I made it through the whole debate without a drop of alcohol. Did I win or lose, I can’t tell. 

Pretty glad I’m off work tomorrow though because I feel like I hit my head off the wall too hard. 

Gotta hand it to Trump though for aligning Henry and me, politically, for the first time in the 15 years we’ve been together. Our mutual hatred for that man has our views and ideals all synced up like the menstrual cycle of two college roommates. 

In other news, what a great weekend! 

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I try to keep it light and fluffy around here, but I am just too fucking angry right now and ranting to Henry just isn’t cutting it anymore. I need to hear my fingertips murdering the keyboard, so HERE GOES.

It was the year 2000. I was a 20-year-old office manager at my first “real job.” I was learning some basic bookkeeping skills, designing weekly flyers, in charge of handling money brought back by the drivers, printing invoices….

….and being sexually harassed almost daily by my boss’s son.

20 years old and I’m starting to believe that this is a normal thing that happens in the office, being propositioned one minute and then forced to babysit the kids in my office when the wife comes to visit. Society tells me that I should just laugh it off, shrug about it, get some thicker skin.  It was just words, right? Just some lewd, perverted comments that I could either cry about, fight about, or ignore. I was too proud to cry, too scared of getting fired to fight, so I chose to just ignore. It becomes part of my unwritten job description, just another duty in order to earn a paycheck.

Just words. Just words. Just words.

One day, I was standing at the filing cabinet, organizing invoices (a/k/a doing my fucking job) when he ran into my office, GRABBED MY CROTCH, giggled hysterically, and ran out.

And I did nothing. Because this was a family-run business. There was no HR. I didn’t want my boss to fire me because I needed that job. I stayed there for FOUR YEARS because I was naive and believed that I could handle it, that I was strong enough, look how thick my skin is. For four years, I was “strong enough.”

Until I wasn’t. Until I realized that I was confusing “strength” with “numbness” and “complacency.”

I quit in 2004. A mediation between me and the owner happened a few months later and there was a settlement. No apology, though. Because in the eyes of these men, it wasn’t rape. It was “just touching,” right? Maybe some lewd innuendos and comments here and there. So that makes it “not as bad,” you know? It never went any further than that so it was “excusable.” The worst part is that I was almost convinced that this was true. 

But the truth is that outside of that environment, I realized that it didn’t matter how strong I thought I was, what happened was gross and abhorrent, NOT NORMAL, and something that I’ve had to live with every day since. I have four year’s worth of composition books filled with details of what was said and done to me, all these composition books which I will probably never be able to go back and crack open. 

It took me THREE YEARS to get a job after that because I was so scared of putting myself in another situation like that. I didn’t realize just how awful all of this was until I started opening up about it later on, to new co-workers who promised me that it was so far from being OK. 

When I see Donald Trump, I see my ex-boss’s son. That could be him—the man who bragged that he was going to cheat on his wife with me, the man who casually asked me in front of a roomful of men which female celebrity I’d most like to fuck, the man who grabbed my crotch—running for president. Same crude ideals, same perverted values, same disgusting entitlement. If someone is the type of person to make those kinds of misogynistic comments, then chances are, they’re the type of person to eventually turn those words into actions.

It makes me think, if it was that hard for me to step forward and tell someone what was happening, imagine what it feels like to be a RAPE VICTIM.

I think about that, and I just feel so fucking angry. Trump is such a trigger to so many women, just FUCK OFF already. 

 

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This is my current favorite Dance Gavin Dance song. I want to get the whole thing tattooed on my face. (OK FINE — SHARPIED.) I told Henry that it makes me feel like I’m going to throw up and he looked mildly concerned until I said IN A GOOD WAY and then he didn’t care anymore. 

It also makes me feel like I’m leisurely swimming through the calm, sparkling waters of the year 2008. 

How is everything they do so perfect? I’m obsessed. I’m forever obsessed!!

Henry told me to calm down BECAUSE I AM YELLING AND KICKING THE AIR NEAR HIS FACE BECAUSE I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS DAMN RECORD. 

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I haven’t done one of my Goofus & Gallant-inspired comic things on here in YEARS, probably not since the time Henry broke my foot with a bowling ball. I still liked Jonny Craig when that happened, that’s how I know it’s been a long time.

