun. I fell in love about twelve times and around one o'clock the sleep caught up to me. I made some calls from the car while kristin and chris finished up, and we were off.

the daytime is a blur again, pressed out of my mind by what was to follow that night - for the life of me I can't recall what went on from 2 until 5. there was some time on the boat, and showering and such, but I'm drawing a blank on the rest. I'll come back if I remember it. anyway, evening rolled around and I decided to hit a meeting before the show. kristin woke up from her semi-nap to come wtih me, and it wound up being awful - I mean, meetings are good and all, the fact that we go and stuff, but - I tried to remind myself that saturday night meetings at home weren't exactly the best, and that it was good that I showed up - all that being said, we hightailed it out of there at the break. kristin left me at neumo's with kisses and good wishes, and I found my way in.

I stopped to see janet, and promptly loaded up on some schwag - the sick poster for the event we'd seen all over town, a little blue kexp shirt, and because I've got all these connections now I even got to stash my coat behind the table. I went out onto the floor to dig the divorce, and they were just stellar. really animated and killers-y but better, tight and original and commanding. I wound up on the floor next to cheryl and andrew. cheryl turns to me at the first break between songs and tells me we'll find lisa so I can get a wristband to go downstairs. I remind her that I love her a little bit, and lisa shows up. I watch cheryl gesturing and wristbands appear like magic. bliss, stamped wrists, yellow bands and photographs to prove it. the night could have ended right then and I would have been happy. I would say that eight more times before the end of the show.

deb showed up and we messed around, listening to the rest of the set and waiting for janet's dues at the schwag table to finish up. thoroughly ready for the night ahead, we gathered all our stuff and stashed it in a shower stall down at the end of the bathroom section downstairs and flopped on the couch. band members and free beverages abounded and the night started to take shape. we ate cookies and took pictures and made jokes and loved everything. wrens started to sporadically appear, so we stood up and pretended to be witty and involved deep in discussion so that we wouldn't start panting at the sight of them.

it turned out to be completely unneccesary. for the second night in a row, kevin came right over to me and said hello. and for the second night in a row, I was totally beside myself that members of like, the greatest band, possibly ever, not only remembered who I was but also made a point of saying hi. cue another I could die right now and be fine with it moment. and then it got better.

so we're shooting the breeze, drinking coke out of glass bottles and talking about the divorce and I tell kevin that I'm going to try to make it out to the show at the bowery next month. and he's all, oh, you are totally in, in fact why don't you come with us to philly too - and I'm like, well, that's kind of a bitch to drive from new haven, and he's like, no, I mean, come with us. I'd love to have some pictures where we didn't look like dorks, or whatever it was he said. all I can remember of that moment is how he smiles all the time when he's talking. and then we start the "are you serious / are you kidding" game.

me: are you serious?

kevin: yes.

me: are you kidding?

kevin: no.

me: like, come with you? like, with you with you?

kevin: yeah! we're like, friends now.

me: like, come to the house and get in the van?

kevin: yes.

me: are you serious?

kevin: yes.

me: you're serious.

kevin: yes.

me: you aren't kidding right now!

kevin: no! it'll be so fun.

me: (to deb and janet) he's totally not kidding right now.

janet: no, he isn't.

at this point, we're all grinning like idiots.

me: do you realize what you're doing to me right now?

kevin: just come! we'll have a great time.

me: shit, I can like, rent some good lenses and stuff -

(enter charles)

me: hey charles, I might like, come with you guys to shoot the new york and philly shows.

charles: oh, right on!

me: kevin was all like, in the van.

charles: oh, yeah. we always have room in the van.

me: you guys really aren't kidding right now.

charles: (realizing my head is exploding) no, it's really not glamorous. wait until we start farting and blaming it on each other.

me: are you guys really serious?

charles: sure! that would be fine, you know. you can totally come in the van.

janet: (totally on cue) see victoria? it would be fine.

kevin: yeah, we're at (gives street address), and you can just like, come there, and we'll all go.

me: when do you guys leave?

kevin: oh, like, sometime in the afternoon probably. it's easy, you just take the g w...

