This is from 2011 but still relevant, if only for the fact that Henry still wears booty shorts. Too tired for any new content right now. Check back later, next week, next year. 

Guys, people laugh when I say that I made a lot of friends during my time on LiveJournal, but it’s TRUE and I have been lucky (and in some cases….unlucky) enough to have met quite a bit of them. Bill is one of the ones who falls into the “I’m Lucky” category. Bill is from Michigan, and the first time we met was in 2008 when he came to Pittsburgh for one of my game nights. He brought his then-girlfriend now-wife Jessi with him and the rest is AS THEY SAY, HISTORY. Those two have been integral players in our lives since then, coming to Chooch’s birthday parties, taking us on vacation to Tennessee with them, showing us the wonders of FRANKENMUTH. (I’m going to try to get Jessi up in here too for her own People Feature.)

Here you can see Bill elbow-deep in his side-gig: balloon sword creator for children’s birthday parties. I just went through all of my Birthday Party albums in Flickr and in each one, there are pictures of Bill and Jessi with their sleeves rolled up, hanging decorations, icing cookies, blowing up balloons — these guys are gems and I’m crying right now because EMOTIONS.

Bill is one of the friendliest, most hilarious people I’ve ever met. His comedic timing is flawless; hates Guy Fieri; and he is always down to encourage and egg on any random obsessions I have, especially when the side effect is terrorizing Henry. Bill is also part-owner of a comic and game shop in Wayne, MI called Warriors 3 – he has literally built a career around having fun. That’s how fucking brilliant he is. And he loves Chooch so much that he arranged for GERARD WAY (My Chemical Romance) to give him a Twitter shout out on his 8th birthday:

Bill is also the kind of guy who will take one for the team and ask the weird waiter at Dollywood if he could take his picture when you’re too afraid to do it yourself. In other words: Bill is an A+ friend, would recommend, would hang out again and again and again. Get yourselves a Bill!

****

1.Walk us through a typical day in the life of Bill: 

Most morning start with the sounds of Bob (my cat) waking me up outside the door, or Louise (my dog) barking to get in. Then I usually do all the requisite pet feedings and then take care of the morning constitutional and bathing rituals. From there either catch up on TV or head out to work at the store. Then I spend the day working and doing my thing there. From there, me and Jessi head home and mellow out and watch TV. Once Jessi heads off to bed, I usually pop on and play video games with Worm on his stream for a few hours, then hit the sackadoodle. Wednesdays are bum fight days where I randomly go to hobo camps and challenge their leaders to hand to hand combat. Plus Saturday is for tacos.

       The sweet smell of cinnamon and raisin

       Hark, are those fresh buttered biscuits tickling my nose?

       The sausage sizzles like a lion, heading for his next Christian meal

       There better not be a fucking Mega Bus in my way!

***

And that’s my friend Bill! If you ever find yourself in the Detroit-ish area of Michigan, looking for a place to hang with cool people, I IMPLORE you to check out Bill’s shop, Warriors 3. I’m not a gamer or comic book-reader, but anytime I have visited, the sense of camaraderie is overwhelming. GEE I WONDER WHY.

8:53am: En route to WARPED TOUR and we all hate each other so bad woooooo!! Trying to order morning beverage at McDonald’s and Henry wants to kill us for being two strong-willed sassy ass individuals who know what they want. 

Yay I got my cup of flavored ice milk, thanks McCafe. 

Also, I hesitate to live blog these days because the WordPress app loves to take my pictures and shrink them down to near-thumbnails, or flat out flip them upside down. NO THATS NOT ME TRYING TO BE EDGY. That’s WordPress being a cunt*. 

*(Or, a Cindy, in my auto-correct’s opinion.)

9:29: Henry just went to Shop n Save to get us granola bars so we don’t perish during the day, and now he is getting gas: ALL THINGS HE SHOILD HAVE DONE LAST NIGHT. 

10:01: We just pulled in the lot and Henry is talking about really important things like “I don’t remember these lanes being so narrow. Did they make them narrower?” And something-something about how if you have 3 or more people in your car, blah blah who cares. 

10:05: Chooch is reading the names off the band tents as we drive through the parking lots. “Chelsea Grin–she’s always here.”  LOL N00B that’s a band of guys not a girl, idiot. 

10:12: Now I’m here in line ALONE while Henry goes to guest services to get his FREE PARENT TICKET lol. 

Lol I was just going to write about how parent-y Henry is and then some teenage girl behind me in line kept saying she was so hungry and she should have eaten breakfast so I turned around and gave her a granola bar out of my bag LIKE A TOTAL MOM but my bag is a BLED FEST drawstring so that helps negate my momness….I think?!

10:40: Kids behind us are talking about how great Neil Patrick Harris is (agreed) and they’re all name-dropping all of his projects, and being all “yeah I’ve seen that, yeah I love that” and then the one kid was all “What about Doogie Howser?” And the main know-it-all was all “Whassat?” And I thought he was kidding but the other guy has to explain what it was and I’m dying. #NPHN00b

11:15: well my plan of using Warped Tour as escape failed. The mess of my personal life has followed me here and I’m in tears and just want to go home. 

Henry and Chooch are making me stay but I’m so dead inside LOLOL

11:30: ok I drank water and breathed I think I’m ok for now lol also Silent Planet is screaming at me so that is good. 

11:45: Chooch just excitedly yelled something and made a beeline through the crowd toward the stage New Found Glory is playing on and I was like wow, I didn’t realize he was such a fan? But then he kept running straight to this: 

12:32: just played our favorite game: Lose Henry In a Crowd. So now Chooch and I are sitting here watching him run his hand through his hair in frustration and I feel a lot better about life. 

1:40: Chooch got some kind of Popsicle thing and the shiller was all, “Lucky, this is the last one in the flavor” and then Henry tried to buy the same flavor after dude JUST SAID Chooch got the last one. Henry, you’re an embarrassment. 

2:50: Worst warped tour of my life. Not your fault, Warped Tour. 

3:59: Almost left but stayed and Emarosa made everything better. I have a heart again, apparently! Bradley got us side-stage and I could have just passed out from the sheer joy of it all. I love that band so much you have no idea or maybe you do who knows. 

5:42: I think we’ve made it THREE HOURS without me flipping out and projecting! Things are looking up. *eyeroll emoji factory* I’m glad that Henry didn’t let me leave the 87 times I said I was going to. Emotions man, amirite. You should have seen my hissy fit at the front of the stage while Hail the Sun was playing. Am I 36? Nah. Guess not. 

In other news I’m staying hydrated. I think Henry and Chooch are too? I’m not responsible for them. 

5:52: Oh look who’s back. 

6:42: OH SHIT I never did get any coffee today after the McCafe blunder. FEELING IT. 

Shoes don’t tie themselves at Warped Tour. 