But this morning, I was  thinking about how appalled Chris was after the pie party when she and Monica hung back to help us clean up and she got to experience first hand what Henry deals with. We were stripping the pie table of all of the burlap sheets that I use for table cloths, and they were covered with confetti. Chris was all, “SERIOUSLY YOU’RE JUST SHAKING THAT ALL OVER THE GROUND?! WHAT THE HELL?!?!” I couldn’t stop laughing about it, and it inspired me to make a new Goofus & Gallant. (If you’re cool as fuck, you might remember those comics from Highlights for Children.)

 

I just wasted entirely too  much time making these. Now I have to go watch Dance Gavin Dance videos. Speaking of, there’s a Warped Tour edition Goofus & Gallant here if you’re interested!

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OMG OK so Dance Gavin Dance was in town on Monday and it was the longest work day of my life. I was so giddy about it too because DGD is just so much fun and they make me feel pure happiness, which is an anomaly for me considering all I do is cry cry cry at shows. But this current version of DGD, fronted by Tilian, just makes me want to dance my fucking face off.

I was so excited about it that at the end of our weekly meeting that night, I blurted out, “I’M GOING TO SEE DANCE GAVIN DANCE TONIGHT YOU GUYS” and everyone was like, “Wow. Cool story. Poor Henry.”

Before leaving work, I went to change my clothes in the bathroom and that’s when I realized that I only brought jeans and not a shirt so I got to wear the fucking BLOUSE I had on at work to the goddamn DGD show like a fucking WORKING MOM.

I mean, I am a working mom but those kids don’t need to know that. Ugh.

“You still look cute though!” Amber¹ said when I whined to her about it in GAYLE’S HALLWAY.

(Seriously, Gayle has her own hallway.)

UGH FINE.

Henry picked me up from work and we went straight to Millvale, where we had some time to have a very fancy dinner at Subway. I was happy that they have wraps there because I was carrying a pie baby (thanks, pie party) and barely wanted to eat anything but I also didn’t want to pass out at the show. The two people working there were such assholes. Like, grow a personality. Fucking fake it if you have to! Don’t make me feel like a reject because I only want black olives, tomatoes, spinach and then more black olives on my red pepper hummus wrap, you dumb cooze.

Oh for God’s sake, I was so miserable during their set and actually felt like trapped.

Like I was in a cage.

LIKE I WAS A GOOD TIGER IN A CAGE SUBJECTED TO BAD MUSIC.

But then Hail the Sun came out and made it all OK. (Well, for me, anyway. Henry hates Hail the Sun.)

I have nothing but good words for these guys. I’ve seen them so many times over the years (mostly with DGD!) and they just keep getting better. I have a greater appreciation for them now though. I love watching Donovan do his crazy dancing on stage, and that’s Henry’s least favorite part because Henry hates watching people exhibit joy and passion.

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BUT SERIOUSLY THIS FUCKING SONG OW MY HEART. I love when he says “t-t-telephone.” It makes me clasp my hands against my chest like I just watched my kid take his first step or something. I don’t know, I’m trying to be RELATABLE.

I just asked Henry, off the cuff, to tell me what he thinks about Hail the Sun and he murmured, “I don’t think about them.”

He made copious comments about Donovan’s dancing that night though.

I just realized that Henry is just jealous.

And the night just got better from there. The Contortionist came out next and I honestly had never heard of them before so I had no idea what to expect. They started out with a very theatrical, slow burn of an intro. OK, they had my attention. They reminded me of elements of Dredg and Tool. Maybe even a little Earshot. 

Later, I found out that they primarily tour with metal bands I’m just not into, like Born of Osiris, Veil of Maya, Hatebreed, Killswitch Engage — so it makes sense that I’ve never come across them before. That’s way out of my wheelhouse. 

The singer’s voice was ethereal and effortlessly beautiful. But the most interesting part about him was the controlled way he slowly moved around the stage, alternating between fluid and jerky movements. It was like we were watching him through a strobe light and it just made me so uneasy yet absolutely enrapt.

And then he started screaming his fucking throat raw, causing a violent circle pit to open up and people were doing weird hand things and this is when I was convinced that the singer is a cult leader.

I was also kind of legit scared. The singer reminded me of Voldemort.

“HASHTAG SO OBSESSED!” I shouted in Henry’s ear, who just frowned in response.

Henry frowned, not his ear.

There was a moment when the singer hit a certain note so angelically that I spontaneously burst into tears.

