Sometimes I get all nostalgic and pick a random year to look at on Flickr. This morning I blindly clicked on the summer of 2007 and, aside from a ton of pictures of an adorably chubby-cheeked 15-month-old Chooch that made me want Henry to inject me again RIGHTTHISSECOND, I was ready to peace out of that particular year. (I think I’m fat now? Yikes. I don’t think I had yet lost even an ounce of my pregnancy weight.) But before I picked a new year, I noticed that there were pictures from that summer’s Warped Tour on the next page—I don’t think I’ve looked at those pictures once since 2007. And even though I was there with Christina and her sister, it was still kind of fun to revisit some of those bands that I haven’t thought of in years. (My American Heart? Monty Are I? Straylight Run?!) And I forgot that Paramore was there that year!

I am infamously picky when it comes to female singers. I don’t know why, but girl vocals usually don’t trigger that part of my brain that makes all of the feelings shoot out of my eyeballs like boy vocals do, but there have been a few over the years: Fisher, old Tegan and Sara, Eisley, Barbara Streisand (LEAVE ME ALONE) and Hayley Williams of Paramore.

The summer of 2007 was not a particularly pleasant one for me and Paramore’s album “All We Know Is Falling” accompanied me on many cemetery cries. (Particularly the song “Conspiracy,” which was even a ringtone on my precious pink Razr.) And when I got that close to Hayley at that summer’s Warped Tour in Cincinnati, I had a major fan girl moment even though I was 27 and she was like, 18 there I think. The music scene I’m into is so male-dominated that usually anytime a female-fronted band starts to make its way up, its time is unfortunately limited. But Paramore was the real deal and I think everyone knew it back then, too. I’m not surprised that it’s eight years later and they have not only proven that their talent is legit, but they have become mainstream darlings without alienating their original fan base. (In my opinion, anyway. I totally don’t think they sold out at all—they’ve just grown up, musically and as people, which makes sense unless you’re Avril Lavigne who’s 30 and still singing about skater bois.)

There really hasn’t been any female-fronted band that has come up in the scene since Paramore that have really grabbed my attention, and it doesn’t help that each subsequent female singer is automatically compared to Hayley. I admit that’s the first thing I thought of when I first saw Automatic Loveletter and Versa Emerge, and that’s not fair.

Paramore also gave me one reason only to be thankful for the stupid “Twilight” movies:

And Hayley can even beautifully & effortlessly pull off the Molly Ringgold look (this song makes me cry every time I hear it, btw; perhaps it makes me think of Henry, who knows):

Seriously, I could fill up this post with every one of their videos, but that would be obnoxious, and that would be SO out of character…

I spent most of this morning listening to old Paramore and it’s funny how much of a time capsule music can be. It brought back some good memories that I had otherwise forgotten, so I guess the summer of 2007 wasn’t really all that bad. Chooch was super cute then, at any rate.

DON!!!! :(

There’s really no point to this post. I just wanted to be a fan girl for a minute. Carry on.

Not that I’m surprised, but my friend Maya from SWStitchery has done it again. I broached the idea of possibly making a Christofer Drew doll for Chooch at some point. I knew she’s been swamped with custom orders and studying and life in general, so I didn’t demand any set deadline or anything; I just sent over a few pictures of younger, wolf-hat-era Christofer Drew and left it at that.

I didn’t even know that she had started to work on him, so when she sent me these progress photos last week, I was totally surprised and stoked: LOOK AT THAT HAT! THE HAZEL EYES! THE DOUBLE LIP RING! THE ANCHOR TATTOO (ON BOTH HANDS, EVEN!), THE BRACELETS!

(Photo by Maya)

Maya has totally outdone herself on this one! That hat kills me.

Christofer with Vic and Jonny. (Ju-On was busy haunting Chooch’s room at the time of this photo shoot and besides, she doesn’t want to be in the band.)

I think it’s safe to say Chooch is stoked for life over this one. Thank you for feeding our obsessions, Maya!! I’m constantly floored by your talent!

I was surprised when I met Never Shout Never. they mean so much to me like this much ——————————————————————————————————– that’s how much they mean to me.

When we met them, I did NOT know what we were going to do. So Jason was there, I told him that I wanted to meet Christofer Drew and then he said “yeah and I want to meet Christina Hendricks.

” When we walked into the room to meet them I was like OMG really you’re making me meet them? OMG. Christofer said nice shirt and I said thanks, actually I was shy. He took my hat off of me and put his hat on me and my hat on him and I felt like OMG now I have his ghost inside my hat and my ghost inside of his hat.

I got my picture with them I still was shy.

Christofer gave me a guitar pick I broke real quick on an accident. They told me to play the tuba and that I would get all the girls haha and then they told me to go to Chicago with them.

My favorite part of the night was when they played my favorite song Lost at Sea. It’s on the album Time Travel. When they played it I sang the whole song.

OMG I finally met them and I probably will never again.

You should listen to Harmony. It’s an album. My favorite song on that album is First Dance! And Trampoline. Actually, Trampoline is mommy’s most favorite.

You know how when things are going OK and you’re actually kind of loving life and then you’re asked for the millionth time why you’re not married and have you started looking for a house and hey, don’t you need a new car? And hey, what are you doing with your life? And then suddenly you feel like fucking killing yourself, so thanks for the reminders? It’s been like that the last few days. Because it’s always the negative that people want to focus on. Hearing that someone is “doing well” just makes some people poke and prod and scoop out your emotional guys with a melon baller until you’re left second-guessing everything you thought was “happiness.”

Apparently, it’s not what I’m doing that matters, it’s what I’m NOT doing. Too bad I know better at 34 than to buy into that bullshit negativity. You know what I think? I think people are AFRAID of those of us who do what the fuck we want rather than connect the dots of life. Oh noes, I had a kid before marriage? I didn’t graduate college? I’M NOT LIVING MY LIFE IN THE GOD-GIVEN ORDER?! Get the fuck over it.

Besides, I got some good advice last night from my friends Rick & Tammy and I know that at the end of the day, I’m the only one who can change things—if that’s what I want. So instead of waiting for the next disaster, maybe I should start thinking about finding a way to become two steps ahead. Um, anyone know how to do that? Haha. J/K. I know most of us are in the Same Boat sailing down Shit Stream.