8:15: Leaving Warped Tour. Mixed feelings. I usually feel so at peace here but today all of my problems kept weasling their way in and I feel so stressed. Aside from that bullshit, I saw so many great bands, Emarosa put some sutures in my heart, and Chooch and I had a lot of fun (once we stopped fighting, which was only the first 1/3 of the day so we’re getting better!). I’m really glad that Henry wouldn’t leave when I wanted to. Now it’s time for FOOD. 

8:54: post-Warped coleslaw and coffee, BLESS YOU, KINGS. 

Choochs annual “I just spent all day surrounded by PETA propaganda” post-Warped Tour stint at vegetarianism: a veggie burger which he is struggling to get through. 

10:13: WELL BLOG I’m home now. My brain is swollen right now I think? So goodnight. 

Drew and Penelope were like “bitch you better post some pictures of us on the blog because we’re cute and maybe someone has had a bad day and needs some cat pics in front of their face, you never know.”

https://www.instagram.com/p/BHV9ROXjGxE/?taken-by=butt_jam

Warped Tour live blog tomorrow, maybe?

John Carpenter played at the Carnegie Music Hall on Sunday and I was so happy to be there. I bought my solo ticket a few months ago and I was legitimately looking forward to going alone, sitting alone, and not talking to anyone.

YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.

In case you don’t know, John Carpenter is basically a god. Not only did he direct my favorite horror movie of all time—“Halloween”—but he also composed its theme. Going to horror conventions isn’t my cup of succulents, so when there was a chance to see him in this kind of setting, I was all for that.

Chooch and I fought the entire way there over whose phone needed charged more and I think Henry wanted to just push and roll me out of the moving car by the time we got to Homestead. I made him drop  me off a little bit down the street so people wouldn’t think my DADDY and BROTHER had driven me there. Big Trouble in Little Chevy Cruze.

Once all the ladies at the door finished gushing over my raygun purse (I HAVE AWESOME PURSES, it’s the only interesting thing about me) I went to the makeshift bar area, made no eye contact with anyone, bought my traditional sippy cup of wine, stood in the slow-as-fuck merch line for a poster, and then found my seat in my favorite spot: balcony right, second row near the end. The view is perf.

I was familiar with most of the movie themes played that night, but JC and his band also performed some tracks from his non-movie albums as well, and I was into it. Those tracks were just as dark and sleazy, like cruising in Christine through the fog to the porn shop after doing a fuck-ton of cocaine and stabbing your dealer in the throat, and now your heart’s EKG is tracing geometric Trapper Keeper designs because coke and murder.

There was no opening band, but I think the dream line-up would have been Goblin, Angelo Badalamenti, and John Carpenter. RIGHT!?

Every so often, John would fork his fingers and make the “I’m watching you” gesture to some random blob in the audience and I SHIT YOU NOT he did it to me, I don’t give a fuck what that mousey bitch in front of me thought. He looked right over her dumb face and jutted his fingers at ME and I was all, “I SEE YOU TOO, JOHN CARPENTER!!!!”

I tried to share this memory with Henry when I got home that night but he just rolled his eyes, probably because he was jealous. He knows how much I love old guys.

Clearly.

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I’m not even going to pretend to be anyone but That Guy who was there primarily for dem Michael Myers vibes tho. And when that jam was finally plucked away on the keyboard by the very tips of John Carpenter’s finger tips, I felt seized by extreme adoration and amazement.

The night was loaded with moody, synth-driven 80s instrumental rock that gave me chills even though it was 99 degrees in that theater. I half expected to go home to my art-deco house—you know, the one with random glass block windows and pastel abstract art prints—and finding a black-gloved killer waiting to spring out from my closet and stab me to death on my waterbed, getting blood spatter all over my rad shoulder-padded blazer.

What a dream. John Carpenter, you and your band are too fucking cool for slasher school.

The first concert I ever went to was Bon Jovi in 1993 when I was 13. I wasn’t a Bon Jovi fan at all, but my Aunt Sharon was and she begged me to go with her. I remember being so annoyed about the whole thing, but this was also right around the time “Bed of Roses” came out so secretly, I was kind of excited that I would probably get to hear that MONSTER BALLAD, lol.

I barely remember anything about it other than the weather was bad (it was February) and Sharon almost considered getting a hotel in town that night so we wouldn’t have to drive home in the snow. I also remember it being so dark and overwhelming in the Civic Arena, and teasing Sharon about having a crush on the creepy man in the long black leather jacket standing near us.

I remember that the Jeff Healey Band opened and Sharon telling me the singer was blind.

I remember being secretly pleased that Bon Jovi played “Bed of Roses.”  (DON’T JUDGE ME.)

I also remember how fucking happy Sharon was to be there.

***

Sharon passed away Monday afternoon. It wasn’t sudden, but that doesn’t make her death any easier. “Easy” and “death” just don’t ever make sense together, no matter what. But, for me anyway, there is a sense of relief. It’s been a roller coaster since March 30th. I’ll spare the details, but we went from being hopeful to hopeless, rewinding and replaying the same tape, until a few weeks ago when a doctor was basically like, “Look, she’s not going to bounce back from this, probably.”

We all convened at the house last night. I gravitated toward Sharon’s room and just kind of stood there helplessly, and that’s when I saw the basket of clothes in a corner, hidden behind a chair full of creepy old dolls. No wonder I never noticed the basket past the porcelain horror-army!

In this basket, I found her signature Bon Jovi shirt and pile of stonewashed denim: some overalls, some with suspenders, one with a pair of giant red lips, but all stonewashed. When I picture the best version of my Aunt Sharon, it’s the 80s, her hair is frosted and teased, and she’s wearing this goddamn Bon Jovi tour shirt with stonewashed jeans. That’s the Aunt Sharon I want to remember, the one I’m mourning. The one who showed me the world, and the one who took me to my first concert. The one in the stonewashed jeans, with the frosted hair.

Posing for the millionth picture of the day — you guys think I’m snap-happy? I learned it by watching my grandma!

***

When Henry and I got in the car to come home last night, “Wanted Dead or Alive” was playing on the radio. Universe, you are weird and wonderful.

With that old, yellowed Bon Jovi shirt in my lap, I started to cry. I hear you, Sharon. </3

When I walked into Rivertowne after work last Tuesday, I had all kinds of responses ready for the first person who asked me why I was wearing a bologna sandwich on my face.

• BECAUSE COLDCUT MASKS ARE IN NOW, PER THE KARDASHIANS?
• This is what happens when you forget to pay your PETA dues?
• I fucked Oscar Meyer and all I got was this greasy facial?
• This is just the natural, sebaceous sheen my flesh takes on when speed-walking through 1000% humidity in July.

“Why didn’t you just take the T here?” Brian asked, with Kara seconding this inquiry.

BECAUSE IDIOTS DO THE OPPOSITE OF WHATEVER IS EASIEST, BRIAN AND KARA.