so that's not verbatim or anything, but that's about how it went. a little while later kevin came back out from the dressing room, to like, get some bread or something. and we started talking again, and he was seriously all like, no, we know you now. you can come and hang with us. and I'm all, like, come to the house. and he's like, totally. and I'm all, and I get to come with you, like, in the van. and he's like, well, it would be kind of silly for you to drive by yourself, and I'm just like, I have to keep pretending like this is normal, and he's all, but it is, in that way that he talks, smiling the entire time. it was totally dismantling. I then realize that we'll be getting home, to their home, from philly at like three in the morning. and that I'll be driving off into the sunrise. and kevin's all, oh, no, if it's late, you'll just sleep and go home in the morning. and I want the floor to swallow me whole. I decide that my new boyfriend may potentially not be down with that. I also decide that eating eggs on a sunday morning with the wrens may potentially be a once in a lifetime experience. and then I decide to table it until that saturday.

we're still grinning like idiots. I realize I need to stop talking before I throw up from excitement. that, and okkervil river is about to play. I catch part of the set and spend the last couple of songs before the wrens powdering up and changing the camera battery and peeing four or five times. they've said that they're in a different kind of mood tonight, and have promised a good set. I secure my spot stage left, check my settings, and wait.

the place is a lot more packed than the night before - it's a wall of people, and I can barely elbow in to get a spot on the front corner of the stage as they make us move around while the bands change places. instead of opening with what's a girl, as they did the night before and the last few times I'd seen them, charles started singing this boy is exhausted almost by himself, with greg chiming in, and kevin and jerry followed suit, and by two-thirds of the way through the song they were on. it felt more like the show at cmj that night - friday was a great set, but saturday just felt a little different. it might have just been me, freshly reeling off of band member contact. bandgasms, as shannon calls them.

so they play so late that the security people start getting huffy, and they have to end the set without this is not what you had planned or she sends kisses, the traditional end of set songs that I'd seen them do almost every time they played. I stand there in front of the stage, leaning on one leg, hand on a hip, mouth half-open, half-amazed, half-smiling. all amazed, really. they file past and deb and janet and I all follow suit before we can get kicked out with everyone else.

downstairs is an explosion, like they know the show was good but they'd never dare say it, or maybe they don't know, because the first thing greg says in the bathroom is "how did it sound?" and I smile and go, "good, really good" and he's like, "good." like he actually thought it may not have sounded right or something - and all of a sudden I don't want autographs anymore. kevin had said it earlier, like, but you get to come and hang out with us, like friends, right? and seemed baffled that I still wanted the poster signed, and then it shifted right there, and I didn't need the sharpie anymore. not in this particular room anyways... so janet and deb all get their things together and we grab coats and hug goodbyes and travel safe-s and see you soon-s follow suit, a sweaty kevin and promises to email and I'm heading up the stairs to leave this part of seattle behind.

I burst onto the sidewalk for the second night in a row, and replay the whole thing for steve. like, come with them. like, in the van. like, come and crash at the house if you're tired, here's the address. and email me at work, we'll make our plans... I'm starting to type in lyrics now in the middle of this, reading through again. I suppose that's not so bad. we rode home and came up the dock to a clean boat with a bed all made for me and little fluffy neva in a ball on top of the heating pad. I ripped out my contacts and fell into it completely. and if the show had ended then, and that's all there was, it would have been enough.

sunday brought homemade breakfast and more local sights, trips to the grocery store and the outdoor market in fremont and thai food and the antique (bus) mall. strings of red stars and perfect blue jeans, a whole house full of everything I'd ever need and all of a sudden I wanted to stay forever. crab rangoons and blue sky and mountains every day, shows every night. houseboats and cat paws and big flowers and bubble tea and kexp. knitting and reading, the tv's really just a magazine and we took a ten minute nap and I could feel you breathing. I missed you before I even walked away, forgetting my posters and wanting to stay forever...

(sigh)

so that was seattle. keep my seat warm, and save me spot in front of the stage.

loving you madly,

~vvb