And every day, Starbucks for breakfast.
This is the story of my last concert trip for the year, and how it brought me all the way round again to my home, that little place I carry in my heart. It is ridiculously, embarrassingly long.
I know this year I might've mentioned once or twice how magical shows are for me, but - and please excuse the redundancy, dear readers - this last concert trip was, in fact, magic. Full-on, touch-the-gods, universe-unfolding magic, leaving me feeling as transformed and as empowered as I had after Madison Square Garden. And, as real magic does, it showed itself best in the smallest moments. Magic doesn’t shout ALAKAZAAM; it whispers, it croons.
Maybe the Tarot readings I did before the trip put me in a magical frame of mind, or maybe it was the philosophical ramblings on the bus ride north. Regardless, watching the dawn unfold in the Allegheny Mountains, having an internal conversation with my gods, I was thinking about magic, not the band I was going to see, and realized something important about the source of my power. So much of who we are gets lost in contemplation of tomorrow, in the fear that we aren’t adequate. It’s safer to cling to what we know, to what might give us comfort, rather than risk standing on our own two feet and falling. But I’m a witch, I remembered, and a witch traditionally bows to no one, a witch clings to nothing. A witch flies.
And so, I resolved, as a witch, to turn away from the fear, to return myself always to the now where I stand straight and strong, confident in the magic of the world. This spell carried me into Camden, sent me walking away from the bus station without deciding on a direction simply because I had some time in which to explore, led me to Rutgers and side streets and, like a lodestone, to the venue. I wandered a little while longer, but always circling the place I wanted to be, and finally found myself a riverside bench behind the venue, and sat, and watched Philadelphia.
I have to been to so many cities I might not have visited otherwise, if not for my desire to see this band. True, my memories of most of them are limited to the block or so around each venue, but still. I sat there, watching loons and listening to the mariachi concert drifting across the Delaware, hearing the lap of water against cement and admiring the lines of the tall ship moored on the other shore. Behind me, behind the trees of the park and the tiny pocket marina, were the bands I was here for. Once again, I was in a city I had never dreamed I would see, nothing glamorous perhaps but a place made real to me because I follow a band. A moment of peace and contentment and existence that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.
Then came the scavenger hunt of meeting up with fuschia, my concert buddy - essentially texting "warm" and "cool" directions back and forth until finally catching sight of each other along the walkway to the battleship docked behind the venue - and the inevitable rush of conversation. I can never slow down my words when I see her. (Poor thing, I’m sure I overwhelm her, every time!) But there’s a wonderment there, you know, another kind of magic, the way this fandom brings you friends and kindred spirits.
We had seats for Camden, so that meant we could wander the site and buy popcorn and get fake tattoos and (particularly) drool on the MCR CBR250R. {DIGRESSION: Holy crap that is a pretty bike. I like that they had a little placard there with all the specs of the bike itself. It’s been awhile since I used to read motorcycle magazines so some of the technical terms were obscure to me but I could tell that DAMN I NEED TO GET MY LICENSE. fuschia obligingly took several snaps for me - did you know the Killjoy spider is plastered smack dab on the center of the fuel tank, how cool is that?} We bought our merch and got back to our seats, nice and close if somewhat to the side.
But it didn’t matter once the music started. Matt & Kim came out with their bright smiles and bright music, a drumbeat so infectious there was no stopping an answering delight, and a self-deprecating sense of humor that scooped me right up and won me over immediately. And after them, My Chem, and just like always, no matter where I might be in the venue, whether up in the nosebleed seats or hanging on the rail, sitting far to the side or front row center, they draw everyone close, they make every venue as perfect as a sacred circle, cast by their music and personality. While they are onstage, we are all between the worlds, dancing.
I only remember a few things about the Camden show, like that first glimpse of the guys as they came out onstage (always a wonderful moment), or Gerard running from one side of the stage to the other like an energetic boy. I remember Ray bouncing and Gerard joining in, and being tricked into singing the "never marry" line during Cancer by Gerard’s extra-long pause (the sneak!). I remember dancing, and jumping, and singing along with every word, and never looking away from the stage, except to share a happy glance with fuschia.