Henry knew this was going to happen.

I was hooked, you guys. His voice. Their music. The whole aesthetic. I guess I’m now an official worshiper of the house of The Contortionist. Catch ya later, Catholicism.

I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THEM AGAIN!!!

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In between bands, Toto’s Africa came on, inciting a deliriously loud sing-along inside Mr. Smalls, and Henry slept through through the whole thing…..while leaning against a wall. 

He told me later that he wasn’t “sleeping,” he was “trying not to pass out.”

LOLOL.

It’s OK to laugh, guys. He’s fine.

And then….OMG OMG OMG it was time for Dance Gavin Dance! You bet your ass I sweat all the way through my dumb blouse during their set because it’s DGD and who can stand still during their show?! I mean, besides Henry?!

Tilian fractured his leg over the summer and was propped up on crutches, so we didn’t get to see any of his sweet dance moves (much to Henry’s relief* — he is like, so hard to impress when it comes to stage presence), but even standing still, he was a fucking star. (He did treat us to some body rolls though because he’s Tilian and that’s what Tilian does.)

*(Does Henry just hate dancing in general? IS HENRY THE DAD FROM FOOTLOOSE?!?!)

The energy in the room was off the charts and I just lost my mind screaming like it was Beatlesmania in 2016. This band inflates my heart with unadulterated, all natural, no-preservatives-added joy. I wish I could explain it, but their sick beats and weird lyrics breathe life back into me, and in one hour they were able to reverse the negative effects the last several months have had on me. HOW?! I don’t know! Aside from Henry’s kids, I have never been able to get any of my friends into this band, so I can’t quite put my finger on what it is about them that draws me to them, but they had a pull on me since the very first time I heard them nearly 10 years ago, and through three different vocalists and a million various line-up changes, my devotion to them has never faltered.

Because they make me feel like THIS! Giddy and ridiculous!

Ugh, they’re just so fun. And their set list was bonkers too – they covered all eras – but my only complaint was that it was so short. Only an hour! They have seven albums at this point and could play for so much longer if they would stop taking so many bands on tour with them. It should have just been Hail the Sun and The Contortionist.

Maybe bring out a chair for Tilian so he doesn’t have to stand on a broken leg, you know? WE DON’T MIND.

At one point, some girl came shooting out of the middle of the crowd and practically lunged at me, putting me in some strange hug-like thing, and nearly knocking me against the wall.

I was so confused, wondering if I knew her.

“I lost my shoe!” she kept yelling to me. And then some guy came and retrieved her. I noticed that she had both shoes on, right before she was swallowed up by the crowd. I exchanged shrugs with the girl next to me and then we laughed and went back to freaking out over Dance Gavin Dance. I LOVE EVERYONE AT DGD SHOWS.

COCAINE CRINGE FEST!!!!

In between songs, Tilian mentioned that this was the first night they had their new, not-yet-released album available at their merch booth, which was perfect because I never got around to pre-ordering it since Riot Fest made us poor, so I told Henry we needed to get it.

“Then we’ll have to leave before it’s over so we don’t have to wait in line,” Henry shouted back into my ear.

I was like OH HELL NAW, I’m not leaving a goddamn DGD early, who does he think he’s suggesting this to? Some working mom in a blouse?

“Well, why don’t you just go over there now and get it,” I countered, and he did as he was told.

Several minutes passed and I became acutely aware that he never returned. Usually I can feel his dumb belly pushing against my back because he stands so fucking close to me like he’s suddenly Mr. Possessive when we all know he doesn’t give a fuck. Yeah, he went to buy the record for me and never came back. That motherfucker went straight back to the car!

Ballsy move, Hank.

Good thing DGD puts me in a zone and I really didn’t care either way. Henry told me later, “I mean, I like Dance Gavin Dance. But there was only like 20 minutes left anyway, and you know, I’ve seen them before, so.”

Wow.

Cool reasoning, bro.

SET LIST:

• Chucky vs. The Giant Tortoise
• Stroke God Millionaire
• On the Run
• Spooks (!!!!!!!!!!!)
• Tree Village
• FLOSSIE DICKEY BOUNCE!
• Death of a Strawberry
• Strawberry Swisher Pt 3 (I lose my mind during the “keep my fingers crossed, I want to be somewhere that I belong” part every single time)
• Betrayed By the Game
• Lemon Meringue Tie <33333333333333333333
• We Own the Night
• Alex English

This just isn’t enough, but I’ll take what I can get.

