Don't cry, New York City, I'll return for you.
Oh my, but it has been a long time since I made a post, hasn't it? To be precise, it has been since St. Louis, Columbus, Philadelphia and Madison Sq. Garden since I made a post!
St. Louis was a perfect show. The venue was the best I had ever been in for allowing everyone an excellent view -- it had the pit, and then raised tiers beyond it, so that you never had to stand behind too many people at once. Well, that's how it seemed, anyway. I didn't have to stand behind anyone at all -- my friends and I snagged the right-hand tier just above the pit. We were practically on the stage, what with being on a level with it and with the way the tier curled around toward the stage. Everyone saw us there that night.
*waves at Chris*
*waves at the men from Billy Talent*
*waves at Gerard and Frank*
At the very beginning, Gerard said he had a feeling it was going to be a perfect show, and it truly was. He was all over the stage, coming over to our side delightfully frequently, and chatty in the best random GWay manner. We were privileged to learn he had only paid $40 dollars for his jeans, a bargain even though the zipper wouldn't stay up.
There's more, and I'd like to lay it all out here for you, dear readers, but time moves on, and so must I. The next show called, and my friends and I road-tripped it over to Columbus. This was an outdoor venue, and there was no way any of us even wanted to attempt the pit, so we found ourselves a nice spot against the back wall of the pit area. And took advantage of the venue's liberal drinking policy.
I have never seen a show while intoxicated before, and it was a lot of fun. I was tipsy at the St. Louis show (we went through the bar for early entry privileges), but it had faded by the time My Chem came out, I'm happy to say. Not at Columbus though! For the first time I kept forgetting to really watch the guys on stage. The music and the alcohol kind of melded together in my system, and I sang and danced and flirted with the 19-year-old standing next to me (it was okay, his 20-something friend was trying to pick up my friend on the other side of me. lol). The aftermath of the Columbus show was maudlin, however, and we ended up in the bar next-door, rubbing elbows with the guys from Billy Talent and some of MCR's crew. I wish I had been able to tell Billy Talent how much I had enjoyed their performances. Columbus was their last show on the tour, and I was going to miss them. They truly amped up the crowd, every night.
After Columbus, I had to leave. I was going on to Philadelphia, even though my money was dwindling quickly and I wasn't even sure I had a ticket to the next show. But I had to go.
Saying good-bye to my friends at the Columbus bus station was so very hard.
But the world is a magical place, and this trip has taught me that in such a direct fashion. If I ever forget it the Powers That Be will be justified in giving me a smackdown. Not only was I able to buy a ticket for the first Philly show (and making a new friend in the process *waves at trudybooth*), but in line that day I was able to find a ticket for the second show as well. And because I was poor and couldn't afford a hotel, and so went directly to the venue from the bus station (at 5 am), I ended up on the barrier that night! How wonderful!
*waves at Chris*
*waves at Gerard*
And as a further reward for my poverty, and staying at the venue all night (sleeping on concrete isn't so bad when a kind soul loans you their sleeping bag *blows kisses to claireweasely*), I had barrier for the second night's show as well.
*more waving stageward*
During my second day in line at the Philly venue, the magic of things reared up again. A new friend, fuschia, gave me a ticket to the last show. Gave me a GA ticket to Madison Square Garden. Gave. She is the Mother Teresa of My Chem fans.
And so, after the show, after the Frankie line (met him four times this tour, and hugged him on three of those occasions. He's an addictive hug.), back to the bus with another line friend who was also returning to New York City. Once there, she guided me through the streets to my hostel, and the relative civilization (after untold days without a shower and two nights without a bed) of a shower, laundry, internet, and a bunk all to myself.
Ahhhhhhh.
Got to Madison Sq. Gardens around 8:30 am the day of the show. Not as early as I had wanted to get there, but I guess ten hours prior to the show was early enough.
Especially since I got barrier.
At Madison Sq. Garden.
It didn't matter that I was soaked through a dozen times over from the driving rain and wind that assailed us in line, forcing us to huddle together under little huts of clotted umbrellas. It didn't matter that I had so much water in my shoes and socks I was considering putting in a diving board and charging admission this summer. I was high on coffee and rice crackers and comaraderie, and I was on the barrier.