And afterwards, I remember feeling a sense of completion, of leaving before blink-182 played because for me, MCR is always the headliner, and walking behind the venue to catch an extra moment of riverfront air. The music from the arena behind us bounced off the battleship in front of us with all the volume of a fully-amped second band. I could see a few stars in the sky, and the lights of Philadelphia across the water, and knew there was another show ahead of me, and miles to be spent in the company of a friend.
One of the things I carried with me on this trip was the determination to let go of expectations, to relinquish control and allow each moment to be important for itself. In Virginia Beach, this became our guiding force, and even though things kept going wrong, even though we kept getting blocked in our forward motion, it all worked out perfectly. We couldn’t park at the venue in the morning, were firmly chased off by security; couldn’t check in at the hotel, the room not being ready; couldn’t settle on a place to eat lunch, but found the perfect restaurant with the best food; and though having to separate upon returning to the venue (fuschia to temporarily park the car offsite, me to grab our place in line), bonded with another fan in line, another member of the My Chem tribe. We were drenched by rain, and once let through the gates, accidentally went the long way around to the pit. It was hopeless!
Except, even so, we got our favorite spot in front of the stage, close to the barrier, just behind two blink-182 fans (who were shorter than me - not too bad a spot, I thought). And then watched as a speck of a gap between elbows resting on the rail in front of me slowly grew of its own accord into a space. At first, I didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to shoehorn my way in, but the people on either side of the space were unconcerned. It was my spot on the rail, after all. fuschia grabbed the bar under my arm so we wouldn’t be separated and, after Matt & Kim, the girl to my right slid aside to let her in, too. So there you go: even though we had gone the wrong way around, we were given barrier spots, right in front of Ray, side-by-side, as wet and as happy as we had been all those years ago at Madison Square Garden. Astonishing.
And the show was perfect. After being charmed by Matt & Kim in Camden, we made sure to cheer them on 100% in Virginia Beach. They are such a fun band, and even more so from the rail than from seats (and I was able to confirm that yes, Matt really does look quite a bit like Ewan MacGregor... *grin*). I’m really glad I got the chance to see them, and they are now a firm favorite.
And then came that moment again, that interval between the opener and My Chem, watching the set up and seeing the familiar faces of the crew, feeling the shift of the crowd behind, the anticipation, trying to center one’s spirit in that endless pause before the show, and the reason for being there, for all that travel, just to get to that moment.
That’s the magic, you know. In the next moment, the band appears, the crowd comes to life, and there’s no awareness anymore of anything but the sound and the energy and the joy. Ray right in front of us, and at one point, Frank, too, side-by-side with Ray and singing into his mic. Gerard was everywhere, as wonderful and as energetic as ever, hugging Mikey in the break between songs, joshing with Frank during another, pulling everyone in no matter they were with us on the rail or out beyond on the wet grass. All the magic led up to being there, to pouring myself into the show and leaving everything else behind but THAT MOMENT, that utter joy, and the smile that can’t stop. Mehdi was popping balloons in front of us, and not only was Ray on fire during his solos (I may have shouted TORO!!! more at this show than at any other I’ve been to yet) he was improvising, for heaven’s sake! I have never heard that before, new riffs during Helena and so many other songs, like bursts of sheer happiness he couldn’t control. Amazing.
We got to hear S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W both nights, but at the barrier I was amused to see that Gerard still needed a cheat sheet for the lyrics, a little clipboard with a mini light set down at the foot of the mic by a tech, for him to glance down at every once in awhile. *grin* The song itself is wonderful live, slower than other songs on the setlist but with an intensity that keeps everything moving forward.
Of course, no matter how much you want it to last forever, no matter how timeless it feels, the show has to come to an end. I’ve read complaints from fans about the last song, from people who think that Cancer is a poor song to end the show with, but I love it. After the energy and joy, to have that beautiful song at the end always feels like it allows the whole show to sink into my bones, grounding and uplifting all at once. And this time, the minute Gerard paused as if he was going to skip singing the "never marry" line again (or trick us into singing it again, the imp), I couldn’t help myself, suddenly I was full of sass and mischief and leaned out over the rail, shouting "Sing it! SING IT!"
