The Walkmen, Studio A, August 25, 2006
A few posts ago I ranted about Studio A turning The Walkmen's concert into a "very special invite only" performance. Somehow, the exclusivity was lifted and I miraculously secured tickets for myself and Superbee, my fellow intrepid adventurer. Details of the show to follow, but first a little about our pre-concert escapades...
We decided to meet up and have dinner in the Design District before the show. Simple enough plan, right? However, after transversing the entire area, we could not find any of the five restaurants we were interested in. This always seems to happen when I go over that way. Things that supposedly exist suddenly don't. Gigi's has closed. 190 may have been in plain sight, but we couldn't see it. The Ethiopian place? Missed that, too. Same story with Food Cafe. At least we found Charcuterie, but it's sign ("We're Open!") was just another falsehood. Before resorting to the Denny's on Biscayne, we dropped in at Stop Miami for tapas and refreshing glasses of rose. It all worked out in the end, but honestly, the Design District is simply not
ever worth the effort, at least not from my experience.
Anyway, on to the show...
There were two opening bands and we missed the first. The second, Bobby Bare, Jr. , sounded good and had some pretty amusing songs (including one about how hard it is to be the Bionic Man, Steve Austin). The band also let the audience know they were in town for two days and requested a tour guide. We thought they were kidding, but sure enough after their set they were wandering the audience.
The Walkmen entered with no fanfare. They even helped to set up their own equipment. Perhaps that shouldn't seem noteworthy, but to me, this is a pretty big band. I forget that in the scheme of things, an indie rock group with bunches of albums under their belt doesn't necessarily get roadies to help out.
To get it out of my system now, I love Hamilton Leithauser. Some will tell you that I fall in love with every band's lead singer. That's almost universally true. But oh my, I am taken with this one. Tall and lanky with sandy hair and a raspy Dylan-esque voice, he drank his beer between songs and seemed like a regular guy.
I had a huge smile on my face throughout their set, and it wasn't just from looking at Hamilton. The Walkmen played great renditions of "The Rat", "Wake Up", "We've Been Had", "I'm Thinking of a Dream I Had", "Louisiana", and more from albums both new and old. I expressed in my previous posting my suspicion about The Walkmen, that they must be seen live to be truly appreciated. Turns out I was right. The slightly off-key twinkling piano, the hazy guitars, sharp drumbeats, and most of all, Hamilton's voice, are just not captured to their full effect on a record. Yes, I may be a little bit more deaf today than yesterday, but if I had to sacrifice a little more of my hearing to anyone, I'm glad it went to these guys.
Now I Have A Reason to Live
I never got into "Dawson's Creek" when it was first aired. My dorm only had cable in the common room and I hated sitting through the arguments over what show to watch. So as a result, I missed a lot of good network television from 1996 to 2000 (including "Felicity", but that's another story entirely).
For reasons that are not entirely clear, I got into "Dawson's" during graduate school. The re-runs aired on TBS back-to-back at 10 am and 11 am on weekdays, and I started a Friday tradition of lying in bed watching "Dawson's" as I recovered from my Thursday night drinking binge. Eating cereal in bed with the kids from the Creek, I learned something new with each episode, whether cures for heartaches, tiffs with friends, or the ultimate truism that Dawson Leary is a total pussy.
I must admit that I'm a Pacey girl. I absolutely love him. But through all of my devoted "Dawson's" viewing, I always missed the episode where Pacey and Joey broke up. One time it aired when I was in Key West with friends and I tore myself away from our hotel room to wander Duval Street. I guess that was more fun than watching TV alone, but I'm still not sure. Ultimately, my dear friend S purchased the Season 4 box set for my last birthday for the sole purpose of viewing that pivotal episode. I returned from my birthday celebration and watched it on my 27th birthday through my beer buzz. It was just as good as I had imagined.
After graduation, perhaps the biggest adjustment to working life came in the form of missing "Dawson's" episodes in the mornings. But as of last week, an ingenious network,
The-N, is showing "Dawson's" re-runs from the beginning of the series every night at 7 and 10 pm. This not only fills a void in my life left empty by graduation, but a crucial time slot in my evening television viewing schedule. I've been reunited at last with my friends from the Creek after almost a year's absence. Now if only I could talk on my banana cell phone and watch "Dawson's" on mute, my life might be complete.
And on the Seventh Day, God Created the Banana Cell Phone Cover
This is perhaps the greatest invention
EVER.
Look at these happy people. They all have banana cell phone covers on their phones and they look so ecstatic. This may be the answer I have been looking for. Who needs alcohol when a banana cell phone cover can brighten your day and solve all of your problems, especially social awkwardness. Who wouldn't want to talk to the girl talking to the banana at a bar?
My birthday is in December. For a mere $9.99 you can make it a day I'll never forget and give me a gift I will cherish forever.
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
I took a trip home for the weekend to visit my parents, but more importantly, to make a sacred pilgrimage. No, not like the one going on in Iraq. The pilgrimage was to Boston, and more specifically, Fenway Park.
Through a series of fortuitous incidents, my father managed to get a pair of tickets to Saturday's Yankees/Red Sox game. To the uninitiated reader, I can imagine that right now the reaction is one of "meh" rather than the appropriate hushed awe. This is not only another game in sports' best and most intense rivalry, but at
Fenway. It isn't like you can just buy tickets to Red Sox games ... well, OK, if you paid enough money you could. But not for seats like mine.
As much as I despise the Red Sox, and more than that, Red Sox
fans, I love Fenway. It's such an intimate ballpark, built on a different scale for a different time. Even though additional seats have been added, it's still tiny by comparison to other major league parks. Like Wrigley Field, it still has the old wooden scoreboard, operated by men running around inside the dark changing numbers as the innings progress. I sat in field level box seats out by the Green Monster, in close proximity to my Yankees as they warmed up in left field.
Derek Jeter was
so close to me he could actually hear me shouting his name and see me waving. I think he must have not seen me clearly, otherwise he would have asked for my number. (Shut up, let me dream).
The weather was magnificent and the Yankees ultimately triumphed over the Sox 13-5. Spent a good day out with my dad and celebrated the victory. Aside from getting a date with Jeter, I can't possibly imagine a better day.