And it was another perfect show.
And I cried during "Helena", as much because it marked the end of my own tour as it marked the end of theirs.
Just before the show started, hanging there on the bar at the front of the crowd, looking across at the family members talking in the VIP area, it hit me: I had done it. Though this "spree" (can hardly call it that, anymore) had started out as a week-end road trip down to California, there I was, in New York City, in Madison Square Garden, waiting for Drive By to come out, waiting to see My Chem's last show. I had travelled across the country, seen states I never thought to visit, and was in the city I hadn't thought about since I was an ambitious starry-eyed teenager.
Along the way, friends I only knew by tone of writing and user-name became real to me -- and some, I discovered, I had been waiting to fit into my heart. Along the way, people who should have been strangers helped me in so many ways. I have to grin suddenly, because the image that flitted into my head right now is that this tour trip of mine was like a country-wide crowdsurf, and I made my way to New York supported by the hands of so many generous souls.
But then it was done.
I've been in New York since then, staying with trudybooth (may blessings rain down upon her). I've been at utter loose ends. All the goals I started out this trip with, all my lofty philosophical ideas, vanished completely on the road and in the venues. Without the next show, without the next barrier spot, without the prospect of the next grin from stage, I was lost.
And I was stranded.
I didn't have enough money to get back to Seattle, nor did I have enough money to stay here in New York, even though I wanted to. Even though, strangely, I have this sense that there is a little corner of this city waiting for me to call home.
I didn't know what to do. I was a deer in the headlights of my own life.
So, I wandered, and journalled, cried in public (a little), and used the last of my money to go to the Metropolitan Museum and The Cloisters, to eat delicious little meals too late at night, to nibble at what it might be like to live here.
And I figured out what was next. I talked to friends and to my mom (Seriously, what would we do without moms? Even when they get it wrong, they get it right.), journalled a bit more, and finally cleared away enough clutter to be able to glimpse a path again.
I don't know if it's the best thing for me. I don't know if it's moving forward or a retreat. But it feels like a positive step. It feels like a good thing to do, and a productive thing to do.
So, I'm leaving New York today, because I can't afford to stay. I'm heading back down to Kentucky, and the folks. There, I'll hog their computer and eat all their carrots and drink all their coffee. I'll wash all my clothes and, yes, I'll probably cry some more because I'm emotional like that. And I'll set up the next step.
When I leave there, I won't be going back to Seattle. I'm moving to Kansas for a little while. I'm going to find an apartment there, and get a job, and rebuild my bank account (which is currently in the red *eep*). I'm going there because that's where Laverne is, and I'm Shirley, and somehow, it just isn't right that the two shouldn't be together. It's where I need to be.
It isn't what I ever could have imagined would happen at the end of this trip. In a way, I have to find myself all over again. I thought I would do that while following MCR across the country, but instead I lost myself, and maybe that was what was supposed to happen. You can't plant a new life when the garden is clotted with the old.
I don't know if I will live in Seattle again. I love that city, I love the Pacific Northwest, and I am proud to be from there. But the thought of going back there right now feels like climbing back into a box, and I can't do that. I have the whole country now. I can go anywhere, I can live anywhere.
I truly must follow only my heart now.
My Chemical Romance is a band that changes lives. It saves some, others it merely inspires. Since I fell in love with this band, they have given me, through their music and their example, the courage to go forward in my life in ways I could not have imagined. With their music in my ears, I have the strength to act more boldly, to live more foolishly, to sing my heart's true song which harmonizes so well with theirs.
I am a different person because this band is in my life.
Saying good-bye to them at Madison Square Garden was so very difficult. I couldn't leave the venue until their cars had pulled away, hours later. I stood in the dark and the cold, still wet and shivering. I watched them drive away, each to their own life, and, to use the word of a friend, it was bittersweet.
They're not on the road anymore, and it will be years before I can stand in front of them again and be exultant. But what they have given their fans, the energy they have poured into their music and the sincerity with which they approached it, that stays with us.