fuschia joined in, and though I don’t know if he heard us, it amused me so much to have shouted that at him. He did sing the line, just like the night before, and then at the end, drew out the final note, holding it for much longer than usual, until his voice was a croak. What a goof. You never know what weird little things he’s going to do. :)
Once again, we weren’t planning to stay for blink-182 (with no offense to a good band), and had arranged with the couple behind us to take our spot at the rail when we left, but we lingered. The crew was clearing the stage, tossing out the usual assortment of flotsam to the crowd. I’ve stayed with friends who wanted souvenirs, but have never much needed anything myself, except, suddenly, this time, I did. I wanted a setlist. I don’t know why, but watching the tech walk around with the last one in his hand set me to whispering "oh please oh please oh please," and my hands were reaching out to it, all on their own. And when he tossed it down, and the security picked it up, it was to fuschia he handed it, and she, most graciously, most generously, handed it to me. It was ridiculous how happy this made me, as if all the magic of the day had been distilled into that single piece of wrinkled paper. It wasn’t just a souvenir, it was a talisman.
We walked around the venue a little while again, just to bask in the glow of the show and breathe the air, green and wet and rain-sweet, listening to the beat from the arena and needing nothing more than that. More than ever before, the show had filled me with such a warmth, such a feeling of utter satisfaction for being able to be there and be a part of it, to be a fan of My Chemical Romance, to have that energy and magic in my life. Normally, I feel a sense of sadness after the last show of a concert run, especially when I don’t have immediate plans to see them again, but this time, there was only contentment.
In the morning, we drove over to the beach, and went down to the water. I haven’t been to a beach since I left Seattle, and anyway, I’m not an undine like fuschia, so I was just going to wade a little, just to keep her company, just to enjoy the outdoors and the sea air. But my gods had other ideas, or maybe it was the Atlantic herself, because when we walked down to that liminal stretch of beach, where water and land mingle together, the foam reached out to me and washed over my bare feet with a sudden dizzying shock. I was caught off-guard, I literally had to turn away for a moment, had to close my eyes and catch my breath. It wasn’t just that it was so energizing, so magical - that came a moment later - it was that a piece of me had returned home with such force it hit with a physical blow; I was made happy and knocked off balance all at once.
Even now, it’s difficult to explain, but I was born in California, and though I didn’t live there long, I have always been a westerner, and excursions to the Pacific are a large part of many of my memories, no matter they took place on the beaches in California, the windy shores in Oregon, or the rocky coves of the Puget Sound. That shaped me, though I never realized it. Then I left, and I’ve been landlocked ever since.
But the moment I came near, the tide rushed toward me and pulled at my feet, splashed my shins with laughter, made the sand shift under my toes. This was the world water again, this was the blessing of the ocean, of the earth, and it was a part of what I had been, but had forgotten. We kept walking along the beach, but I couldn’t stop laughing, I couldn’t stop grinning. The foam kept running up to my feet.
We went a little further, and then fuschia found the waves she wanted to play in, dropped her shoes above the waterline and went back down to the waves. I stayed with her things, but took such delight in watching her - she was so joyful! And the energy and power of the water, the sense of distance, the air and the sand under my feet, all of it bringing as much delight and joy as the show the night before. Before we left, I faced the waves, too (though not as far in as fuschia had gone!), I let myself feel the sand form itself to the shape of my soles, feel the tug and pull of the water, and both ground my energy in it and opened myself up to it. I didn’t ask for anything specifically, didn’t send out a prayer, just held myself in mindful attention. When the wave came in, it was a stronger version of the first playful one, it hit me and pushed me and swirled around my limbs. I closed my eyes and embraced it - and felt exactly as I have in circle. The gods were there. The Atlantic welcomed me.
And coming out the water, with the taste of salt on my lips, I knew myself to be blessed, to be foam-born, to be stepping again into a new world.
I don’t know when I’ll see My Chemical Romance again, but I’m not afraid that I won’t, because there’s something I find at every show that cannot be denied, that is a necessary part of me. It’s part religion, the uplifted heart, and part fangirl, being the dork on the barrier, the old lady who is supposed to know better but refuses to give up the joy and excitement. This trip taught me that I will always smile too wide at concerts and forget to watch anyone else but the lead singer, I will bounce at the rail and raise my fist with the fierce determination to never sit down, never shut up. I will laugh at waves, and be giddy in the rain, and talk to strangers as if they are dear friends. I will be too shy to hug and find myself hugging, anyway.
