(no subject)
Hi, I’m seventeen. How many books do you really think I can read, and let alone have time to write about? Therefore, because my mindset has changed from a lack of sensibility to lazy and uninspired, I have decided to write this-a concert review. (Gasp for breath)
Last night, a preposition that no good journalism should ever use unless followed by a specific date, was February 21, 2005. It was a night I had been looking forward to even before it had come around, obviously.
Here is a recap. Back in November, a very lyrically gifted band had scheduled to perform at a local venue. By local I mean that the place was within a thirty-minute drive-fifteen minutes if Elizabeth is driving. So of course, I strapped on my Vans, threw on a checkered belt, and ran over to my fellow concert go-er’s house. By run I mean drive the speed limit and arrive fifteen minutes late.
I was out of breath, flushed, and had pre-concert jitters, which went away after eating 3 packs of vanilla icing Dunkaroos and a rice crispy treat. Then I had pre-concert heartburn and an upset stomach. Ten minutes and a dose of Pepto-Bismol later, we were ready to go, minus the fact that neither my friend nor I had any idea of the cost of this precious concert. So, we called the only person who could help us-411. The Baltimore venue that would be hosting my friend’s favorite band, and my future husband-- the long curly haired bassist-was sold out.
I cried that night.
Then I went home and wrote the band an email. It said something along the lines of, "Hey, I missed your show. Please come back." It was signed from Deeply Depressed in Baltimore.
Jump to three months later, on February 21. The unthinkable happened. Say Anything, home of the greatest lyrics since Conner Oberst himself, came to town. So, we drove the thirty some miles down to the big city, got lost, then got un-lost, and then parked in a dingy dim-lit parking lot in a creepy back alley. I was wearing a Doors shirt-it wasn’t mine but it was cool nonetheless. Elizabeth liked it too. The kid we were with was wearing a pink shirt-thought that was funny. Oh, and Caitlin was wearing what she wore to work that day-thought I would add that.
Here is a little hint; sometimes what you see on the Internet can be completely different in real life. Three out of the four of us spent the first ten minutes, or so, contemplating whether or not some guy with a beanie on was Max Bemis. He wasn’t. Then, for the next 20 minutes we sat and listened to some guy named Chase cry his heart out into the mike. I enjoyed the Jared Leto look alike banging on the keyboards.
Finally, as if it had been hours of sitting on the un-crowded floor staring up at a stage of roadies and stage crew, the band came on. Max Bemis was definitely not the guy in the beanie. Instead, he was the guy that my friend Caitlin hugged after the show, and the guy that Elizabeth confessed her love to. All I said was, "Hi, how are you." Pretty original, if you ask me.
Anyway, it was a good night. The bell is about to ring.
Last night, a preposition that no good journalism should ever use unless followed by a specific date, was February 21, 2005. It was a night I had been looking forward to even before it had come around, obviously.
Here is a recap. Back in November, a very lyrically gifted band had scheduled to perform at a local venue. By local I mean that the place was within a thirty-minute drive-fifteen minutes if Elizabeth is driving. So of course, I strapped on my Vans, threw on a checkered belt, and ran over to my fellow concert go-er’s house. By run I mean drive the speed limit and arrive fifteen minutes late.
I was out of breath, flushed, and had pre-concert jitters, which went away after eating 3 packs of vanilla icing Dunkaroos and a rice crispy treat. Then I had pre-concert heartburn and an upset stomach. Ten minutes and a dose of Pepto-Bismol later, we were ready to go, minus the fact that neither my friend nor I had any idea of the cost of this precious concert. So, we called the only person who could help us-411. The Baltimore venue that would be hosting my friend’s favorite band, and my future husband-- the long curly haired bassist-was sold out.
I cried that night.
Then I went home and wrote the band an email. It said something along the lines of, "Hey, I missed your show. Please come back." It was signed from Deeply Depressed in Baltimore.
Jump to three months later, on February 21. The unthinkable happened. Say Anything, home of the greatest lyrics since Conner Oberst himself, came to town. So, we drove the thirty some miles down to the big city, got lost, then got un-lost, and then parked in a dingy dim-lit parking lot in a creepy back alley. I was wearing a Doors shirt-it wasn’t mine but it was cool nonetheless. Elizabeth liked it too. The kid we were with was wearing a pink shirt-thought that was funny. Oh, and Caitlin was wearing what she wore to work that day-thought I would add that.
Here is a little hint; sometimes what you see on the Internet can be completely different in real life. Three out of the four of us spent the first ten minutes, or so, contemplating whether or not some guy with a beanie on was Max Bemis. He wasn’t. Then, for the next 20 minutes we sat and listened to some guy named Chase cry his heart out into the mike. I enjoyed the Jared Leto look alike banging on the keyboards.
Finally, as if it had been hours of sitting on the un-crowded floor staring up at a stage of roadies and stage crew, the band came on. Max Bemis was definitely not the guy in the beanie. Instead, he was the guy that my friend Caitlin hugged after the show, and the guy that Elizabeth confessed her love to. All I said was, "Hi, how are you." Pretty original, if you ask me.
Anyway, it was a good night. The bell is about to ring.