Also, my hair looked like I tried to curl a bale of hay.

I loathe going anywhere straight from work. I especially dislike not seeing Henry right after work because I am obviously very attached to him and need him to baby me for at least the first hour after I get home. It was also a weird day at work for me so I was just feeling kind of stressed and not myself, although “myself” is feeling stressed 100% of the time.

But then I started drinking that pineapple beer stuff and while my pores were still clogged with deli semen, my blood pressure was at least coming down. Brian’s friend Robin arrived a bit later and usually it takes me a while to warm up to someone new but she was so awesome and actually was interested in hearing about Bled Fest, so I put her in the “Keep” column.

After having a quick dinner and exchanging show stories, we walked across the street to Stage AE for the Modest Mouse/Brand New show. This show sold out stupid-fast and I was glad that I bought an impulse ticket during the pre-sale.

Kara forced me to get another beer because she’s the worst, and then Brian led us to the Dad Wall;  considering this wasn’t a show I needed to be close for, it was just as good a spot as any. I NEEDED MY SPACE ANYWAY.

Dopey face forever. 

Modest Mouse was the co-headliner, and they started promptly at 7:15.

I’m not much of a Modest Mouse fan. I used to casually listen to them in the early 00s but I don’t think I own more than 2 of their albums, really. However, I was OK during their set—the only times I gave up and started texting Henry or playing Tapped Out* was on the songs that had banjo. I have this deep-rooted, inexplicably hatred for banjos. I just can’t with the banjo. Sorry, Modest Mouse. SORRY MUMFORD & SONS.

Lol, I’m not sorry at all, Mumford and Sons! You guys suck!

*(J/K, I really did mostly pay attention except for when it felt like my eyes were floating in their sockets because I’m not an alcoholic and three beers for me is 2.5 more than I can handle typically.)

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Kara hated everyone around us, and it just so happened that everyone she hated were all there together so it made sense that they were all hated equally. Douches run in packs, you know?

“HEY FRIENDS, I KNOW ALL THE WORDS!” Kara mocked the guy in the green shirt, who literally never stopped pantomiming and throwing his arms around his friends.  I must have had just the amount of beer in my system because he was more amusing to me than anything. Would I have preferred to be at a small show with a younger crowd? Oh fuck yeah—but this was tolerable for me.

Which right away should tell you that something is going on with me. Not getting unreasonably hateful of everyone around me at a concert? WHO AM I?

My brother Corey was happy for all this to happen because it was the one thing that finally got me to not only use Snapchat, but create a Snapchat story.

(Sorry, I still don’t think SnapChat is for me! But I love watching Sherri Dupree Bemis’s stories.)

No. I take that back. These two were definitely pushing me to my limit. Apparently though, these two cousins ramming their tongues into each other was way more tame compared to the couple Brian saw who were finger-banging on the other side of the lawn.

“DURING MODEST MOUSE!” he cried.

And then Brand New started and if it wasn’t already evident that 75% of the crowd was there primarily for Brand New, it definitely was then. Brian sulked about this, but he stayed true to his word that he was going to stick around for at least 5 songs and try to like Brand New.

Brian, trying to understand the appeal. Our musical interests are not relevant to each other.

OK, look. Real talk. I’m a fucking sappy, sentimental motherfucker, we all know this. And I think that the reason I felt so strange and unlike myself is because in the back of my mind, I kept dwelling on the stupid past because otherwise I’d probably have to hand over my emo badge, right? But the last time I saw Brand New was in 2009 and it was an emotional disaster. Without getting into it, because I’ve never written about it, it involved: an over night trip to Cleveland, Christina, massive public displays of TEARS, blood red anger, and essentially the end of an era.

I purposely avoided Brand New after that because my saltiness tends to linger.

But when this show was announced, I didn’t even think about it — I just bought a ticket and figured enough time had passed. And I think for the most part, it was fine — they sounded great! They played most of my faves! I was with good people! Just, there was that weird feeling that I kept trying to flick away; being half-drunk helped, but by the next morning, all my emotions came out and I was back to my spirited Key of Kerrigan “WHYYYYSSS.”

So now the question is: do I attempt it again when they play at Riot Fest, or do I skip them and save myself (and Henry) the drama.

I mean, we all know the answer, but please scroll your eyes back up to the top of this maudlin diary entry and see the part about IDIOTS DOING THE OPPOSITE OF WHATEVER IS EASIEST.

Le sigh.

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And in case you’re wondering: no, Brian did not make it to the end of the show, but I really applaud his efforts! He made it through at least 5-6 songs and said he didn’t hate! But he was sad that the crowd wasn’t more into Modest Mouse, and I relate to that sadness. I think this co-headlining thing was a weird match-up though.

We’ve been working on the outside of Gillcrest lately since we’ve reached a point with the interior where actual handymen will need to be hired. There is a ton of overgrowth happening in the backyard plus some felled trees, so today Henry bought a CHAINSAW.

I know what you’re thinking: what kind of man doesn’t already own a chainsaw? Aren’t they like born with one?

I don’t know why I was so excited about this. I knew the moment that Henry fired it up, I would probably pee my pants because HAUNTED HOUSE TRAUMA.

Still, I begged him to let me pick out the chainsaw, but he shouldered me out of the way (!!!!!!) and gruffly said something about “MAN PICK CHAINSAW. YOU NOT MAN.” Then he proceeded to put on this huge show of browsing the chainsaw showcase when we all knew he was just going to buy the cheapest one there.

C’mon now, Henry.

My favorite part was after he determined which was the cheapest, he asked the Home Depot guy, “BLAH BLAH BLAH?”

And the Home Depot guy was all, “BLAH BLAH BLAH.”

And then there was a MYSTERIOUS CAN HAND-OFF.

Followed by more BLAHs and another hand-off of A THING OF STUFF.

You guys missed so much. I’ll  bring the camera crew next time.

Back at Gillcrest, no one was there yet and I was like, “Do I really want to be alone here with a chainsaw-wielding Henry?” But then my mom and Corey were there and I realized it wouldn’t have mattered much because it took Henry FORTY-FIVE MINUTES to get the chainsaw started.

WOW MUCH MAN, VERY TESTOSTERONE.

I helped by throwing crab apples at him while Corey meandered about the backyard, taking pictures of trees.

Us Kellys are notorious for our yardwork ethics.

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Henry was really starting to get extremely pissed off, so I wasn’t exactly sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing when he finally got it started. I’m not sure what the issue was other than Henry just not being masculine enough? The guys at the haunted houses never seem to have a problem getting it started.

Just sayin’.

(Please enjoy Corey’s and my obnoxious gang-laughter in the above video. It really helps Henry deal with stressful situations.)

After about 20 minutes of chainsaw’ing, I noticed Henry milling about quietly so I went over to berate him for being a slacker. He held up his finger to show me that he had WOUNDED HIMSELF ON THE CHAINSAW!!!