The trip is over. My Chemical Romance has come in off the road, and so must I.
But all of life is an adventure, and the exploration never ends.
St. Louis was a perfect show. The venue was the best I had ever been in for allowing everyone an excellent view -- it had the pit, and then raised tiers beyond it, so that you never had to stand behind too many people at once. Well, that's how it seemed, anyway. I didn't have to stand behind anyone at all -- my friends and I snagged the right-hand tier just above the pit. We were practically on the stage, what with being on a level with it and with the way the tier curled around toward the stage. Everyone saw us there that night.
*waves at Chris*
*waves at the men from Billy Talent*
*waves at Gerard and Frank*
At the very beginning, Gerard said he had a feeling it was going to be a perfect show, and it truly was. He was all over the stage, coming over to our side delightfully frequently, and chatty in the best random GWay manner. We were privileged to learn he had only paid $40 dollars for his jeans, a bargain even though the zipper wouldn't stay up.
There's more, and I'd like to lay it all out here for you, dear readers, but time moves on, and so must I. The next show called, and my friends and I road-tripped it over to Columbus. This was an outdoor venue, and there was no way any of us even wanted to attempt the pit, so we found ourselves a nice spot against the back wall of the pit area. And took advantage of the venue's liberal drinking policy.
I have never seen a show while intoxicated before, and it was a lot of fun. I was tipsy at the St. Louis show (we went through the bar for early entry privileges), but it had faded by the time My Chem came out, I'm happy to say. Not at Columbus though! For the first time I kept forgetting to really watch the guys on stage. The music and the alcohol kind of melded together in my system, and I sang and danced and flirted with the 19-year-old standing next to me (it was okay, his 20-something friend was trying to pick up my friend on the other side of me. lol). The aftermath of the Columbus show was maudlin, however, and we ended up in the bar next-door, rubbing elbows with the guys from Billy Talent and some of MCR's crew. I wish I had been able to tell Billy Talent how much I had enjoyed their performances. Columbus was their last show on the tour, and I was going to miss them. They truly amped up the crowd, every night.
After Columbus, I had to leave. I was going on to Philadelphia, even though my money was dwindling quickly and I wasn't even sure I had a ticket to the next show. But I had to go.
Saying good-bye to my friends at the Columbus bus station was so very hard.
But the world is a magical place, and this trip has taught me that in such a direct fashion. If I ever forget it the Powers That Be will be justified in giving me a smackdown. Not only was I able to buy a ticket for the first Philly show (and making a new friend in the process *waves at trudybooth*), but in line that day I was able to find a ticket for the second show as well. And because I was poor and couldn't afford a hotel, and so went directly to the venue from the bus station (at 5 am), I ended up on the barrier that night! How wonderful!
*waves at Chris*
*waves at Gerard*
And as a further reward for my poverty, and staying at the venue all night (sleeping on concrete isn't so bad when a kind soul loans you their sleeping bag *blows kisses to claireweasely*), I had barrier for the second night's show as well.
*more waving stageward*
During my second day in line at the Philly venue, the magic of things reared up again. A new friend, fuschia, gave me a ticket to the last show. Gave me a GA ticket to Madison Square Garden. Gave. She is the Mother Teresa of My Chem fans.
And so, after the show, after the Frankie line (met him four times this tour, and hugged him on three of those occasions. He's an addictive hug.), back to the bus with another line friend who was also returning to New York City. Once there, she guided me through the streets to my hostel, and the relative civilization (after untold days without a shower and two nights without a bed) of a shower, laundry, internet, and a bunk all to myself.
Ahhhhhhh.
Got to Madison Sq. Gardens around 8:30 am the day of the show. Not as early as I had wanted to get there, but I guess ten hours prior to the show was early enough.
Especially since I got barrier.
At Madison Sq. Garden.
It didn't matter that I was soaked through a dozen times over from the driving rain and wind that assailed us in line, forcing us to huddle together under little huts of clotted umbrellas. It didn't matter that I had so much water in my shoes and socks I was considering putting in a diving board and charging admission this summer. I was high on coffee and rice crackers and comaraderie, and I was on the barrier.