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You guys, it’s so wonderful. (And yes, the only record player in our house right now belongs to Chooch the Hipster. And he doesn’t let me forget it, either.)

I have been in the best mood since Monday night.

Henry is upstairs sleeping so I just called him on the phone, from the couch, to get a quote from him.

“I cant believe you called me for this,” Henry sighed around his mouth cobwebs. “Why do you make me do this stuff. I don’t know. I like Dance Gavin Dance.”

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, DANCE GAVIN DANCE. <3

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People kept wondering on Sunday how many Pie Parties there have been so far, but no one guessed SIX. Which is the answer. Six.

Six!

How has this not gotten old yet?

Commemorative buttons for those who have been to all six!

I’ll be honest though: I didn’t want to have one this year. You know how you get sometimes, all beaten down by life and you’d rather just wallow in your tear-filled pit of despair but then you remember that being around your peeps makes you happy.

Plus, you know: pie.

So much pie!

This year, I decided to have a theme, so I picked “Exotic.” Give people some type of gyrating star to shoot for, you know? And if anyone opted to just bring a supermarket apple pie, they could always give it a stripper name. Like Brandylynne.

Or Candy.

Candy Apple Pie.

OMG.

Of course, I found some pies for Henry to make which involved hard-to-obtain ingredients. He left the house at like 6am on Saturday in his attempt to find some kind of Asian purple sweet potato. God only knows how many parking lots he wept in before finally finding one.

But the other pie called for matcha (I mean, it was a Matcha Cream pie, so….) but he was all, “I REFUSE TO PAY $18 FOR MATCHA WHEN I ONLY NEED THREE TABLESPOONS.”

Wow. Slow your fucking roll, Hank.

I interrupted his pie-baking several times on Saturday because I was being a emotional vampire and needed hugs to stay alive. He acted like he was so put-out by this, but obliged every time. It was funny because he was wearing AN APRON.

Lol, Henry.

And then we got to have pizza for dinner because fuck if he was cooking after spending all day in the kitchen.

I took this picture before Henry dusted off the sign, which was coated with Trudy (our mannequin/Xmas tree) residue, i.e. green metallic spray paint dust.

After baking, I had Henry make a small pie marquee for the table but he ran of time so we just threw a strand of battery-operated lights on it for the time being. Next year, it’ll be better!

But this is what I mean — having a pie party seems really no-frills and low-stress but then I have to throw in a million elements after I get a “vision” and you know how my “visions” can be: what do you mean you can’t turn this basic park pavilion into a fucking SWISS CHALET BUFFETED BY EDELWEISS, HENRY YOU DICK?!

And speaking of pavilions! There are two that we use exclusively for pie parties and Chooch’s birthday parties, and both of them were already rented. Along with 80% of the other park pavilions. What the hell?! No one ever has park parties in October! Then I had a fleeting vision of every person in this town who hates me (oh, there are a few) having their own competing pie parties at the same time and I got so sad and then paranoid and then really fucking murderous.

But on the way there, we passed our main pavilion (the bae of all pavilions, if you will) and realized that it was being used for some asshole’s first birthday.

So, not a competing pie party.

Henry’s mom came with us and helped with set-up. I use that term loosely but she did more than, say, Janna who promises to help decorate every year and then comes 2 hours after the party starts, so….

Henry left to go get beverage and I decided I would use the portajohn while it was still fresh from Henry’s thorough cleansing. Right as I was about to come out, I heard a male voice and started to panic. Like, was some woodsman tying up Judy and Chooch, getting them ready to roast on the crappy grill that comes as a courtesy with the pavilions? Should I just stay inside the portajohn and pray that he doesn’t know there’s a third thick-thighed entree waiting in the wings?

Instead, I came leaping out awkwardly, like I was going to kick a bitch in the throat if I had to, and that’s when I saw some man doing pull-ups on one of the pavilion rafters, while Judy counted for him.

THE FUCK.

When he was done, Judy lasciviously asked, “What’s the encore?”

“I just keep moving,” he laughed in between pants, toweling off his older gentleman sweat and thanking her for letting him invade our pavilion before jogging off into the horizon.

Wow.

Where did he come from, beneath the moist autumnal sod? A 1993 episode of Bodies In Motion with Gilad?