“OMG DID YOU CHAINSAW YOURSELF?!?!?!” I screamed, bracing myself for impending faints.

“No, I burnt myself on it,” he said quietly, probably trying to hold back tears while praying that he his penis would eventually come back to him after being engulfed by the cavernous VAGINA that had opened up in its place. God Henry, you’d never know you used to be in THE SERVICE!

“Oh,” I said, disappointed that his injury wasn’t more manly and valiant. So I went back to sitting in the grass

Apparently the reason he burned himself was because the chain was too loose and in his attempt to tighten it, he touched some silver part whatever that means. Once he stopped crying about it, he picked up the manual and sat down for some summer reading.

Then my mom came back with PIZZA which was great because Corey and I had been working very hard, dragging chopped down branches into the woods. My mom said she did a spit-take when she saw me in the yard, working.

I have callouses now, maybe.

Our new tradition is eating pizza in the formal dining room that I don’t think my grandparents ever used after the year 1983, while blasting the soft rock station over the kitchen speakers. Usually, there is at least one Phil Collins/Genesis jam that plays, but today we were treated to BROKEN WINGS by MR MISTER.

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My mom didn’t understand what was going on and thought that I was filming the pizza because the song goes with pizza (“That song goes with pizza??” she’s incredulously asking in the background of the video) but it’s really just because I needed to focus on something while capturing some glorious notes of Broken Wings, you know? And why not pizza?!

After pizza, Henry casually announced that someone was there, and we all fucking lost our shit because it’s been HAUTE TENSION since March 30th, OK? Turns out my mom had recently renewed the insurance on the house and it was just some dude from the insurance agency who was there to take photos for the file or something, I don’t know, I wasn’t the one talking to him.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go and put that Mr. Mister record on right now. KBYE.

Emarosa released their new album “131” today and I can’t put into words how much I have been anticipating this. I stayed up and downloaded it from iTunes at exactly midnight (I also pre-ordered the vinyl but couldn’t wait for it!) and then cried my face off when the beauty of it all filled my bedroom. I so badly want to throw this review into CAPSLOCK-overdrive and take it straight to Emo Town, but I’ll try to stay calm, collected, and coherent. When all I want to do is write an essay on what my heart feels like while listening to this album, though!

“And then I cried again at the 1:22 mark….”

Let’s start with the truth: this album slays; it’s a career-best for Emarosa. Oftentimes when an album is so perfectly-constructed, it can come off sounding too polished, insincere, a product of too many hands in the pot. Emarosa effortlessly avoided that and instead gave us what can only be labeled as a gift.

131 starts off with the goosebump-inducing “Hurt,” which features an otherworldly high note that turned on the faucet in my eyeballs before I even knew what was going on. Some of the tracks almost feel downright invasive, voyeuristic, like squinting through a keyhole, but then you realize you’re looking at parts of your own life. Relatable and raw, these songs are woven together with precision and thought—everything is done for a reason, every last note and word mean something, nothing is wasted or used as filler, and there are subtle connections all over the place (“Re” beautifully reworks lyrics found throughout 131 and ties it all up with a bow to provide an emotional umph of an album end-cap).

God, this band is scary-smart.

There were times on early releases, during the pre-Bradley years, where the vocal focus overshadowed the music. But it’s a new era now and the rest of the band isn’t just providing background noise, a generic gym mat to support Bradley’s smooth vocal acrobatics. Emarosa has grown into one strong, cohesive powerhouse where the vocals and instrumentation stand on equal footing.

It’s clear now that they were only testing the waters with their last album Versus. With 131, there’s a certain confidence that is felt, a sense of familiarity within the band that enables them to push these new songs past their limits, like the sly and incredibly fun Bobby Brown/Ghostbusters hat-tip in “Helpless”;  the pure pop gold of “Cloud 9” would fit in perfectly on any Carly Rae Jepsen-inspired playlist; and while “Miracle” could have easily have been a shoe-gazer, the band carries the lyrics of loss and anguish on the back of an urgent parade procession of beats. THOSE DRUMS THOUGH. It’s not “Emarosa with their new singer Bradley Walden” anymore—it’s just new Emarosa, breaking out of their post-hardcore constraints.

My current favorite (which will change 87 times today because how can you play favorites with an album this perfect) is “Never,” on which Bradley’s wife Amy Meeko provides guest vocals. My thoughts on that are: can she be in the band now, always and forever? Their voices blend together like buttercream, and not the shitty supermarket bakery birthday cake kind, either. They could sing the DMV’s drivers manual together and I’d buy it on vinyl and then make “Yielding the Right-of-Way” my ring tone. Power ballad, power couple.

131 is the perfect medley of pop, rock, and soul-stabbing balladry without sounding like the soundtrack to Sybil’s brain. No, Emarosa is not having an identity crisis—these guys know exactly who they are and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else does, too.

My only complaint about Emarosa’s 131 is that it’s not 12 hours longer. Please go buy this.

Or listen to it first on Spotify. And then go buy it. Buy a copy for your mailman too.

Remember two years ago when my dad had Amish people putting a new roof on his house? And my brother Corey and I spontaneously combusted into a cloud of giggle fumes? Well, Corey texted me the other day with an AMISH UPDATE!

The same Amish gang is building an entire house down the street from my dad’s! Corey has been texting me pictures to help quell my curiosity and provide a quick Amish fix.

Real quick though, I want everyone to know that I’m not obsessed with them because I think they’re funny, like it’s some kind of handicap to be Amish and I’m just that kind of dick who would ridicule someone for GOD FORBID not being like me. No, it’s more that I am actually obsessed with the whole idea of being Amish.

It’s fascinating and admirable to me, I guess. And whenever I see them off their turf, out here in the city, so far away from Lancaster, PA and Dutch Haven, I get inexplicably giddy.

I guess it’s the same way I feel when I see the furries too.

Speaking of, I was excitedly reminding Glenn last week of my borderline psychotic love for the Amish when I realized that it was also the week the furries were in town so then I was practically crippled with the weight of all of the unstable love I was feeling when Glenn mumbled, “What if there was an Amish furry? That would push you over the edge.”

OH MAN.

Anyway, here are some pictures of Amish menfolk, sans hardhats because the have the Lord protecting their pates, working dutifully on some yuppie’s house in Jefferson Hills. Bless you, Corey!

I would recognize that harsh bowl cut anywhere! Definitely the same guy, back on the roof where he belongs.

In other Amish news, our dad had an Amish man and his daughter come to the house to install a windmill in his backyard.

And not some beautiful decorative one in the middle of a field of tulips, but some harsh metal thing. Two strangers knocked on my dad’s door the other day and asked if they could see it, and THANK GOD Corey was home and able to capture it on video:

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Can you guys tell that Corey and I are siblings or what. So much action at my dad’s house!