Jesus Christ, did I fuck up. Or…did I? There may not be a ring on my finger but I still feel pretty fucking happy so…

On that note, HAPPY FUCKING MONDAY.

*(Coincidentally, we were just talking last night about how Henry can make screen doors. Maybe that’s my destiny? Opening a screen door store with him? Because it sure as fuck isn’t festering working in an office.)

I never in a million years would have thought that one day I would be taking my seven-year-old son to a show at the motherfucking Grog Shop. Yet, there we were, 7:30 on a Wednesday night, with our kid at the Grog Shop.

I guess it must seem weird, or maybe even like shitty parenting, to some people. But you have to understand, he doesn’t have a mild affection for this band’s music. He has devoured every last song by Never Shout Never that he has gotten his hands on ever since this obsession started. He knows song names, what album they’re on, every last word in the lyrics. So I didn’t really have a problem with the occassional double-take we’d get from other fans at the venue. Are we letting him do shots of Jack at the bar? No. So STFU.

However, he still is only 7, after all, and his attention span reflects that quite clearly. So for the two openers (Front Porch Step and Nick Santino—both were wonderful, btw), Chooch was super ornery and whiny until Henry scouted an area by the merch tables where Chooch could sit. There was kind of like this long black wooden booth up against the window, and Chooch laid on his stomach back there and read his Simpsons book until Never Shout Never came on. It was kind of nice, because I was able to enjoy the first two singers in peace.

Around 8:30, manic outburts of “CHRIS, I LOVE YOU!!!” reverberated around the Grog Shop and Chooch snapped to attention. (He gets so annoyed at those girls though, and kept yelling, “NO YOU DON’T!!!”) They played until around 10:00, I guess, this intimate acoustic set full of quick banter and I realized that I really do like these guys. Thanks, Chooch! They’re entertaining as fuck.

Our friend Jason was at the show as well, and in lieu of a polite “hello,” Chooch opted to march up to him and demand, “I WANT TO MEET CHRISTOFER DREW!” He knows that Jason is the editor of a certain Cleveland-based music magazine, so for a second there, I was left wondering when I became the mom of Veruca Salt. Chooch is usually pretty good about not being a spoiled brat. USUALLY.

“Yeah, well I want to meet Christina Hendricks, but that’s not going to happen,” Jason countered. I was so embarrassed. I don’t like asking people for favors, ever, because it makes me feel like a user. So I gave Chooch a good rap on the head for that one.

So Chooch went back to standing on his seat (it was the only way he could see the stage) and trying to guess what each song was going to be based on the background stories Christofer would preface them with. He was so smug when he guessed “Piggy Bank” and I guessed “Sell Out” but he was right. So for the next 15,000 days, it’s going to be, “Remember when you guessed ‘Sell Out’ and were WRONG?!” Ugh.

At the time, I thought the highlight of the night for me was going to be when Chooch sang along loudly to Lost At Sea. I love listening to Chooch sing, and I wish I had recorded him that night, but I was too in the moment.

We cheered when they played “On the Brightside” and “California,” and Chooch got big ideas when Christofer hung upside down from the rafters. (And I instinctively slapped my hand over my chest and panicked, because I’m a mom now and that is what moms do.)

And then Chooch kept screaming, “PLAY ‘TRAMPOLINE‘!!!!” and everyone in front of us would turn around to see who was screaming but Chooch would promptly duck and I’d be the only asshole left standing, so after the fourth time, these kids were probably thinking, “Dang, that old lady REALLY wants to hear ‘Trampoline’!”

(They never did play it. And this old lady really did want them to!)

“If I ever meet them, I’m going to ask them how to buy Sunflower!” Chooch spat, because he is very angry that their last album was released as a digital download. He likes to buys CDs and have the full, tangible experience of pulling out the liner notes and poring over the lyrics. In other words, he is certainly my kid.

Anyway, after the show, we milled about and chatted with Jason for a little while, and the guy behind the Front Porch Step moniker gave Chooch a free poster, which was totally sweet. I really wanted his album but asshole Henry didn’t have any cash left on him, SO HE SAYS.

Meanwhile, Jason excused himself, saying he would be right back. Because I’m super naive, I didn’t think much of it. Chooch wasn’t in any  hurry to leave anyway, because once the crowd cleared out, the floor of the Grog Shop opened up into an open-spaced paradise, so he ran around doing round-offs and other scary parkour-y things, and we became Those Parents who bring their kid into a bar and let him do gymnastics. (In my defense, no one seemed to fucking care!)

So then Jason came back and asked me how old Chooch was. Still, my naivete prevailed. Until Henry was like, “He’s trying to get Chooch back there to meet the band, dummy.” So then I got all sweaty-palmed and panicky.

“Well, we’re going to have to try and get past all these girls,” Jason sighed, nodding toward the throng of salivating Christofer Drew groupies congregating in the tiny hallway outside of the backstage room door. This also happens to be the way to get to the restrooms, which Chooch had already visited once that night, so he was like, “Why are we following Jason to the bathroom?” I told him to just keep walking, and his mouth was going non-stop as usual. Seven-year-olds, right? They never fucking shut up!

So all these girls are like “WTF!?” when the guy guarding the door steps to the side to let us through, and Chooch is still clueless. Jason knocks on the door, and Chooch is still rambling away as we all walk into this small room. I stepped out of the way to give Chooch an unobstructed view, and that was when he realized that he was about 3 feet away from Christofer Drew. He looked like he was going to melt into the floor.

We all moved aside so that Chooch could step into the middle of the room and everyone stood up to greet him and shake his hand. Aside from Christofer, there are just two other guys in the band, Taylor and Hayden, and they were all so kind and sweet to us. But when Christofer was standing in front of Chooch, shaking his hand and asking him questions, Chooch absolutely clammed up. I think he literally lost the ability to speak, you guys, and I have never, not once, seen my kid that speechless. Not in 7 years. And then he started doing this thing with his hands, placing them on his face and pulling them in opposite directions, like he was actually trying to rip his skin open and step out of it.