I’d have offered him so pie but he didn’t seem like the type to let that garbage near his perfectly curated, sweaty, glistening temple. 

SORRY. I think The memory of Judy’s lust intoxicated me for a second there. That guy was old as shit. 

While I fluffed the burlap on the pie table for the 87th time, Judy and Chooch argued to the death over a violent game of Perquacky, which I guess is like Boggle. We bought it at Goodwill specifically for the  pie party because I like to give people shit to do while eating pie, you know? That’s why I use craft paper in lieu of tablecloths and slap down a mason jar of mismatched crayons and markers on each picnic table.  So if you end up sitting with strangers, play hangman or something. JUST PLEASE DON’T LEAVE.

Most of last year’s decorations were salvageable! So that was more time available for me to make my pie party playlist which I will post here because it’s full of Phil Collins and you know, Dance Gavin Dance. You should know that this is the first year we remembered to bring a speaker thingie so that I could play music. Usually the soundtrack is just screaming kids and the ping of Henry sprouting new gray hairs.

LOL. There is no rhyme or reason to this mix. There never is with me.

People started rolling in at exactly 1pm, which I was thankful for because nothing makes a girl feel like a looooooser than when everyone is late to her party. (The pie party has a real relaxed revolving door feel to it though; people come and go all afternoon. THERE IS NO AGENDA OR SCHEDULE OF PARTY GAMES.)

In the next installment, I’ll show you pictures of pies and the people who ate the pies. Very complicated stuff. Blogging about it takes thought, a (chalk) outline, and a certain amount of alcohol. You wouldn’t understand.

Here’s a picture of Drew from Saturday. She just wanted to help with the decorations, you guys. (She was more help than my SON.)

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It’s hard to believe that I’ve been a fan of Anthony Green for 12 years now and have never gone to any of his solo shows. I’ve seen Circa Survive a ton of times, and even Saosin and the Sound of Animals Fighting. But never just Anthony.

Henry and I actually had a mild argument over this when he was driving me to Mr. Small’s last Thursday, because even he was like, “No, that’s ridiculous and you must be wrong.”

But then he remembered how relieved he was to be depositing me on a curb and then driving off into the sunset (wait, what direction does the sun set…) with Chooch. I think they went to Taco Bell and then probably back home where they sat around in their underwear until it was time to come back to Millvale and pick me up.

The rest of the evening was full of beautiful music, but very little drama, so I’m afraid that this recap might be a little bland. I didn’t hate anyone there! No one made me angry! I had very little interactions with anyone other than the fancy-shirted bartender from whom I bought my obligatory nerve-numbing Angry Orchard and a few shared smiles with the other Solo Girl who was standing next to me for the entire show.

I considered talking to her at one point but then remembered how lame I sound in these moments.

Anyway, only three bands for this show! Secret Space started a few minutes after I arrived. I took my favorite spot along the right side of the stage and then did that thing where I pretend to be invisible.

I’ve never listened to Secret Space before and didn’t get a change to even give their bio a cursory glance before Thursday. So, they ended up being great! Just a really nice, pop-rock experience. The singer was pretty entertaining between songs, and I wonder how much of that affected my overall opinion. I feel like the music didn’t really grab me until the banter got my attention, but in any case — I thought they were great….

…just not as great as Mat Kerekes, who was next! Full disclosure, when I saw that he was one of the openers for this show, that was when I really knew I needed to get a ticket. Mat is the singer of Citizen, and I love Citizen so much, I wish I could squish them against my chest until their eyes bulge.

Oh shit, Mat was so personable and I wasn’t expecting that! He doesn’t talk much at Citizen shows so I guess I thought this was going to be some serious, somber shit, I don’t know, but he is so hilarious and irreverent!

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He played one of my favorite Citizen songs, “Sleep,” and then Anthony came out and joined at one point too and of course everyone, even the boys, screamed their faces off, like we weren’t about to see Anthony later for 90 minutes straight.

I kept sending Henry pictures and videos in between sets and he was like, “I don’t care. That’s why I’m not there.”

Boo, Henry. Just boo.

Anthony came out around 9:30 and we all just went nuts. He has got to be, out of every band I’m into, the most charismatic musician I’ve ever seen in person. I have left Circa Survive shows feeling like I just worshiped in the coolest fucking church this side of SAINT GERMAIN AND THE VIOLET FLAME. (Seriously, I’m obsessed with this now thanks to GAYLE.)

