A few weeks ago we drove an hour to see one of our favorite bands in Rochester, NY. Mark picked me up from work with a bag of snacks for the drive. It included fresh mozzarella and prosciutto. My requested change of sneakers and jeans was not to be had, so there I was in my casual Friday work clothes- still pretty dressy for a rock show. The ride was fast and we showed up in time to catch opening bands; it's usually a great way to be introduced to newer music. Upon turning the corner walking up to the venue, a line of around 200 14-17 year olds because visible. This, we learned, was the line of people hoping to get in, having not bought tickets in advance. In response to a snotty agist comment I uttered, Mark mentioned driving 6 hours once to see Spitalfield, when he was 18, without having bought tickets in advance. The band snuck him in by letting him carry some gear and it was apparently one of the coolest experiences in his life. Well, who am I to judge? Such is the stuff of youth right?
My generation supports the existence of a musical rule regarding a major show faux pax: showing up in the shirt of the band you are going to see. What this says about you is that either you are too eager to see this band (and that's just not cool) or your musical taste is not broad enough to show up in another shirt. These damn teens did not know the rule. I felt sad for them. Also, as a grown up scene kid, I've learned that shopping at Urban Outfitters or wearing all the right clothes just makes you look like you are trying to hard, like you took howtodressemo.com as a literal guide, and it should be avoided in favor of something that looks and feels like you. These teens did not know the rule. I, again, felt sorry for them. And then... sort of aggravated.
The venue, a renovated manufacturing building in the middle of the city, is great aesthetically, but maybe not for audience experience. It's a long narrow room with beams where no beams should be. When I was 18, this would not have bothered me in the slightest. But at 30, I was kind of peeved to be pushed around by 6 foot tall people, when my 5'2'' frame can hardly be considered blocking the action.
We stood for a while where there were good spots but I could lean against the "should not exist" beam. Then a bunch of 10th graders who were an average of 6'5'' stood in front of me. Then they hung their jacket on my leaning pole so that it dangled just above my head. I wanted to choke them with it. But I also felt really embarrassed by how much of a curmudgeon I was being.
In the end, I enjoyed the show. Motion City Soundtrack was great. My back hurt, especially after the loss of my leaning pole, but I still had fun.
The thing about getting older is that no one prepares you for it. You get all sorts of advice about surviving the teen years, which tapers off into your twenties and then, all of a sudden, you are expected to have your crap together. I do not have my crap together. I am a thirty year old woman who would prefer to be wearing converse sneakers and a hoodie than my grown up life clothes. But I have a grown up job where I need to wear grown up clothes. I have serious back pain, way beyond my years, from two equally serious car accidents. But I like to go watch live music that involves a lot of standing. And I like prosciutto and fresh mozzarella, and pronounce both like a woman of deeply rooted Italian heritage. Even though we ate what are called "garbage plates" after the show.
This odd place is not easy to navigate. "True to me"is an odd color if there ever was one. So how do we cope with this? The only prescription I know is working on self acceptance. So that's my plan.
Come back! Your blog is so cool! I last saw motion city at the TLA in Philly about a decade ago. They opened for All American Rejects. There were about 40 people total in the crowd. Good times!
ReplyDeleteDear Nicole,
ReplyDeleteReviewing the dates of this post, and the last comment, I wonder whether you will find your way back to this blog. In the event you do: As one who caught, when he could catch, The Killers and Cake, and separate the music from the persons who were substituting the music for a sense of identity, I appreciate and am thankful for your reflections on space, and time--age, and how it unfairly compartmentalizes us, and how we can transcend that, if only we make the choice to.
From our own, individual, adventures in the past, we have learned against the more which are to come.
And, if you do find your way back to this blog, know that you remain in my mind; in hope for your fulfilled life, on your terms.
Take care, brown-eyed girl,
Peter
A message from the handsome and mysterious Peter Drake is more than enough to bring me back to this old blog! I have been thinking of you so often lately, and wondering where life has taken you. I sent you a G-Chat invite, because there doesn't seem to be a way to directly email via Google Plus. I'd love the chance to talk. Wishing you so well.
DeleteDear Nicole,
DeleteDeeply flattered that you would apply the word "handsome" to me: I have ever carried more than my share of the awkward-gangly-not-fitting-in-feeling around with me.
But, getting past that feeling (which is, after all, born from so many false societal constructs, which teach us to desire a certain form and appearance, and make us feel inferior if we don't measure up to that) is a challenge I am steadily surmounting.
And, in help with understanding my handsomeness, my wife Erin would agree with you:)
We've been married since 2009--the years since having been a steep, often tough, but ultimately refreshing, rewarding and evolving learning curve of what "love" truly is to us: How it is so very far beyond the sugarcoated falsehoods which were fed to the both of us; how we can overcome those falsehoods; and, in that, work at healing the damage done to the both of us, by those falsehoods.
It, certainly, has not been an easy journey--nor will it continue to be...what truly matters never (I am more, and more, reminded) will be: but the very difficulty of healing, and growing past, emotional and spiritual stunting, is a reminder to the both of us how worthy the journey is.
Erin is a Georgia girl (that is: Tennessee-born, but Georgia raised) and, finding my first job in Georgia out of graduate school, I serendipitously met her when attending a conference in 2006...our life taking us, for some years, to Atlanta--and, now, to Colorado.
I did get your G-Chat invite...however, because Google (whatever its official slogan claims) is evil [I am convinced] it would not let me open it. So, to try an end-run via e-mail: feel free to contact me at pdrake@echters.com.
Hoping for your whole, restoring space.
Peter