There was a moment when he quickly turned his head away from Christofer and closed his eyes shut real tight and his face became flushed. I could tell he was fighting tears, and my heart broke in a million shards. This kid was in some fucking state of agony, and suddenly I began to recount all the times I got to meet bands that meant so much to me and lost my voice while standing in their presence. It’s beautiful torture. And somehow, my son is experiencing this at a very young age. I don’t know if I should be happy about this or pity him.

So with Chooch being speechless, I had to do the talking but I was nervous as fuck too! I could hear my voice shaking but I powered on for Chooch, and told them all how much of an inspiration they’ve been to him, how I have never seen him with such a vested interest in music before them. I mean, he likes other bands, sure. He likes Pierce the Veil and Chiodos, the Summer Set and We Came As Romans, but not anything that even comes close to matching this. Their music makes him thoughtful. We talk to each other about the lyrics and what they mean. They’ve opened up this emotional outlet in him that most kids probably don’t discover until they’re teenagers, I’m sure.

But he’s seven, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that. So he stood there in stunned silence. And then he held his wolf hat out to Christofer who took it from him and said, “This is a good style” before swapping out his own hat with it, and then placing his mini-top hat on Chooch’s head.

I’m pretty sure Chooch might have pissed himself. Just a little. Christofer pulled two guitar picks out of his pocket and gave them to Chooch, and definitely he pissed himself then.

Then Taylor said he likes his shoes Christofer said his Never Shout Never shirt was trippy, and Chooch was so overwhelmed by this that he had squeezed himself into a corner in between my back and the door. Taylor set out a folding chair for him in case he changed his mind and wanted to come out of hiding. And then he offered him a bottle of water, which Chooch was surprisingly able to activate enough of his motor skills to take from him.

“I’ve literally never seen him so quiet,” I told everyone.

“Oh, I know!” Jason remarked. “He was talking non-stop out there!”

Chooch kept whispering to me, “Mommy, I’m so shy. I’M.SO.SHY.” But he’s not shy. He was starstruck. I think the closest I ever came to that feeling as a kid was when I wrote a letter to Melissa Brennan, who played Jenn Horton on Days of Our Lives (I have been referencing this damn show so much lately, what the fuck) and she sent me back an autographed headshot with a hand-written letter thanking me for my support. I thought she was the fucking Queen of England after that. But I can tell you for a fact that my awe back in 1988 was nothing in comparison to what Chooch was feeling in that precise moment on 12/11/13.

I wonder what would have happened if I had told him beforehand that he was going to get to meet them. Henry thinks Chooch wouldn’t have been able to go through with it.  I kind of think it was fun to go the sneak-attack approach.

We got to hang out with them for about 20 minutes and I can’t stress enough how incredibly generous they were to make time to meet with Chooch. Between them and Jason, they gave Chooch such a great gift and I will never be able to thank them enough. Jason didn’t have to go out on a limb like this for us, and those guys certainly didn’t have to say yes. This may have been the best moment for me as a parent, to date, and I just want to start sending everyone fruit baskets or something. What the fuck is wrong with me!?

This is what matters. This is the shit I want to give my kid. Not Xbox and whatever the “in” toy is this year. I want to give him memories and experiences, things that he’ll look back on as an adult, things that will shape who he becomes. I promise you that nothing he could unwrap on Christmas morning could take his words away like that.

***

After promising them all that we would be careful driving back to Pittsburgh, they all shook our hands again (mine was SO HOT OMG, I’m sorry Never Shout Never) and we had to re-brave the horde of girls outside the door.

We parted ways with Jason outside the Grog Shop after thanking him profusely for literally making our kid’s dream come true. After we walked about a block away, Chooch totally lost it and started SOBBING.

Kid, I know the feeling.

In the car, I jokingly said to Henry, “We should have told Christofer about how Chooch screams that he wishes he was his dad every time he gets mad at you.”

“Yeah,” Henry laughed. “That wouldn’t have been awkward.”

The weather in Pittsburgh took a turn for the worse late Friday afternoon and it was starting to look like we weren’t going to be able to make the Goblin show. The fact that I was dismissed from work around 4:00 because it was starting to SLEET was a pretty good indication that the roads might not be OK. (I could even hear the ice pelting my office window.)

I took the trolley home and it didn’t seem too bad. But Henry the Weatherman was all, “LET’S JUST WAIT AND SEE OK IT’S SUPPOSED TO GET WORSE.” That is definitely not what I was trying to hear, you guys.

Finally around 5:30 I started to cry so he huffily stuffed his blue collar feet into his boots and left to pick up his mom so that she could babysit for us. It took them a really long time to come back so I admittedly felt pangs of guilt, like maybe the roads really were super terrible and they had skidded off into a ditch and were being devoured by wolves. Because that happens a LOT in Pittsburgh. But they made it back and I was all, “HOORAY LET’S GO NOW OK BYE CHOOCH!”

And we experienced approximately zero problems getting to Homestead, so take that, Pittsburgh metereologists.

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to snow really hard tonight, so it will probably be a mess by the time we leave,” Henry warned wisely. God, he always has to be so negative.

We had about 45 minutes to kill before the doors officially opened, and since we had never been to this particular venue for a show before, we basically roamed around with question marks over our heads. When we’re lost, we’re obviously lost. But then a staff member informed us that we could go to “the bar,” which was basically a cold, cafeteria-esque room with a bunch of bottles of Barefoot wine and some guy slinging slices of pizza out of a box.

As usual, I wasn’t paying attention and failed to notice that there was a wine list taped to the counter in front of my face, and thought my only choice of wine was merlot, which is not my favorite wine at all, but that’s OK. I was too excited to be a bitch about it. (For once.)

Henry bought a slice of pizza and a plate of weird, frozen mini cheesecake thingies for me. Definitely the most interesting food I’ve ever eaten at a concert. But then, I don’t usually eat at concerts so there’s that.

We had fun sitting there and guessing who was going to go home and murder someone after the show. But mostly everyone there was pretty chill. And old! For once, Henry was at a show for his own demographic! I think I was the youngest person there. One of the youngest, anyway, which was a nice change.

