A few weeks ago, I got to see one of my favorite groups live: Electric Six. Afterwards, my friends managed to get Dick Valentine to take a picture with us. I got to be the one with my arm around Dick Valentine! He was really sweaty and I think tired because in the first picture his eyes were wonky and half closed. Our picture-taking friend gave him shit about his wonky eye so the next picture came out with him looking extremely astonished. This was either his attempt to have open eyes or his reaction to me stroking his back while we posed. I was just savoring the moment. And I was too tongue-tied to even offer a simple, "Great show, thanks," in exchange. Now in Dick Valentine's world I am forever the ungrateful creepy silent back-rubber.
Tonight I got to see Starfucker, which really is amazing music to experience live. It completely surrounds you and fills up your senses. I think the show was a bit frustrating for the group due to some sound issues, and so when I came face to face with a sweaty, tired, but still smiling Ryan Biornstad over the merch table, again a nice, "Great show, thanks so much," would have been well placed. Instead I stared. Gripping handfuls of cash. Here's the conversation that finally got going:
Ryan: (after a pause) "Hi, how are you?"
Me: "Good, thanks!...(pause) You?"
Ryan: "Good."
Me: (long pause) "Can I have the large of the cat one, please?"
My coworker (who is the super serious Starfucker fan and the one who told me about the show and maybe later regretted telling me about the show) stepped up and offered a gracious thank you while the ungrateful creepy staring money-clutcher paid for her shirt. And stared some more.
Proximity to greatness should inspire us and give us something to aim for. But instead I get paralysis of the brain and revert to my primal cavewoman ancestry.
But at least I have a sweet-ass cat shirt. And I gave Dick Valentine a back rub.
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