...do what they can.

I realize in blog world I should've posted my weekend adventures zero to 2 days after they happened, but I didn't think to until Meesh came into ballet today commenting that she was sorely disappointed when she checked for a Streetlight update and didn't find one. My apologies. It won't happen again.

Saturday...
...was the day I didn't know how the hours would play out. My attitude was teetering the edge of lowsy but fortunately, a good man by the name of Palmer got me off the tightrope and to Temple Beth'am. I wrote before this show, after it, and even during it. I was busy scribbling on my hands and arms while Kevin Stereo was busy seeming important. We were both half successful. Without my usual tC family there, I found I actually had the time to notice more. So chances are, if you were at this show and I know you, I probably wrote about you. That's for the creepy book though, not the communal blog. Here's what I can say:

Always at a show and always one of the only girls in their circle. Tonight, definitely the only girl comfortable in their circle. I look into the eyes of the girls with heavy arms slung around their necks and see that this isn't exactly what they had had in mind. I'd like to try to transmit via vision that I've been there, and I've done the time they're doing now. Don't worry I'd say, it's worth it.

There are constants at these shows which, I think are the real reasons I keep coming back. Because constants feel familiar and familiar feels like home. There are the clusters of brave girls in the front row who are obnoxious and yet, I don't hate them because I know they are just trying to get noticed. Most of us are. There are the friends of the band on the side. These include other musicians plus whoever came with them. I am one of these tonight. This role in the hierarchy is funny to me, because everybody has to stand, arms folded, and merely bop their heads supportively. The lack of movement represents the coolness of their status. lol. There is the ever alluring merch row, which I try to avoid; again as part of the hierarchy. It occurs to me that I've been in this particular ruling system way too long yet, it's about who you know not what you think of the rules, so I shake the thought and go to talk to Andre Palmer and Tom in Color.

There are the mistakes of my past walking around on girls' t-shirts. Damn the invention of the band tee. Nothing like merch to remind you of your ex-band boys. As I glance around the room I find another way to be reminded of the past; to have it staring right back at you.

Has only a year come and gone since I stood and stared at this same boy from across a room? I smirk, remembering exactly what I was wondering about him. Was it this same 1/2 shitty band playing in front of us? We are both older now, and surely it shows. It shows in the matured scene styles (we were just punk ass kids back then), in the bodies (not as scrawny or unsure as they once were), and in the eyes (now darker with the depth of the past year's rollercoasters). I know it's past our time and that we will never get back to the spontaneous junkie afternoons we once shared - god were we all addicted to each other! Yet it has not been so long that I cannot still see the crisp playground air in his cheeks. A few of us still wish that day had lasted forever.

Mostly tonight he has been sarcastic with me, our presences not going unnoticed by one another, just publically unacknowledged. Until now. He laughs at my scene girl smile - the kind that so obviously is a direct result of the singing amplifiers. The kind that he knows I can't begin to try to suppress. He shakes his head at my excited toes and looks away when I meet his smile. A moment later, in an effort to regain the standoffish scene star sex appeal, he winks at me. Then he looks into my eyes and laughs at his own reflection, realizing that I can see right through him.


Enough for one post.
Andre must already be livid.

...EBby.
"Surgery in Canada" by: Life Between Sleep