We made our way back to the music hall entrance around 7:30 and lingered around the merch table where I chanted, “Can I please get a poster? Can I please get a poster? Buy me something. Buy me something,” until Henry walked away and hid in the mens room. Of course I’m going to gravitate toward a $30 poster and not a $5 patch.

Henry was mad that his genuine smile in this picture got so much attention on Facebook, so he tried to force-frown for this one. Look at him, wearing a non-Faygo t-shirt!

The Carnegie Music Hall is super beautiful! When I ordered our tickets last October, I chose two seats in the balcony because I fucking love balconies.

And then I proceeded to spend two months panicking that the seats were going to suck.

They did not, in fact, suck. Well, view-wise, anyway. My friend Sandy had warned me earlier that day at work that the seats are really uncomfortable and that we should bring something to sit on. Of course, I ignored her sage advice and almost immediately upon sitting, I found myself wishing that my ass actually had MORE padding.

I texted Sandy immediately to verify that her assessment of the seats was painfully accurate. “We saw Kevin Smith there last year and I thought I was going to be paralyzed,” she swore. Luckily, the opening band—Zombi—took the stage precisely at 8 so we were slightly distracted from our tailbones’ misery…for a few minutes, anyway.

Henry and I saw Zombi back in 2004 when they opened for Q and Not U at the World (better known to most Pittsburghers as Rosebud). They’re actually from Pittsburgh, so it was really cool to see that they snagged the opening spot for the second  leg of Goblin’s North American tour.

Zombi is just two guys, one on synthesizers and bass,  and one on drums. I don’t remember very much from when I saw them nine years ago,  but I was definitely on board Friday night. Their music is very atmospheric and spacey, with just enough eeriness to leave you feeling unsettled. It made me think of the music I tried to play on my shitty Casio keyboard when I was in elementary and REALLY INTO recording myself telling horror stories that I made up on the fly. (They were as great as you probably imagine them to be, with lots of abrupt cries of anguish when I would fuck up for the millionth time and have to rewind and re-record.) They also did the score for the horror movie Murder, Set, Pieces, so that automatically makes them cool in my book. Not that my book matters for much, but you know.

I appreciated that the stage lights changed color every time a new song started. That was probably extremely helpful for those not able to keep up.

Henry was honestly asleep in his awful wooden seat before the first song was over.

Zombi finished their set before 9:00PM and I was overjoyed to stand up. Henry and I had the last two seats in our row, so we mostly lingered in the small space next to our row for the entire duration of intermission. That’s not true; Henry went to buy contraband M&Ms at one point and smuggled them back in. I thought for sure he was going to come back with the fucking poster I wanted but he was clearly staying true to his cheap ass ways.

My lumbar was on fire from that seat. I literally put my back against the wall and slid all the way down into a crouch, like I was attempting to birth a child in the wild, and not caring about what it must have looked like to all of the middle-aged geeks in their various Dario Argento t-shirts. I’m certain that Elizabeth Bathory had furniture akin to those seats in her torture chamber. Totally barbaric.

Goblin came on right around 9:00 though and I mostly sat lurched forward the entire time in excitement, which simultaneously kept me nice and stretched, so that was nice!

Sometimes I get bored really easily when bands don’t sing, and I was honestly afraid that this would be the case that night. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m kind of glad I went into this without ever YouTube’ing their live performances. From the moment they took the stage, it was motherfucking electric. They killed it on every song and it was pretty difficult to lose interest when there were so many talented musicians on that stage to ogle.  And they brought this creepy (in a good way) interpretive dancer with them who totally made my skin crawl every time she came out. She really added that extra punch of Scary to the songs she performed on.

Goblin performing the “Suspiria” theme!! The dancer came out in full-blown Susie Banyon-mode and I almost peed my dumb pants. Goblin more than likely never would have been on my radar had it not been for my love of “Suspiria.” When Janna and I were walking to Gina and Elissa’s Christmas party on Saturday, I asked Janna if she remembered how obsessively I looked for a copy of that movie in high school (this was back when you had to get out the phone book and start calling around to video rental stores, you guys. Oh, the horror!) and how I made her and Lisa come over to watch it when I finally found a Blockbuster that carried it, and as if that wasn’t adequate, I also had one of them take my picture standing next to the TV after pausing it on the title screen. And Janna was like, “Um, yes. And fuck you for making me walk to a Christmas party in 18 degree weather when I’m a Jew with poor circulation.”

When I like something, I REALLY LIKE IT.

I really can’t describe how special this night was for me. All of it was great, I was 100% enrapt for each song and I loved that they incorporated film snippets on a screen at the back of the stage, but when Massimo Morante (who. from where I sat, looked exactly like Henry’s mom in a black wig) was handed a bouzouki*, I just knew it was time for “Suspiria” AND I WAS RIGHT, GODDAMMIT.

*(I originally thought this was a mandolin, but figured maybe for once in my life I could actually fact-check a thing before writing it.)

It was the most incredible feeling, to sit there and literally be enveloped in the notes of that song that has stuck with me for so many years. Goosebump City, is what I’m trying to say here.

The dancer came back during the “Zombi” theme and danced as a, wait for it, zombie. Duh. She was scaring me!

God, aging Italian prog rock musicians are just so fucking adorable! Especially when they can just barely speak English. It was a really special evening and I am so glad that the snow didn’t stop us from hearing this music that manages to be beautiful yet so spine-tingling all at once. And did I mention that our very own Henry Robbins APPLAUDED after every single song? Because he did. I couldn’t believe it. I thought he only applauded for Judas Priest!

The whole night was really incredible and we walked out of there knowing without a doubt that we had just witnessed something special. If you have never heard of Goblin before, I seriously urge you to turn off all of your lights and YouTube them. And then go buy their albums!

Here, let me help you with that:

Oh, and guess who got that poster?

I can’t wait to find  a majestic frame for it!

****

The next morning, I made Henry’s mom listen to Goblin.

“This isn’t bad!” she exclaimed with what sounded like shock in her voice. “I could honestly listen to this!”

It was probably the most bonding moment I’ve ever had with her, until she started talking about her neighbor’s band.

“He plays that real hard rock stuff,” she spat. “You know, like that Rod Stewart stuff.” And then I ruined our bonding moment by laughing.