This is my birthright. Magic and music, my heart on my sleeve, my foolish face grinning bright. I am this moment, I am my tomorrow self. I am the witch at the rock show.
I know this year I might've mentioned once or twice how magical shows are for me, but - and please excuse the redundancy, dear readers - this last concert trip was, in fact, magic. Full-on, touch-the-gods, universe-unfolding magic, leaving me feeling as transformed and as empowered as I had after Madison Square Garden. And, as real magic does, it showed itself best in the smallest moments. Magic doesn’t shout ALAKAZAAM; it whispers, it croons.
Maybe the Tarot readings I did before the trip put me in a magical frame of mind, or maybe it was the philosophical ramblings on the bus ride north. Regardless, watching the dawn unfold in the Allegheny Mountains, having an internal conversation with my gods, I was thinking about magic, not the band I was going to see, and realized something important about the source of my power. So much of who we are gets lost in contemplation of tomorrow, in the fear that we aren’t adequate. It’s safer to cling to what we know, to what might give us comfort, rather than risk standing on our own two feet and falling. But I’m a witch, I remembered, and a witch traditionally bows to no one, a witch clings to nothing. A witch flies.
And so, I resolved, as a witch, to turn away from the fear, to return myself always to the now where I stand straight and strong, confident in the magic of the world. This spell carried me into Camden, sent me walking away from the bus station without deciding on a direction simply because I had some time in which to explore, led me to Rutgers and side streets and, like a lodestone, to the venue. I wandered a little while longer, but always circling the place I wanted to be, and finally found myself a riverside bench behind the venue, and sat, and watched Philadelphia.
I have to been to so many cities I might not have visited otherwise, if not for my desire to see this band. True, my memories of most of them are limited to the block or so around each venue, but still. I sat there, watching loons and listening to the mariachi concert drifting across the Delaware, hearing the lap of water against cement and admiring the lines of the tall ship moored on the other shore. Behind me, behind the trees of the park and the tiny pocket marina, were the bands I was here for. Once again, I was in a city I had never dreamed I would see, nothing glamorous perhaps but a place made real to me because I follow a band. A moment of peace and contentment and existence that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.
Then came the scavenger hunt of meeting up with fuschia, my concert buddy - essentially texting "warm" and "cool" directions back and forth until finally catching sight of each other along the walkway to the battleship docked behind the venue - and the inevitable rush of conversation. I can never slow down my words when I see her. (Poor thing, I’m sure I overwhelm her, every time!) But there’s a wonderment there, you know, another kind of magic, the way this fandom brings you friends and kindred spirits.
We had seats for Camden, so that meant we could wander the site and buy popcorn and get fake tattoos and (particularly) drool on the MCR CBR250R. {DIGRESSION: Holy crap that is a pretty bike. I like that they had a little placard there with all the specs of the bike itself. It’s been awhile since I used to read motorcycle magazines so some of the technical terms were obscure to me but I could tell that DAMN I NEED TO GET MY LICENSE. fuschia obligingly took several snaps for me - did you know the Killjoy spider is plastered smack dab on the center of the fuel tank, how cool is that?} We bought our merch and got back to our seats, nice and close if somewhat to the side.
But it didn’t matter once the music started. Matt & Kim came out with their bright smiles and bright music, a drumbeat so infectious there was no stopping an answering delight, and a self-deprecating sense of humor that scooped me right up and won me over immediately. And after them, My Chem, and just like always, no matter where I might be in the venue, whether up in the nosebleed seats or hanging on the rail, sitting far to the side or front row center, they draw everyone close, they make every venue as perfect as a sacred circle, cast by their music and personality. While they are onstage, we are all between the worlds, dancing.
I only remember a few things about the Camden show, like that first glimpse of the guys as they came out onstage (always a wonderful moment), or Gerard running from one side of the stage to the other like an energetic boy. I remember Ray bouncing and Gerard joining in, and being tricked into singing the "never marry" line during Cancer by Gerard’s extra-long pause (the sneak!). I remember dancing, and jumping, and singing along with every word, and never looking away from the stage, except to share a happy glance with fuschia.
And afterwards, I remember feeling a sense of completion, of leaving before blink-182 played because for me, MCR is always the headliner, and walking behind the venue to catch an extra moment of riverfront air. The music from the arena behind us bounced off the battleship in front of us with all the volume of a fully-amped second band. I could see a few stars in the sky, and the lights of Philadelphia across the water, and knew there was another show ahead of me, and miles to be spent in the company of a friend.
