Wait. . . isn't that?
If I could wrap this weekend up in a phrase, it might be "Wait, isn't that. . ." because that's the phrase I was continually repeating. "Wait, isn't that the same John that edits Craphound?" "Wait, isn't that Jenn's friend?" "Wait, isn't that the folks we met at that party in Delaware?"
In all cases, it was. The very same.
Jared and I went to the Steampunk World's Fair this weekend, where my Mom took a picture of us next to a Tardis. She called it "The Cool Box over there." I kept saying "Mom, it's a TARDIS." and she would say "Yes, the cool box!"
My mother loves steampunk. She made some vendors very happy on Sunday.
But Jared and I had a great weekend bumping into some wonderful people, Tee and Pip and Nikki and Peter and Megan and Steven and PJ - it was a weekend full of friends.
On Saturday, I had a glass of wine, and a rum and coke and then I went into one of the dealers rooms (which was also where the stage was) and there was this guy playing the accordion on stage. Usually when I hear performers my reaction is "that's nice." because I like live music, but it takes a lot for a musician to really interest me. But this guy was an amazing performer - his whole body was into it - he stomped his feet and waved his hands and maybe it was having a drink or two over my usual, but hearing his music I just wanted to clap and clap. Dispite the fact that it was only one person, this man had an epic feel to his music.
He played with such passion his hat kept falling off his head. "Jared," I said, "let's get closer."
He agreed, and we got in closer to the stage. One song after another, and this musician held me rapt. He played like we were the last people at the end of the world, and we ended his set, strangers with our arms around one another, singing a song we had never heard before together. Even before the end of his set, I said "Jared, we HAVE to get this guys CDS." so when he ended his set, I basically rushed to the front of the stage.
Getting closer, his face looked suddenly familiar, like I had seen him before. But I was certain if I had heard his music, I would have remembered him, so that had to be impossible, right?
"Can someone help me carry this stuff?" he said, pointing to his merchandise. I immediately scooped up a box and followed him out into the hall. Closer again, he was looking even more familiar. Then we put down the boxes, we bought two, and I told him how much I enjoyed his work, how we were pulled across the hall by the strength of his performance. As we walked away, the name finally clicked "Jason Webeley - Of course! I've seen his picture!" Sometimes the world feels very small, but small in the way that is it packed to the brim with talented, wonderful people.