It’s not often my love of horror movies and music come together, but tonight will be one of those rare occasions because Henry and I are going to see Goblin at the Carnegie and I AM SO EXCITED I DON’T KNOW HOW I WILL MANAGE TO MAKE IT THROUGH WORK TODAY!! They’re an Italian prog rock band from the 70s and this is literally the first time they ever toured North America. Pittsburgh wasn’t even originally supposed to be a tour date, but their initial fall tour was so well-received that they decided to do a second leg, THANK YOU GOBLIN.

Of course, Henry is “whatever” about it, but Suspiria is one of my all-time favorite horror movies, and the music had so much to do with it. I remember being so excited in the late 90s when one of my Darkchat friends sent me the Suspiria soundtrack on cassette, haha. I’m just so appreciative and grateful that I get to see them perform live tonight, you have no idea!

Sorry for the incoherent ramble. I’M JUST EXCITED OK. I hope I have nightmares tonight!!

Very rarely do I ever call Henry when I’m at work. Text him? Yes, constantly. So any time I do call him, he’s usually pretty leery. This is how our phone conversation went Thursday afternoon:

Me, in a hushed, urgent whisper: “Henry.”

Henry, sounding braced for emergency: “What.”

Me: “What are you doing March 21st?”

Henry: “I think I have a date  with my other girlfriend, why?”

Me: “BECAUSE THE SOUND OF ANIMALS FIGHTING ARE PLAYING IN PHILLY OMFG WE HAVE TO GOOOOOOOOOO!”

Henry, sighing: “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

What you need to know is that I was OBSESSED with this band from like 2005-2008. But the band is comprised of members from various bands (my favorite being ANTHONY GREEN), so touring was logistically impossible. I think they only ever did 4 live shows all in one fell swoop and they all would have required boarding a plane. I mean, maybe in my other child-free, American Express card-holding lifetime, that wouldn’t have been a hurdle at all! So when I saw that they have decided to reband long enough to finally perform some songs from their last album released in 2008, and that two of those dates are in PHILLY, I knew I was going to have to start working on Henry. This was, of course, after I was moved to TEARS at my desk. I didn’t think I would get any closer to seeing them live than the DVD I have.

By the end of our phone conversation, I had whittled him down to a non-committal “we’ll see” but I have ways of turning those into “Whatever”s and “Do what you want”s. AND THAT IS WHAT I DID! By Saturday, he was totally tired of hearing about it, and after I swore that he won’t have to buy me anything for Christmas (yeah right), he completely threw his hands up in the air and now I have two tickets to see The Sound of Animals Fighting at the Trocadero in Philly and I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE IT. If you give even a shit and a half about music in general, then you understand.

I feel very fortunate right now. <3

Me: “Do you think you’ll ever like Anthony Green?”
Henry, with no hesitation: “Uh-uh.”

I must have got all of my anger out on Halloween because Sunday was really peaceful (well, until Chooch and I totally shit the bed with giddiness Sunday night, which is always Extreme Fun for the first hour but always ends in tears because we’re bi-polar motherfuckers the Mania Coaster has to come down at some point; perhaps this could be a Henry Guest Post?). We went to the mall and I bought the newest Dance Gavin Dance CD at Hot Topic. I pre-ordered the limited edition 6 vinyl box set which Henry was really irritated about but I’m sorry, music is something I don’t consider a splurge—it’s a fucking necessity. Anyway, this isn’t due to ship until December, and I wanted to have the CD too so STFU Henry. Go listen to Ted Nugent in the warehouse at work.

****

That afternoon, I went to my favorite cemetery for a jog (I don’t do “running”) and listened to the new Dance Gavin Dance. The cemetery is my favorite place to listen to music because I can be 100% invested in it—Chooch isn’t interrupting me, work isn’t interrupting me, road rage isn’t interrupting me. There might be a zombie here and there, but otherwise, it feels like I own that fucking cemetery and I love it.

<3

I was 26 or 27 when I started listening to Dance Gavin Dance. They have gone through probably as many lineup changes as I have gone through best friends. But no matter how much they change (Jonny Craig got the boot again and now Tilian Pearson is the singer), and how much I change, there is something about their sound that weaves its way into my brain and massages my snapping synapses while blanketing my heart. It’s kind of the perfect music for a loner like me. And I love taking them with me to the cemetery.

Not to get all existential and sentimental, but I have literally grown into an adult in a place reserved for death. I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent in cemeteries in general, but also this one in particular: laughing, crying, pregnant, alone, with friends, with Henry, with Chooch. I’ve puked in this cemetery, had Christmas picnics here, contemplated suicide, considered leaving Henry…(YES, HENRY, IT’S TRUE! But don’t worry, that was a long time ago.) There’s just something about this place that makes me feel everything on another level. The end result is always peace. I ALWAYS leave in peace.

(Unless Henry and Chooch are with me and we were trying to do a photo shoot. Then it might not be so peaceful…)

*****

I was playing this song this morning while Chooch was upstairs getting dressed for school. “Is that The Robot With Human Hair Part 4?” he called down the steps. “I LOVE that song!” See?! I think it takes a certain kind of fucked up brain to appreciate Dance Gavin Dance. Chooch, you’ve got it, buddy. I’m sorry.

So, I’m not going to do that November Thankful thingie that everyone else is doing, but if someone asked me yesterday what I was thankful for, aside from the obvious, I would have said “Cemeteries and Dance Gavin Dance.” Hope your Sunday was peaceful, too!

Chooch and I had a full-blown singalong to this song yesterday and it was so good to just not care about anything for a few minutes. Also, Chooch is already way better at singing than me. I am miserably tone-deaf.

Chooch and me during a Saturday session of the STFU Henry club.

In other news, I go back to work tomorrow. :( But I’m happy that I got to squeeze in a sibling hang-out, lunch with my oldest friend Christy (she loves when I describe her that way), hockey games from start to finish, and a ton of haunted houses during my time off.

Chooch and his oldest god mother, Christy. They shared chocolate “mouse” together at Armstrong’s.

And today, Henry is finally back in DIY-action! He’s working on this desk-thingie for the living room. Right now it’s painted gold (duh) and he’s chevron’ing the doors. Earlier, he was researching online for chevron patterns and I said, “Wow, that looks like a hassle.”