One of the things I carried with me on this trip was the determination to let go of expectations, to relinquish control and allow each moment to be important for itself. In Virginia Beach, this became our guiding force, and even though things kept going wrong, even though we kept getting blocked in our forward motion, it all worked out perfectly. We couldn’t park at the venue in the morning, were firmly chased off by security; couldn’t check in at the hotel, the room not being ready; couldn’t settle on a place to eat lunch, but found the perfect restaurant with the best food; and though having to separate upon returning to the venue (fuschia to temporarily park the car offsite, me to grab our place in line), bonded with another fan in line, another member of the My Chem tribe. We were drenched by rain, and once let through the gates, accidentally went the long way around to the pit. It was hopeless!
Except, even so, we got our favorite spot in front of the stage, close to the barrier, just behind two blink-182 fans (who were shorter than me - not too bad a spot, I thought). And then watched as a speck of a gap between elbows resting on the rail in front of me slowly grew of its own accord into a space. At first, I didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to shoehorn my way in, but the people on either side of the space were unconcerned. It was my spot on the rail, after all. fuschia grabbed the bar under my arm so we wouldn’t be separated and, after Matt & Kim, the girl to my right slid aside to let her in, too. So there you go: even though we had gone the wrong way around, we were given barrier spots, right in front of Ray, side-by-side, as wet and as happy as we had been all those years ago at Madison Square Garden. Astonishing.
And the show was perfect. After being charmed by Matt & Kim in Camden, we made sure to cheer them on 100% in Virginia Beach. They are such a fun band, and even more so from the rail than from seats (and I was able to confirm that yes, Matt really does look quite a bit like Ewan MacGregor... *grin*). I’m really glad I got the chance to see them, and they are now a firm favorite.
And then came that moment again, that interval between the opener and My Chem, watching the set up and seeing the familiar faces of the crew, feeling the shift of the crowd behind, the anticipation, trying to center one’s spirit in that endless pause before the show, and the reason for being there, for all that travel, just to get to that moment.
That’s the magic, you know. In the next moment, the band appears, the crowd comes to life, and there’s no awareness anymore of anything but the sound and the energy and the joy. Ray right in front of us, and at one point, Frank, too, side-by-side with Ray and singing into his mic. Gerard was everywhere, as wonderful and as energetic as ever, hugging Mikey in the break between songs, joshing with Frank during another, pulling everyone in no matter they were with us on the rail or out beyond on the wet grass. All the magic led up to being there, to pouring myself into the show and leaving everything else behind but THAT MOMENT, that utter joy, and the smile that can’t stop. Mehdi was popping balloons in front of us, and not only was Ray on fire during his solos (I may have shouted TORO!!! more at this show than at any other I’ve been to yet) he was improvising, for heaven’s sake! I have never heard that before, new riffs during Helena and so many other songs, like bursts of sheer happiness he couldn’t control. Amazing.
We got to hear S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W both nights, but at the barrier I was amused to see that Gerard still needed a cheat sheet for the lyrics, a little clipboard with a mini light set down at the foot of the mic by a tech, for him to glance down at every once in awhile. *grin* The song itself is wonderful live, slower than other songs on the setlist but with an intensity that keeps everything moving forward.
Of course, no matter how much you want it to last forever, no matter how timeless it feels, the show has to come to an end. I’ve read complaints from fans about the last song, from people who think that Cancer is a poor song to end the show with, but I love it. After the energy and joy, to have that beautiful song at the end always feels like it allows the whole show to sink into my bones, grounding and uplifting all at once. And this time, the minute Gerard paused as if he was going to skip singing the "never marry" line again (or trick us into singing it again, the imp), I couldn’t help myself, suddenly I was full of sass and mischief and leaned out over the rail, shouting "Sing it! SING IT!"