UPDATE: my dad got a windmill because he saw a brochure of Amish windmills with a sunrise behind it and he thought to himself, “I want to see the sunrise behind a windmill in my backyard” and so he bought one.

GOD LOVE HIM.

Usually by the third day of a three day weekend, Henry, Chooch, and I are at each others throats. But I mean, that’s normal family talk, right? YOU LOVE ‘EM BUT YOU DON’T LIKE ‘EM.

Except that by some crazy act of god, we had an exceptionally peaceful day and actually, dare I say, ENJOYED each others company??

And this was all without the aid of roadside tent-purchased firecrackers!

How motherfucking un-American, I know.

We went to one of our favorite nature spots—Homewood Cemetery—and ran amok like morons (two of us, anyway), namedropped birds (one of us), and spent a good ten minutes enjoying the show a groundhog put on by peeking his adorable head out of a nearby hole (ALL OF US). So much nature and dead things!

Here are some photos.

Chooch serenaded his broken stick with a creepy rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA-anthem “Angel.”

Surprisingly not pissing in the pond. “Looking for frogs” is their claim.

This shirt was one of my Gillcrest finds and I love it so much. Battle of the Network Stars ringer tee vibes all up on yo’ girl.

Reppin’ that Hotel Books sad boy scene. You know what they say about families that listen to emo together….

….they cry together?

He looks so put out as usual, but I’ll have you know Chooch and I entertained him right down to the individually-wrapped prunes on his cargo pockets. He only yelled at us and called us idiots about 29 times! A low number for one of our family outings.

Shit really got crunk (lol yeah I went back to 2003 and I’ll do it because I’m a blogging renegade) when Chooch found a rogue TENNIS BALL and we played CATCH in the CEMETERY and successfully intimidated some poor kid who was learning how to drive in mom’s SUV.

I think “playing catch” is something that people did before smartphones happened.

Our version of playing catch is more like imagining that Chooch is perched above a dunk tank.

Henry apparently “hurt his arm” from whaling the ball so hard at HIS LAST BORN SON.

I hurt my arm too, but my hurt happened the day before when we were doing YARDWORK at my pappap’s house and I used….wait for it…

….hedgeclippers for the very first time and wound up with a callous and arthritis.

I did it for like 45 minutes!

Which, if you ask Henry, is more like 20 minutes in Erin Time.

Even my mom was kind of like, “I can’t watch this” and went in the house.

After the cemetery (and after I nearly peed my pants because LOL PLAYING CATCH), we went to Millie’s for an ice cream cone lunch because that’s how we chose to celebrate the day, OK? Also, no cookouts to go to. We’re loners, Dottie.

I had pistachio rose and yogurt date — what a divine combo. It felt like a real mythical pairing, you know? Like I should have been straddling a Sphinx.

Chooch got CHOCOLATE AND VANILLA. God, his palate is so fucking pedestrian. I’m so embarrassed. What a piss-poor job I’ve done at parenting. Here’s my basic kid, World. All your intricate and sophisticated flavor profiles make him puke in his mouth.

We have to seat him by the nearest napkin dispenser everywhere we go. (SPEAKING OF NAPKIN DISPENSERS!!!)

Later that night, our GROWN ASS CHILD went to Dormont Park with Dimajio and his older sister to watch the fireworks. I was equally “WOOOO FREEDOM!’ and “OMG DO YOU THINK HE’S OK WITHOUT US?!”

I didn’t grow up as a city kid–I was allllll suburbs and sheltered, baby.  So it’s pretty interesting watching Chooch living that city kid life.

Anyway. That was how we chose to celebrate our 7/4 and it was hilariously perfect. Look at that, I guess sometimes I like these assholes, too.

The furries were in town again last weekend for the 20th Anthrocon! Amber2 summed it up perfectly by saying it’s the most wonderful time of the year. There’s just something super thrilling about walking around downtown on your lunch break and seeing a unicorn strut by.

It’s a lot better than the usual lot of unsavories I try desperately not to make eye contact with, like the Maybe Bomber and the Dunkin’ Donuts Protestor.

For the second year in a row, Anthrocon made their fursuit parade open to the public! It used to be something that they did just for themselves, inside the convention center, so the general public was unable to enjoy it. But over time, Pittsburgh has become so receptive to this FURnomenon (OMG get it) that now the parade is held outside for all of us un-furred folk to ogle and applaud!

Walrus Royce contacted me last week and said he wanted to meet up after the parade if I was planning coming down for it, and I was so stoked! I missed him last year and he was determined to make it up to me. I was also excited for Chooch and Henry to meet him because hello, he’s the best one.

Chooch’s friend Dimajio came with us, and had no idea what he was about to experience. He didn’t know what Anthrocon or furries were! I was so excited for him to find out. Unfortunately, the dreaded Kenny Chesney concert was happening on the same day. This matters because it brings the worst, most disgusting, rurally-savage pieces of shit to our city like drunk lemmings.

We took the trolley downtown from the South Hills at 11:30AM and there were already rednecks and hicks OPENLY DRINKING cans of Bud Light while wearing TRUMP shirts.

Henry was all, “They’re not bothering me” and that’s because beneath his non-descript uniform and cowboy hatless head, he is a raging country jamboree waiting to happen. WE ALL KNOW THIS IS TRUE. Warped Tour is barely helping me keep his Chesney cork from popping out.

More Chesney/Trump supporters boarded the trolley at each stop until I was gagging and drowning in beer fumes and stupidity.

And look — I don’t even hate country music! I mean, I would never ever ever ever go to a country concert because ew, but I don’t think that just because you listen to country music, you’re a terrible human who wants to see our country ruined. No, it’s the classless droves of uncivilized, selfish people who look at an event like a Kenny Chesney concert as their clearance to get wasted to the point of hospitalization and an excuse to act like pigs and trash our city.

It’s just tacky, gross and most of all, embarrassing. Especially when I see people from other parts of the country posting news reports about how barbaric Pittsburgh is. Look at us! Worse than Juggalos!

It’s such a big deal that it prevented many of my friends from even coming downtown for the parade because no one who actually lives in Pittsburgh and has even an ounce of decency wants to deal with this bullshit. Chris and Monica even considered not meeting us down there because of this, but luckily, the part of town where the convention is held is a relatively safe distance away from any degenerate looking to cause trouble or belch in our general vicinity. So they still came!

I had it in my head that the parade started at 1 and was set on getting downtown by noon.

“WE HAVE TO GET A GOOD SPOT!”  I kept screaming. Three-Days-Later-Erin would like to go back and smack Saturday-at-the-Parade-Erin upside the head because bitch calm the fuck down for once.

So we got down there all fucking early and shit and I’m like, “Wow, Kenny Chesney really kept people away” because no one had started lining up yet! Henry kept whispering something about how that’s because it didn’t start until 2 and I was like, “Boy, shut your lying face-pussy!”

Yeah, so the parade didn’t start until 2.