And it was another perfect show.
And I cried during "Helena", as much because it marked the end of my own tour as it marked the end of theirs.
Just before the show started, hanging there on the bar at the front of the crowd, looking across at the family members talking in the VIP area, it hit me: I had done it. Though this "spree" (can hardly call it that, anymore) had started out as a week-end road trip down to California, there I was, in New York City, in Madison Square Garden, waiting for Drive By to come out, waiting to see My Chem's last show. I had travelled across the country, seen states I never thought to visit, and was in the city I hadn't thought about since I was an ambitious starry-eyed teenager.
Along the way, friends I only knew by tone of writing and user-name became real to me -- and some, I discovered, I had been waiting to fit into my heart. Along the way, people who should have been strangers helped me in so many ways. I have to grin suddenly, because the image that flitted into my head right now is that this tour trip of mine was like a country-wide crowdsurf, and I made my way to New York supported by the hands of so many generous souls.
But then it was done.
I've been in New York since then, staying with trudybooth (may blessings rain down upon her). I've been at utter loose ends. All the goals I started out this trip with, all my lofty philosophical ideas, vanished completely on the road and in the venues. Without the next show, without the next barrier spot, without the prospect of the next grin from stage, I was lost.
And I was stranded.
I didn't have enough money to get back to Seattle, nor did I have enough money to stay here in New York, even though I wanted to. Even though, strangely, I have this sense that there is a little corner of this city waiting for me to call home.
I didn't know what to do. I was a deer in the headlights of my own life.
So, I wandered, and journalled, cried in public (a little), and used the last of my money to go to the Metropolitan Museum and The Cloisters, to eat delicious little meals too late at night, to nibble at what it might be like to live here.
And I figured out what was next. I talked to friends and to my mom (Seriously, what would we do without moms? Even when they get it wrong, they get it right.), journalled a bit more, and finally cleared away enough clutter to be able to glimpse a path again.
I don't know if it's the best thing for me. I don't know if it's moving forward or a retreat. But it feels like a positive step. It feels like a good thing to do, and a productive thing to do.
So, I'm leaving New York today, because I can't afford to stay. I'm heading back down to Kentucky, and the folks. There, I'll hog their computer and eat all their carrots and drink all their coffee. I'll wash all my clothes and, yes, I'll probably cry some more because I'm emotional like that. And I'll set up the next step.
When I leave there, I won't be going back to Seattle. I'm moving to Kansas for a little while. I'm going to find an apartment there, and get a job, and rebuild my bank account (which is currently in the red *eep*). I'm going there because that's where Laverne is, and I'm Shirley, and somehow, it just isn't right that the two shouldn't be together. It's where I need to be.
It isn't what I ever could have imagined would happen at the end of this trip. In a way, I have to find myself all over again. I thought I would do that while following MCR across the country, but instead I lost myself, and maybe that was what was supposed to happen. You can't plant a new life when the garden is clotted with the old.
I don't know if I will live in Seattle again. I love that city, I love the Pacific Northwest, and I am proud to be from there. But the thought of going back there right now feels like climbing back into a box, and I can't do that. I have the whole country now. I can go anywhere, I can live anywhere.
I truly must follow only my heart now.
My Chemical Romance is a band that changes lives. It saves some, others it merely inspires. Since I fell in love with this band, they have given me, through their music and their example, the courage to go forward in my life in ways I could not have imagined. With their music in my ears, I have the strength to act more boldly, to live more foolishly, to sing my heart's true song which harmonizes so well with theirs.
I am a different person because this band is in my life.
Saying good-bye to them at Madison Square Garden was so very difficult. I couldn't leave the venue until their cars had pulled away, hours later. I stood in the dark and the cold, still wet and shivering. I watched them drive away, each to their own life, and, to use the word of a friend, it was bittersweet.
They're not on the road anymore, and it will be years before I can stand in front of them again and be exultant. But what they have given their fans, the energy they have poured into their music and the sincerity with which they approached it, that stays with us.
The trip is over. My Chemical Romance has come in off the road, and so must I.
But all of life is an adventure, and the exploration never ends.