fuschia joined in, and though I don’t know if he heard us, it amused me so much to have shouted that at him. He did sing the line, just like the night before, and then at the end, drew out the final note, holding it for much longer than usual, until his voice was a croak. What a goof. You never know what weird little things he’s going to do. :)
Once again, we weren’t planning to stay for blink-182 (with no offense to a good band), and had arranged with the couple behind us to take our spot at the rail when we left, but we lingered. The crew was clearing the stage, tossing out the usual assortment of flotsam to the crowd. I’ve stayed with friends who wanted souvenirs, but have never much needed anything myself, except, suddenly, this time, I did. I wanted a setlist. I don’t know why, but watching the tech walk around with the last one in his hand set me to whispering "oh please oh please oh please," and my hands were reaching out to it, all on their own. And when he tossed it down, and the security picked it up, it was to fuschia he handed it, and she, most graciously, most generously, handed it to me. It was ridiculous how happy this made me, as if all the magic of the day had been distilled into that single piece of wrinkled paper. It wasn’t just a souvenir, it was a talisman.
We walked around the venue a little while again, just to bask in the glow of the show and breathe the air, green and wet and rain-sweet, listening to the beat from the arena and needing nothing more than that. More than ever before, the show had filled me with such a warmth, such a feeling of utter satisfaction for being able to be there and be a part of it, to be a fan of My Chemical Romance, to have that energy and magic in my life. Normally, I feel a sense of sadness after the last show of a concert run, especially when I don’t have immediate plans to see them again, but this time, there was only contentment.
In the morning, we drove over to the beach, and went down to the water. I haven’t been to a beach since I left Seattle, and anyway, I’m not an undine like fuschia, so I was just going to wade a little, just to keep her company, just to enjoy the outdoors and the sea air. But my gods had other ideas, or maybe it was the Atlantic herself, because when we walked down to that liminal stretch of beach, where water and land mingle together, the foam reached out to me and washed over my bare feet with a sudden dizzying shock. I was caught off-guard, I literally had to turn away for a moment, had to close my eyes and catch my breath. It wasn’t just that it was so energizing, so magical - that came a moment later - it was that a piece of me had returned home with such force it hit with a physical blow; I was made happy and knocked off balance all at once.
Even now, it’s difficult to explain, but I was born in California, and though I didn’t live there long, I have always been a westerner, and excursions to the Pacific are a large part of many of my memories, no matter they took place on the beaches in California, the windy shores in Oregon, or the rocky coves of the Puget Sound. That shaped me, though I never realized it. Then I left, and I’ve been landlocked ever since.
But the moment I came near, the tide rushed toward me and pulled at my feet, splashed my shins with laughter, made the sand shift under my toes. This was the world water again, this was the blessing of the ocean, of the earth, and it was a part of what I had been, but had forgotten. We kept walking along the beach, but I couldn’t stop laughing, I couldn’t stop grinning. The foam kept running up to my feet.
We went a little further, and then fuschia found the waves she wanted to play in, dropped her shoes above the waterline and went back down to the waves. I stayed with her things, but took such delight in watching her - she was so joyful! And the energy and power of the water, the sense of distance, the air and the sand under my feet, all of it bringing as much delight and joy as the show the night before. Before we left, I faced the waves, too (though not as far in as fuschia had gone!), I let myself feel the sand form itself to the shape of my soles, feel the tug and pull of the water, and both ground my energy in it and opened myself up to it. I didn’t ask for anything specifically, didn’t send out a prayer, just held myself in mindful attention. When the wave came in, it was a stronger version of the first playful one, it hit me and pushed me and swirled around my limbs. I closed my eyes and embraced it - and felt exactly as I have in circle. The gods were there. The Atlantic welcomed me.
And coming out the water, with the taste of salt on my lips, I knew myself to be blessed, to be foam-born, to be stepping again into a new world.
I don’t know when I’ll see My Chemical Romance again, but I’m not afraid that I won’t, because there’s something I find at every show that cannot be denied, that is a necessary part of me. It’s part religion, the uplifted heart, and part fangirl, being the dork on the barrier, the old lady who is supposed to know better but refuses to give up the joy and excitement. This trip taught me that I will always smile too wide at concerts and forget to watch anyone else but the lead singer, I will bounce at the rail and raise my fist with the fierce determination to never sit down, never shut up. I will laugh at waves, and be giddy in the rain, and talk to strangers as if they are dear friends. I will be too shy to hug and find myself hugging, anyway.
This is my birthright. Magic and music, my heart on my sleeve, my foolish face grinning bright. I am this moment, I am my tomorrow self. I am the witch at the rock show.