I’M WRONG SOMETIMES, GOD. SUE ME.

It’s not like you could be bored down there though. There were so many furries to flirt with, I mean, wave to as they walked by to get inside the convention center. We didn’t even have to entertain Chooch and Dimajio or make sure they didn’t get hit by a car because the streets were already blocked off!

And then the parade started and it was the best thing in the world! It was even better than last year’s because there were more furries and Chooch wasn’t being an asshole.

I don’t know much about beer, but I feel like Gangsta Furry drinks better beer than Chesney tailgaters.  Don’t most of them drink moonshine, anyway?

One of my favorite moments was when Monica said she knew she wasn’t at a Kenny Chesney concert when Henry picked up our trash and put it in a garbage can.

Chooch got all of the furry handouts. I didn’t even see any of them passing out balloons! I’m so disappointed. But Chris and I both got candy from one of the furries, and I got some ribbon with paw prints on it.

“Oh another little kid!” the furry announced after handing me my prize and seeing Dimajio and Chooch next to me;  apparently they were only being passed out to the kids but I just fit in so well.

Plus, my urgent grunts of “ME! ME! ME!” with cupped hands might have aided my cause as well.

This year’s theme was The Roaring 20s, duh.

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Dimajio was a fast convert to the Church of Furry. I don’t mind Dimajio because he calls me Miss Kelly and not the dreaded and completely offensive Mrs. Robbins. THAT’S A SMART, POLITE BOY. I hope some of that rubs off on Chooch because he is such a jerk sometimes.

Ask Monica. We went to Ben & Jerry’s after the parade and he was encroaching on her space so much and just being a general brat that she finally snapped and called him an asshole. It was hilarious because the girl behind the counter kind of flinched a bit and then looked over at me, like, “Are you going to let this woman call your son an asshole?”

Yes. Yes, I am.

High-fives all around for Monica!

Stupid Five Nights at Freddy’s.

Of course my furry-magnet son got the most attention, but Chris and I got a lot of action too. I even had one furry single me out and fight his/her way over to wrap me up in a hot embrace. No really, it was super hot being imprisoned by all that fake fur.

“How many hugs did YOU get Henry?” I spun around to heckle. “OH THAT’S RIGHT – NONE!” So then Monica leaned over and hugged him because she is such a Henrylover.

So, let’s take back some of those high-fives we were doling out for Monica a few paragraphs ago.

Sike, j/k. Monica’s hug did not come wrapped in a fursuit so I still won! SUCK IT, HENRY!

But then Henry had the last laugh when I was snubbed by a furry, who instead leaned down to fistbump Dimajio, and his plainclothed handler gave me a bare-handed high-five out of pity.

Dimajio thought it was SO FUNNY, too, but he called me Miss Kelly again while telling me how funny it was, so I’ll let it slide.

Henry, the natural furry.

Oh, this sloth, you guys! Have you ever seen anything so adorable? Chris was practically hemorrhaging trying to get its attention. And then we were rewarded with sloth-y high-fives!

YEAH WE DO. We were positively giddy during the parade. Even Chris said that her face hurt from all the smiling she was doing, and Monica compared it to the same sense of acceptance and diversity that she associates with Pride. I love how every year, more and more of this city becomes OK with this, it’s becoming less taboo and more of something that people, especially the businesses down here, look forward to.

(Though there is this one barista at a coffee shop down here, I WON’T NAME NAMES, who completely flipped out on me when I asked if he’d seen any furries yet. He’s only been living in Pittsburgh for a year and has just recently learned about them and is not happy about it. It sounds like he just hasn’t opened up his heart to them, yet! I’ll keep working on him.)

I had a 4:00 meet-n-greet set up with Walrus Royce, who did not hear my anguished bellows of “ROYCE! ROYYYYYCE!” when he flapped past us during the parade. But that’s OK, because I got to give him a big hug and watch him flap around to the Post-Modern Jukebox rendition of “Call Me Maybe” in the lobby of the Westin – per my request! It was the best gift!

He gave Chooch and Dimajio lots of tips on making their own costumes, and they are obsessed now. I mean, we knew it was only a matter of time before Chooch became an official member, but now that Dimajio’s interested as well, there is more motivation to follow through.

You’re welcome, Dimajio’s mom!

Me and Royce’s pal, Comus! His eyes actually light up, you guys. Some of these fursuits have got all kinds of bells and whistles. I’m actually pretty excited to see what Chooch comes up with for his fursona!

After about twenty minutes or so, it was time to let Royce get back to doing his thing as quite a few people had begun to converge upon him, wanting a better look at his unique mask and asking for pictures. I’m just really honored that he cleared some of his schedule to hang out with me and meet my people — this is why he’s my favorite!

Before leaving though, I had one thing to ask of him: to let me take his picture holding a sign with the name of the ‘zine I do here at work, because (most) everyone in this department love furries and some of them even have furry-watching happy hours that they plan well in advance (gotta get a good table!). It’s just such a fun way to break up the work week, you know?

Because my ‘zine is called ATTN REQUIRED. You wouldn’t understand unless you work here. Ugh. Just forget it.

Chooch and Dimajio tried to help me with my project too. TRIED being the operative word. I found something wrong with every picture!

A normal scene in Pittsburgh during Anthrocon.

God love the furries!

In an effort to give the Internet a break from my amateur music reviews (it’s been a long time since I was in college, but I don’t think they teach you to write OW MY HEART and OMG THE FEELS in journalism class), I decided to start featuring real life people on here to mix things up, give the blog a big ol’ squirt of Febreze.

And my guinea pig is my very great friend Kara! If you know me in real life, then you probably definitely know Kara. She’s a fixture at all of my lame themed parties and the first one that I text when there is some weird idea I have for a photoshoot or just need a Zenith fix. And if you don’t know me in real life but just through this blog, you still probably know who Kara is because she is one of my favorite people to slander on here!

Kara and I met in 2005 on that good old social media grandfather called MYSPACE and we’re living proof that sometimes people literally are just trying to make platonic, social connections with no ulterior motives. Whoever would have thought. She was Chooch’s first crush and is the best person to have at game night because she is NO NONSENSE when it comes to reading directions and keeping people on track. Kara is the first person who will be there waiting with a cupcake when you’re having a rough time of things and usually one of the last people to show up at parties but that’s OK because you know she will be there eventually!

OK, I know it’s the 4th of July but put down your Sparklers and PBR and learn some things about my friend Kara because you never know–YOU MIGHT BE NEXT.

*****

Let’s start with the most important question: What were you like in high school?

Oh gosh. Terrible!

I guess I was some sort of alterna-chick, or at least what that meant at the time. JNCOs , rainbow colored hair, and band t-shirts from Coal Chamber and Stabbing Westward *shudder* If you ask nicely, I could probably find you a picture.