“What do you care? You’re not the one who has to do it,” Henry cried like a bitch.

He is REALLY miserable when it comes to home improvement. Especially when glitter is involved.

Chevron’ing, motherfuckers.

We had to go to dreaded Home Depot this afternoon to get more paint, ugh ugh ugh, and some man smiled at me. This prompted Chooch to exclaim that I’d have a better chance at marrying that guy than Henry, and he’s probably not wrong. Chooch’s favorite punch lines are those that involve my perpetual ring-less ring finger, so if I ever did get married, he would probably never tell another joke again. A few weeks ago, he even said to me, “You should just check in with your ex-boyfriends, because I have a feeling Daddy is never going to marry you.” And it’s awesome when he says this shit all somberly and then EXPLODES in laughter. The neener-neener type, which is THE WORST KIND OF LAUGHTER.

Unless it’s me who’s actually laughing. Then it’s the BEST KIND OF LAUGHTER.

Chooch’s self-portrait that he made in art. It was hanging up during last week’s Open House and we almost couldn’t find it because it was the only one that didn’t look like a person.

I’ll return tomorrow with a bunch of words about my favorite haunted houses, since we’re about halfway through the season here. But I’ll warn you, I’m pretty passionate and opinionated on this topic! (I know, what else is new.)

MOMMY IS THE BEST she took me to see Nevershoutnever! I saw a balloon I wanted to touch it but people were hitting it with there speed boost hands. THE RED JUMPSUIT SUCKS!!! HINT:SO DOES HENRY!?!??!?

My favorite song was CheaterCheaterBestFriendEater. The Red Jumpsuit sang 13 songs I said Erin kill me and I also said AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. When NeverShoutNever was on Erin told me to tell the security that Christofer Drew Ingle was my brother and he left his BubbleGum in the car.  Mommy said write about the nevershoutnever “trouble” and how I almost cried even though I didn’t. me and Mommy saw this guys ass crack it was funny but we saw that guy again and mommy didn’t see this but he did a round off. Me and mommy kept making fun of daddys man boobs and he didn’t know.

This is Erin. Chooch said it’s my turn to write one sentence. So….my favorite song of the night was “On the Brightside” and Chooch just said, “Oh god, I knew you were going to write ‘On the Brightside’.” Well, then don’t ask!!! Back to Chooch.

By the way when the red jumpsuit was playing there was this guy that looked like Justin Bieber. The band before that was Maps And Atlases it was the best band ever but not as good as nevershoutnever. I loved my surprise it was awesome.

THE END
*****

Chooch displays his awesome cinematography skills:

Cheatercheaterbestfriendeater:

Me: “Jonny Craig played here last night and I didn’t go on purpose.”

Chooch: “That’s good. You shouldn’t.”

Even still, I’m obsessed with his new solo album, OMG.

Ugh, I’d still let him put a ring on my finger, though.

Meanwhile, Chooch is in the middle of a quarrel with Henry and he just yelled, “I WISH CHRISTOFER DREW WAS MY DAD! HE WOULD TEACH ME MUSIC!!” (That would be pretty awkward for me if Chooch’s dad was Christofer Drew considering he’s only like…22 I think? So he’d have been some unmentionable age at the time of Chooch’s conception OMG vomit.)

Prior to Chooch’s outburst, Henry was only used to having someone scream, “I WISH [insert scene guy’s name] WAS MY BOYFRIEND AND NOT YOU”! Chooch is adding a whole new layer to Henry’s complex.

Christ. The names that get dropped in this house are so fucked up.

Little Christofer Drew

Well, you guys. Saturday night had the potential to go down as the biggest fail since I tried to make cookies out of bread. We arrived at the Saint Vincent campus in Latrobe around 6:00. Henry made us wait in the car while he asked two college girls where the Carey Center was because we didn’t want Chooch to hear. “Look, Daddy’s talking to GIRLS!” Chooch squealed, and we laughed about that during the entire walk to the Carey Center, which I guess is their basketball court thingie. Chooch kept asking, “Is this a college? What are we doing here?” so for awhile I was like, “We’re enrolling you early, Doogie Howser.” There was a small gathering of kids outside of the building, waiting for doors to open, so I figured that was as good a time as any to reveal his surprise.

So I gave him his ticket and he just stared at it.

“Is this my surprise?” he asked, not even TRYING to mask his disappointment. (He was being a total jerkface to me a few weeks ago so I snapped and told him that I had a surprise for him but I was going to give it to an orphan instead. So he knew something was cooking.) I said yes, and he was like, “I want a new surprise.”

“You don’t want to see Never Shout Never?!” I asked, trying not to scream because I have a “cool mom” façade to uphold and there were too many kids around.

“Yeah, but I want something from Amazon,” Chooch sighed. WHAT THE FUCK. Henry was in the will call line (he waited until three days ago to buy his ticket) so I texted him and it went something like I DON’T WANT TO BE A MOM ANYMORE THIS SUCKS LET’S JUST GO HOME WHAT A FUCKING SPOILED BRAT HE IS.

Henry turned around in his line and just laughed at me. “It’ll be fine,” he texted back.

And you know what? It really was fine. It was better than fine. It was a fucking fantastic night and Chooch and I really bonded! We had a ton of inside jokes that would make us double over in laughter (Man Boobs and bubblegum) and Henry would laugh too but then he would say, “Haha, what?” and we would just say, “You wouldn’t understand.” And then he would frown and bristle his mustache and we would laugh harder.

The venue was perfect for a seven-year-old. It was literally a college gym, so there were bleachers adjacent to the stage, and the view was unobstructed. Before the show started, Chooch acted like he owned the place, catching the eye of various blond college girls and then shrugging it off like it was no big thing. And then someone near the front of the stage started batting around a red balloon, and everyone acted like they had never batted around a balloon before, while the rest of us acted like we had never watched anyone bat around a balloon before, and somehow it became wildly entertaining. Especially when someone accidentally made the balloon waft out of reach on the stage, and there was a frantic outcry. They kept trying to get various roadies to grab it for them, but their cries were unheard. Finally, someone on stage noticed and returned the balloon to the crowd amid ear drum-perforating cheers.