I wept, I laughed, I cried. It was wonderful. Anthony is such a fucking delight. And he has overcome so much to be able to still take these stages and heal us.

He said the last time he performed solo in Pittsburgh was four years ago when he was touring in support of his Young Legs album, and that the show he played there at Mr. Small’s was the most fucked up he’s ever been.

Of course, there were people who cheered about this.

“No, don’t applaud that! That’s not cool!” Anthony said. “I was such an asshole that night! I spent the whole time talking in a Bane voice and then I got in a fight with some kid and stormed off the stage. If you were at that show, I’m sorry. And thank you for still coming out to see me.”

I was pretty much choking on tears by this point, because his struggle with heroin has been ongoing since I started listening to Circa Survive all those years ago, and his wife has stuck by him through it all. His album Pixie Queen is about that.

I remember seeing Circa Survive once in 2008 (when they opened for Thrice, coincidentally!) and Anthony just seemed like a mess. I think he was laying on the stage through their whole set and at one point I turned to Henry and said, “OMG is he going to die? I don’t want him to die.”

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It felt good to stand there and scream. And to laugh. And to cry. But mostly it felt good to just smile because that’s something that I hadn’t been doing much last week.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BK902MGjN6c/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

Thank you for being you, Anthony.

****

Recently, I was thinking about how sad I was when I was unable to go to very many shows. Like, I’d see the announcements for bands I liked and then sigh when I saw it was a week night and I couldn’t go because I worked until 9pm & it was a lot more difficult for me to take a day off then.

Or before that when I wasn’t working at all and we just couldn’t afford it. I was lucky if I went to three shows a year then. And I didn’t realize until recently how much of a negative impact that had on me, to love music so much but have to miss out on so many of those experiences.

My mom texted me a link the other night about how people who go to a lot of concerts generally have happier lives and I started to laugh because I had literally just left the Thrice show when I got her text. And it’s true – I can promise you that Henry and I fight a lot less and I don’t feel like I’m sinking in a pit of burning quicksand.

Well, not as much as I used to, anyway.

That being said, I was almost unable to go to the Anthony Green solo show on Thursday because of a last minute shift change and I was ready to raise hell but then everything was fine and I made it to the show and I felt like a thousand pounds of suck had been lifted from my dumb, slumped shoulders.

It was a good reminder not to take these things for granted. To keep going to as many shows as I can because who knows how much longer this will last.

I want to be able to keep paying for concert tickets, not therapy bills.

****

It was pouring down rain by the time the show ended, and that felt kind of perfect. I found Henry and Chooch, sitting down the street in the parked car, looking like creeps, and I rambled the whole way home about how magical Anthony is.

They didn’t care.

I finally managed to get to a point where I can not just tolerate going to shows alone, but I actually enjoy it (don’t think too much into that, Henry!). However, I like when Henry goes with me and then for weeks, I can say things like, “REMEMBER WHEN WE SAW BASEMENT AND ALEX LOOKED SO ADORABLE?!” and Henry will just mumble, “….I guess.”

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Today is October 1 for those who don’t have a calendar. I am celebrating that by sitting under a blanket and shivering, which hopefully doesn’t mean I’m getting sick. Henry is currently driving all around Western Pennsylvania, trying to procure the ingredients for the difficult pies I chose to represent us at this year’s pie party.

That being said, I’m bored so here’s another blog post, a virtual landfill of September photos that I would like to delete from my phone now.

Some “3 Fictional Character” thing was circulating all over social media for the last several weeks. I didn’t do it for myself because it would just be SLOTH from the Goonies, three times.

Or maybe just twice and then Heather from Blair Witch as the third because I’m bossy, stubborn, map-stupid and emotional and when that movie came out, all my guy friends side-eyed me. 

 But I did make one for Henry! He doesn’t love it. Andyyyyyy!

Maybe because his didn’t have Leslie Knope on it like everyone else’s.

Crying on the inside.

Not just for me, but for basically everyone I polled in our department, this past week was phenomenally horrible as far as work goes. I cried at one point at my desk on Wednesday because it just felt like I couldn’t do anything right. Not that I’m happy my other work friends also felt frazzled, but it was nice to know I wasn’t alone in the sinking ship. So, it felt kind of significant that as I left work on Friday, the last day of September, there was a double rainbow.