I was also a marching band nerd. How those two happened together I will never understand, but I was in band from 8th=12th grade. Yet I still don’t have any sense of rhythm!

And last, I was also a bit of a mean girl. Our school was very small, so everybody knew everyone else and mostly got along, but I took pride in being a loudmouth that would make people cry.

I told you it was terrible.

You’re a contestant on a game show. How does the host announce you?
Speaking of game shows, remember when we wanted to be on Silent Library? I’m still salty we never did that.

On to the question though-

We’re lucky she didn’t’ flake out on us in an anxiety fueled stupor. She’s addicted to her phone, she’s a bit of a nut, and has forgotten what its like to talk to people over the age of 10 when its not work related. Heeeres Kara!

We would have been so hilariously terrible on Silent Library! OK, back to business: When you and I went to Phipp’s in 2007, I learned that you are scared of butterflies. DRAW ONE. It’s like…art therapy.

Ugh. Ok. I still don’t like how flappy and weird they are.

4.

If you were on MTV’s The Challenge, who would you try to buddy up to and why?

CT UMPH!

If it had to be a girl or someone I didn’t pick just because I wanted to bone them, I would go Sara. She’s smart, she’s good at the game, and she is pretty even keeled.

Think of your biggest pet peeve. Now write a haiku about it (don’t worry – you know I can’t count syllables):

Nobody wants to

Hear you chew cud like a cow

Shut your goddamn mouth!

You have two young boys but still get out and do things, like running marathons and going to weird museums with me. How did you avoid falling into that domestic bomb shelter after having kids?

Am I really the best person to ask this?

Real talk for a second, I am an anxiety ridden head case. Pretty much every second of the day I am anxious about what I have to do, trying to do stuff but failing because Im anxious about it, or feeling bad about being anxious about stuff. It doesn’t even have to be anything big or important. It’s a terrible negative feedback loop that I get stuck in pretty much constantly.

I run because it is cheaper than therapy. At least that is what they told me, but I have a closet full of running gear and a bunch of race registrations that might beg to differ. Running is a way to get out of the house, meet people in a somewhat controlled setting, and tires me out enough where I can kind of think straight. So I try not to miss that, and my family kind of pushes me out the door if I do because I get a little high strung.

I am pretty sure that you are the only one I do cool stuff with anymore. You are my coolest friend, so I guess it makes sense that I do the coolest stuff with you, but I don’t really get out all that much. I would like to, but refer back to that whole anxiety thing that makes it super easy to say no to things rather than get myself psyched up to do them.

If just one 80s jam had to announce your entrance into every room for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

Oooh, toughy!

Probably Eddie Murphy – Party all the Time. How can you not smile when that jam comes on?!

One of your friends (probably someone you met on MySpace—god, Kara!) is visiting Pittsburgh for the first time and you have one day to show them around. What are your local must-sees?

The Mattress Factory for sure! The coolest museum in town, and I get to show off my ‘hood a bit. I would probably also take them to the water stairs because it is a favorite place of mine. If we are sticking to the neighborhood then we would get burritos at El Burro. If they have small kids, then I feel like playing at Blue Slide Playground in Frick Park is a must do. They have one of those concrete slides built into the hill there, and you have to slide down using a piece of cardboard so much fun! Maybe Spak pizza to end it all? Most of my favorite things revolve around food!

Give us FIVE BANDS that you love, and then you’re free to go:

I’m like the anti-Erin in this department. I haven’t found a new band that I have really loved in many years. I just don’t get as into music as I used to, so finding new bands just doesn’t happen. Maybe you can start dragging my ass out to shows and I can change this? At any rate, my favorites are all old.

*This just totally jogged my memory that you sent me a recommendation awhile ago and I never listened. I need to do this!*

Superdrag: I don’t care if they haven’t made a record in awhile; they are my absolute favorite and probably will be forever.

Refused: The only band I travel around to see. Such a great energy at their shows.

Queens of the Stone Age: I don’t think I will ever get tired of any of their records.

Alkaline Trio: I know, I know. I stopped listening right around Good Mourning, but those older albums grab me right in my heart and take me right back to the best and worst times of my life. They will probably always own me.

Tom Petty: An oldy but goody. This man can do no wrong in my eyes. A lot of bands get really shitty if they stick around too long, but Hypnotic Eye was freaking amazing. 30+ years later and he still has it. Little Kara trivia here – The Traveling Wilburys Volume 3 was the first CD I ever owned.

***

And now you know a little more about my awesome friend Kara! I’m going to remember what she said up there about dragging her ass to shows the next time some band is playing in a shady frat shack basement in Oakland!

Thanks for participating, Kara! I hope you have zero butterfly encounters today. <3

PRO TIP: If you see that a band I like is coming to town and you know that I don’t know about it, don’t tell me about it and then expect to just casually walk away from the conversation without getting sucked into going with me.

You would think that Henry would understand this by now?

Granted, they could have been playing at a myriad of other local venues and I would have gladly gone alone, but nope – this show was at Diesel and I for certain didn’t want to go without Henry because that place creeps me out. The last show I went to there was Thrice in 2009 and I ended up getting in a fight with some doucher (surprisingly not Henry) and before the show even ended, all these sleazy nightclub people were filing in and the vibe was so whack, I absolutely hated it. It just wasn’t my scene.

That memory was almost enough to get me to pass on this show but I love Hotel Books and have never seen him/them — it’s a spoken word project of Cam Smith and I know what you’re thinking – “Wow, Erin, you don’t seem smart enough to understand how to enjoy such things” – but somehow, I’m able to expand my narrow mind wide enough to let it all in, my friend(s). It’s a trying process for this high school drop out.

The real kicker is that this band is faith-based and I’m practically a devil worshiper, but I just have enough emo juice slurping through my veins to not render into a pile of ash as the first word is spoken.

Doors were supposed to be at 7:00 (or 6:30 depending on who you asked). We arrived a bit before 7, after Henry drove erratically around the back streets of South Side, cursing me and every car who was parked where he wanted to park, until he found the most fortuitous spot right on the main street, practically across from Diesel. Anyway, the doors were definitely not open yet.

But at least we got to be serenaded by Phil Collins:

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While waiting outside, a young guy struck up conversation with me. I mentioned that it had been a good 7 years since I last saw a show at Diesel and he told me that actually, the man who runs the Rex Theater across the street has taken over booking shows at Diesel, and they only have been having shows there again since May. I mean, anytime I saw any event listed for that place, it was the likes of Danity Kane or some random DJ – never a band in my wheelhouse.

And somewhere during this conversation it occurred to me that I carrying on like a proper, socially-adept human, OH BECAUSE I WAS TALKING TO SOMEONE UNDER THE AGE OF 25 WHO LIKES THE SAME MUSIC AS  ME.

Fuck my life, man.

Just kidding. I love my life.