Chooch then decided he wanted is own balloon to bat around on the bleachers and wanted Henry to take him to find one. Grumpy Henry grumped, “No! There aren’t any balloons out there! THOSE KIDS BROUGHT THAT ONE!” Because he didn’t want to irritate his hemorrhoids by standing up and walking, I guess. But then two, um, “white balloons” appeared in the mix and Chooch lost his mind. “SERIOUSLY?! WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THESE BALLOONS!?” he cried. But luckily, the lights went out soon after and the show commenced before anyone needed to make up an explanation for the “pocket balloons.”

Maps & Atlases opened, and all three of us really liked them. Unfortunately, the slovenly middle-aged couple behind us who kept kicking us in the back did not like them and were very vocal about it. After the Podunk wife complained for the fifth time about how “boring” the band was, her hick husband drawled, “Well shit, they ain’t Iron Maiden” which made her cachinnate a mouthful of phlegm and poor English onto the back of my head. Turns out they were there were Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, who I can’t remember being so terrible, but they were pretty terrible and provided the only lowlight of the night.

During Maps & Atlases set, Henry nudged me and pointed to the side of the stage, where Christofer Drew was watching the band. I in turn nudged Chooch and that kid fucking FLIPPED HIS SHIT. He sat there and straight stared at him until Christofer eventually walked back behind the stage.

“I want one of their albums,” Chooch shouted to me, gesturing over his shoulder to Maps & Atlases. What a wonderful thing to hear from a kid!

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus came on next. I know of them, I remember when they had that One Real Big Hit a handful of years ago, but I have never really paid attention to them. And that Saturday night, I was assured that I hadn’t been missing much. I’m sure to a lot of people, this is a great band. And that’s fine. They seemed like they knew what they were doing up there, but it wasn’t my thang, you guys. It was boring and loud for the sake of being loud. It was cheesy guitar solos. It was Southern rock with boring vocals. It was a guitarist that looked like Taylor Lautner (Henry’s observation, and I laughed that he knew Taylor Lautner’s name) even though Chooch kept arguing that he looked like Justin Bieber.

Chooch was anti-Red Jumpsuit from the get go.

“Ain’t no one got time for that!” he screamed into my ear. And, “Oh, the horror! Kill me now!”

But the jerk-slobs behind us were stoked, that’s for sure!

After playing entirely too long, Red Jumpsuit finally left the stage and we all exhaled in relief. They totally threw off the vibe of the night, and Chooch was acting downright offended by them. He kept forgetting “Apparatus” and started calling them Red Jumpsuit Pfffffft, spraying me with spit every time.

But then Never Shout Never came on and my lord, I knew Chooch had a big-ass mouth, but I never thought a scream so 1989 NKOTB GIRLY could come barreling out of it like it did at the moment. That kid was going NUTS. He inadvertently punched me in the face a few times while overzealously waving his arms in the air.

The second song they played was “Trouble,” which is Chooch’s all-time favorite. He sang along to every word and his eyes were GLISTENING WITH TEARS. I thought maybe I was seeing things, but Henry and I discussed this on the ride home while Chooch was sleeping in the backseat, and Henry confirmed that he witnessed Chooch crying several times throughout the night. HE IS MY SON FOR REAL, YOU GUYS! I officially don’t care how much everyone thinks he looks like just Henry and 0% like me! He has all of my emotions!

God help us all.

I feel like a real douchebag. I used to make fun of Never Shout Never when Christofer Drew hit the scene six years ago (when he was only 16!). I thought he was so stupid-looking, like this weird emo-hippie hybrid who could pass as the second-coming of Jimmy from H.R. Pufnstuf.

And I never really gave his music a chance because it was too “happy-sounding” and we all know how doom n’ gloom I am. I skipped over him every time he was at Warped Tour, I was disgusted when I saw his parts in the Warped Tour documentary that came out last year because he was so negative about the scene. But somehow, one of his songs (“What Is Love?”) made it onto a mixed CD I made for one of our road trips last spring. I don’t know if I had the track on the computer from a compilation or what, but I put it on this CD (yes, I still make mixed CDs in this day and age OMG) and while it didn’t nauseate me, someone in the backseat REALLY latched on to it. I didn’t think it was really going to amount to much, but when I found out that NSN was playing Warped Tour this time around, Chooch said, “Thank god.”

But then he didn’t even really care! We stood near that stage for maybe a song or two, and then Chooch was ready to move on. But a few weeks later, he and I walked down to the Exchange because I wanted to buy the new Hands Like Houses and sometimes they get new releases there. They didn’t, and the girl who was working kept trying to look in the electronica section when I told her it was post-hardcore; way to know your stuff, dumbass. But they had a Never Shout Never EP there, and Chooch said he wanted it. It was $5 so I was like, “Whatever,” figuring that he would listen to it once and it would get thrown to the wayside in favor of Minecraft videos on his phone. But he played the FUCK out of that EP, and then I bought him the “What Is Love?” album and he played the FUCK out of that, memorized all the words almost immediately, proceeded to watch 259451259745 NSN videos on YouTube, and then found Christopher Drew on Instagram.

I can’t stress enough how important I believe music is. Yeah, I get: everyone thinks forcing young children to play some form of organized team sport is like THE FOUNDATION for a healthy childhood, but to me, music is just as important. Chooch is a really emotional kid, some of those emotions seem really advanced to me—this isn’t me bragging. This is me being legitimately concerned that my kid is suddenly not going to have an outlet for those emotions because some days he reminds me of Erin Rachelle Kelly at Fifteen. But seeing how connected he’s become to music is somewhat of a relief to me. I mean, this isn’t like a kid hearing an LMFAO song on the radio and singing along. This is a kid devouring everything he can find about an artist, poring over lyrics, asking me what certain parts of the songs mean. Music heals, you guys.