Once the doors finally opened, I got to talk to the new guy in charge! He was very nice and eager to know  how we felt about using Eventbrite to purchase our tickets. I didn’t really have a solid answer for him, but I will say that I was extremely excited that the ticket total wasn’t nearly doubled by the time fees and hidden charges with tacked on. Eventbrite can stay.

We right upstairs to the 21+ area to hang out like elderly people during the first couple of bands. Not surprisingly, only two other people came up there. This show was definitely not promoted well (I mean, clearly — if not for Henry, I wouldn’t have even known about it) and therefor, only about 20 people showed up.

And most of those people were friends with the two local bands who were opening.

Pointless low light iPhone picture.

Since I was working late shift the next day, I had TWO BEERS! I live my life so recklessly, you guys. WHAT RULES? Plus, being there again after all this time made me extremely nostalgic for my early 20s when Diesel was a rock club call Nick’s Fat City and my friends and I used to go there to see local bands play all the time, like SOUR (oh man, I was fucking obsessed with them). This was also where I sobbed during many Cold shows, where I met Finger Eleven back before they were known, and where I saw 30 Seconds to Mars for FIVE DOLLARS and barely anyone there even knew it was Jared Leto’s band.

So many good times were had in that place. And then it closed. And then it reopened as some skanky night club and I cried into my Smirnoff Ice.

I couldn’t tell the last time I was there because it was so crowded, but with it being so empty like it was on this night, my senses were better able to pick up the fact that it still smelled and felt like Nick’s Fat City. Even with all the swanky banquettes, chandeliers, and sexy neon lights, I could feel the ghost of Nick.

It was an amazing flashback, and it made my heart feel like it was being kicked out of a plane with no parachute.

Sometime before 7:30, the first band took the stage. It seemed like it was one of their first shows and they were having a ton of technical difficulties which was a shame because they didn’t sound bad! I made sure to clap extra hard for them BECAUSE THOSE ARE SOMEONE’S KIDS, YOU KNOW?!

Ugh, I’m such a scene mom.

I think their name was Archway.

After them was another local band: Logan’s Star Pupil. I liked them a lot too — their Pittsburgh pop-punk emo blend sounded pleasant in my ears and even Henry gave them a lazy thumbs-up. If you’re feeling generous today and want to support some Pittsburgh music, go buy their album on Bandcamp! Treat yourself to some new summer jams. It’s OK – we all need to drive around with the windows down, pretending like we’re 17 again. I mean, I do it all the time.

Except for winter.

Or when it’s raining.

Or when the AC is on.

YOU GET THE POINT. 

I told them on Twitter that I loved them instead of saying something the 3x I walked past them while going to the bathroom/coming back from the bathroom, because I have to pick and choose my small talk. It really is my version of a battle.

Besides, I was saving it up for after the show.

Oh man, the next band was Hearts Like Lions and I fell for them hard. Henry wasn’t surprised at all. They’re signed to Tooth & Nail, so it was pretty inevitable that I would open up my heart to them instantaneously. The music, the vocals, the vibes — I was into it. Go buy their ep. Or at least listen to it 8743298374 times and tell your friends and then buy a shirt.

Tried to convince Henry that we need neon-lit panels on one wall of our future guest room. He finally said yes just to shut me up.

The next band was XXI and I was looking forward to  them because they were recently on tour with Artifex Pereo. But you guys, I didn’t like them. I mean, I didn’t hate them, either, but they just didn’t do it for me and they were so different from the other bands that it kind of killed the vibe for me. Ironically, they were hard rock in the vein of what I would have gone to see at Nick’s Fat City in 2000. The singer even “warned” the crowd that they were going to be a lot “heavier” than the other bands, and it was just a tad condescending.

After their set (which Henry fell asleep during), we closed out our tab and Henry yelled at me for jogging in place to Taking Back Sunday. That’s soooooo Henry, always trying to box me in and clip my wings.

And then: Hotel Books.

Oh for fuck’s sake. I know that spoken word is an acquired taste, but it’s hard for me to imagine anyone listening to Cam’s gut-wrenching words and not being at least partially affected. First and foremost, I respect him as a writer and poet. Anyone who can fold in aspects of their faith into their music and not make me feel like I’m being force-fed Bible passages is a lyrical genius in my eyes. But instead of stopping there, he takes his words and layers them over the most soul-infusing, ambient music and then bam: Hotel Books, ladies and gentlemen.

In between his songs, Cam did some off-the-cuff sermonizing; he talked about growing up in a small-town in California, about the conversations he has with people at his local Starbucks, about not performing some of his more popular songs anymore because it doesn’t feel honest to him anymore….he talked about these things, and about life, and about emotions and people and not being good enough and I realized that I had no idea how long I had been crying.

But my face all wet and I was starting to shake a little bit.

So often, I feel alone in my life. I know that I’m not: I have Henry, Chooch, Corey and now my mom, and I’ve got some really solid friends that I appreciate more than anything. But I am such a stupidly emotional person that I tend to smother a lot of that because who wants to be around someone who is hunchbacked from all the constant navel-gazing. Time and a place, amirite? And my time and place is at shows like this one. Without making eye contact or knowing anyone around me, it comforts me to know these people have got to feel the same way and it’s OK, this is our normal, and we can all enjoy the sad boy music and cry together, and then go our separate ways knowing we’re all gonna be alright.

I mean, except for Henry who just sat on a step with a tight-lipped expression, unable to decide if he liked or hated it. (He told me later that “it wasn’t bad” and we all know that Henry’s Rating Meter doesn’t go much higher than that.)

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After the show, I made Papa H buy me things, and so I got to chat a little with the singer of Hearts Like Lions at their merch table. He was so fucking nice and now I like that band even more.

I am notoriously anti-meeting bands because I get so stupid and trip over my tongue and it’s just humiliating and not worth it in the end, but this time I was determined not to leave until I met Cam. Maybe it was the TWO WHOLE BEERS holding my hand, who knows. A small group had converged upon Cam and as soon as one of the girls mentioned something about her church, I looked at Henry and groaned, “Ugh, they’re going to be here forever!” I mean, they just kept talking and talking and I was considering just ducking past and leaving, but then Cam looked over at me and asked with a smile, “Are you waiting for me?”

Ugh yes! Everyone backed away so I could approach him. I told him that he makes me heart feel so large, and asked if I could hug him. Do you know me? Because I apparently don’t. Erin On a Regular Day shirks human contact. But Erin at the Church of Hotel Books was practically begging for a hug. And so we hugged and it was amazing; I somehow managed to not cry until later that night when everyone was asleep.

PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO ^^^^^

And this^^^^

Oh god, I’m crying so hard but smiling at the same time. I want Hotel Books to come back and play a candlelight show at my Pappap’s house. Maybe I’d start opening the door for the Jehovah’s Witnesses if they came at me with ethereal spoken word instead of pushy, pamphlet’d propaganda.

Thank you for telling me about this show, Henry. I owe you. <3