I thought Chooch’s NSN-mania was cute, and I was thankful that it wasn’t something really terrible like Fresh Beat Band or Katy Perry, but I still didn’t really get the appeal. After Saturday night, I think I can officially say that my mind has been effectively changed. That kid is a fucking PERFORMER. His banter with his bassist and drummer, and the crowd, was entertaining and not at all annoying. You know how sometimes it’s like, “OK STFU AND SING, YOU MOTHERFUCKER? I DIDN’T PAY TO HEAR YOU TALK?!” It wasn’t like that. The between-song hijinks were just as entertaining as the actual music and I even caught Henry smiling. HENRY—SMILING! I wish it wasn’t so dark in there so I could have photographed that, as well as captured video of Chooch going nuts.

They played for about 90 minutes, so we didn’t get out of there until around 11:30. Chooch started losing steam around 10:30; I put my arm around him (look at me, being a mom!!), but every time he’d start to fall asleep on my shoulder, they would play a song that he loved, so he snap his head up and start singing and clapping. Before one song, Christofer started to talk about how he used to smoke a lot of cigarettes. Chooch cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled to me, “‘Coffee and Cigarettes’! I know that’s what he’s going to sing next!” (Except that Chooch calls them “cigarats.”) And then when the band played the first few notes, Chooch smirked and yelled, “See? ‘Coffee and Cigarats’. I knew it!” And when he played “Can’t Stand It,” kids started breaking away from the crowd to dance with each other. And I gotta say, it was a refreshing change from the circle pits and walls of death that are prevalent at the shows I normally attend.

And now I kind of think that Christofer Drew is adorable. I guess I always assumed he was trying too hard, what with the warpaint he used to wear on his face and the wolf hat-wearing and the acting like he just stepped out of Henry’s wardrobe circa 1972. But this is who he is, for real. A walking, talking, no-shoe-wearing Woodstock representative in this scary 21st Century Land who just wants everyone to love each other. I get it now, Christofer Drew. I get it. I’m a fan. And I’m happy that I get to share this with Chooch now before he becomes a surly teenager who doesn’t want his lame mom to like the same music as him.

When we got back to the car, I turned to Chooch and asked, “So, now do you think this was a good surprise?

And in this earnest, sincere voice, he shook his head and quietly answered yes. He then proceeded to excitedly talk a mile a minute about the show before passing out for the hour drive home to Pittsburgh. Totally worth it. But I’m still not posting the video of when I gave Chooch his ticket because it pisses me off so bad! Even though Henry tried to explain to me that a concert ticket doesn’t mean the same thing to a 7-year-old as it would to a teenager, and I guess I understand that. Thankfully, the actual concert was another story!

I have a feeling someone is going to be asking for a ukulele for Christmas.

One more week until I can finally give Chooch his secret tickets to the Never Shout Never show! I’m getting all excited about it, and I never even really had much of an opinion of Never Shout Never before, but Christopher Drew has really grown on me thanks to Chooch’s constant need to listen to their CDs in the car. I usually gravitate more toward sad, depressing lyrics, but he is so freaking positive, basically a 21st century hippie, and that’s OK. It’s good that Chooch has someone like that to look up to, I guess.

(I mean, if you ignore the fact that he’s a pothead.

I guess it could be worse, though.

It could be Jonny Craig,)

This is the song that started Chooch’s obsession, all because he likes how Christopher sings “question.” And below is a video of Chooch singing the beginning of “Love is Our Weapon,” among other Chooch-things. Seriously, who stands like that while watching videos on their phone?!

Hopefully, when he realizes what’s going on this Saturday, he won’t look like this. DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW HARD IT HAS BEEN FOR ME TO KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT ABOUT THIS OMG!?

My friend Natasha shared a link on my Facebook timeline just a few moments ago:

“On this day in 1990, The Cure released its “Disintegration”-era live album “Entreat” – recorded in London’s Wembley Arena in July 1989.”

I remember it being so hard to find this when I started to really really really like the Cure in the late 90s because it was released as a promotional item. Pretty sure I was still unaware of Amazon in 1999. I don’t even think I was using eBay yet? Instead of relying on the Internet, I relied on my weekend visits to Eide’s Entertainment in the Strip District, where my “Cure dealer,” as I lovingly referred to him, would see me walk in and run to pull out the latest bootlegs and imports that they had acquired, and I would in turn pull out the good old credit card. And whenever there was a new video (always on VHS), it was truly a red letter day. The last couple of times I visited Eide’s, it was obviously a very different experience. As it is with any record store in the iTunes-era.

I love the Cure. I will always love the Cure. But I hate that it is not as fun to love the Cure, as far as “collecting” goes.

Now I can just go online and download what was once considered a treasure to find. I can go on YouTube and watch live videos from Tokyo, the same videos that made people say, “Sweet find!” about my Live in Japan VHS I snagged when I was 20.

<

If I can’t make it to Lollapalooza, I can live-stream the Cure’s set from my fucking living room. Technology may have made it easy to be a band’s #1 fan, but it sure as shit took a lot of the fun out of it.

On the other hand, what I think is great about Robert Smith is his lack of an Internet presence. Because not only is there a huge over-share problem with us regular plebes, celebrities in general post so much bullshit on Instagram and Twitter that there is no mystique left. I’ve seen the weeners of half of the metalcore scene thanks to Twitter and the now-defunct Is Anybody Up. But you don’t get that with Robert. There’s still that air of mystery. I can still pretend that Robert’s wife Mary never existed and that he sleeps in a coffin with my picture taped to the top.

My Robert Smith love is very different from my Jonny Craig love, that’s for sure. I would never fly to Australia for that douchebag, that’s for sure.

Anyway, unrelated to any of this, I want to close out my unofficial Cure Week with one of my favorite songs from The Head On the Door, which was the Cure album I was listening to the most during the time I was running around trying to secure travel arrangements to see the Dream Tour in Canberra. Coincidently, the week I was over there was the exact same week Henry started his job at Weiss Meats, the place I was currently employed. So his first impression of me was an empty desk and everyone telling him that I was the “crazy office manager” who flew to Australia “for some band.” Before we started dating, when we were in that awkward “Does he/she like me?” phase, Henry “randomly” made me this elaborate Cure screensaver; that’s when I knew he liked me for real. (God, that’s so dorky!)

Four years later, we were on a plane to California together, destination: Coachella, where the Cure was headlining. Thank god I found someone who could tolerate my hyper-obsessions.