LAUGHTER THHRU TEARS, RAINBOWS THRU RAINDROPS. Something like that, right? It was nice to have that “Everything is going to be OK” sign.

I think that Friday was the first day all week that I actually laughed at work. It kind of felt like things were starting to calm down and then Gayle sent me some website that she found while doing work-related research for Saint German Violet Flame and now I have a new religion, thanks Gayle! Glenn was also looking at the website and just as I was saying, “THIS SOUNDS AWESOME” he was saying, “This guy sounds like a wack job.”

“I’m like the perfect candidate for cults and kidnappings,” I blurted out loud, to which Glenn had no bon mot for once.

 

I interrupted their serial killer greeting card-making session. So sorry. Also, some lady wants to sell our cards in her shop in like Portland or wherever, and Henry is being such a fucking diva about it. Like, yes or no?!

Henry’s like “First she makes me go to this fucking show and now I have to have my picture taken too? Ugh.”

I was so excited to meet my e-friend Alex for coffee the other night! We met virtually two years ago when our mutual friend Alex paired us up for that Pittsburgh blog swap thing and she wrote on my blog about her favorite Pittsburgh haunts. Also, she was living in Brookline at the time and we somehow never crossed paths. Anyway, this was her last night in Pittsburgh (she’s moving to Colorado) so I was really grateful that she made time for me. She’s a beautiful soul and she reminds me a lot of myself when I was 19-22. No fear, out-going, and ready for adventure. THEN HENRY HAPPENED. Lol, j/k. I chose this destiny.

Anyway, my favorite part of the night was when talked about our favorite scene bands from 2005.

I almost messaged her that day to cancel. This was the day that I cried at my desk and I was like, “I JUST WANT TO GO HOME AND STUFF MY HEAD UNDER A PILLOW” but then I dusted myself off and forced myself to leave the house and thank god for that because just the sheer act of talking to a veritable stranger was the slap in the face that I needed, so thank you for that, Alex. <3

When we were in Chicago, Henry’s mom broke our kitchen faucet (lol) and this is Chooch and Henry messaging about how she wanted Chooch to get Hot Naybor Chris to come over and fix it. Lol at “she didn’t say ‘hot naybor’ obviously.”

Lunch break feet.

Summer’s birthday party happened earlier in the month and that was fun! Can’t believe she’s a year old already! My Timehop the other day was from 4 years ago when Wendy, Barb, Kaitlin and I were at Bucca di Beppo and Wendy said if she ever had a baby she’d name it Stoma. (Barb had recently had a surgery and this was a hot topic for Wendy – she loves gross body talk.) We were cracking up about this last week because back then, having a baby was something that Wendy was so sure she didn’t want! It’s crazy how things change – now I can’t imagine Wendy without her Summer! She is such a natural at this mom thing. 

And Henry finally picked up my new/old wheelchair. I LOVE YOU, WHEELCHAIR!

Anyway, Henry is home now with all the pie shit so I want to go and complain to him about life. I hope you’re making dangerous choices this weekend. Live it up.

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I think, if I had to choose, that Saturday was my favorite day of Riot Fest. Henry was being a cunt on Friday (he claims he was “tired” and “didn’t feel well;” see also: IS OLD AS FUCK) but after a really great leisurely morning of exploring Little Village and having some legit Mexican breakfast, we were both like, IN SYNC. Like MENSTRUAL CYCLES. But without the mood swings.

And blood.

Wait – did I bleed at all that day?

No.

:(

Originally, I said we didn’t have to get there early because the first band I had my heart set on seeing didn’t even start until 2 or some other late as fuck time of the day. However, we still ended up getting there by 11:30, without even rushing, and there was barely a line by that point so we just strode right on in.

Well, Henry did.

I had to be frisked and have my purse pillaged and I forgot that I had a plastic container of Mentos gum in there and the security broad threw it out, nooooo.

We had some time to check out the vendors, one of which was our favorite–Choonimals! We bought Chooch an obligatory pizza shirt because god forbid we come home empty-handed. I wanted to get him a Trump shirt that said Fuck Boi on it but Henry frowned heavily even though he approved of the shirt in general.

BANDS OF THE DAY

• Brick + Mortar: The first band we saw was Brick + Mortar on the Roots Stage. I didn’t know anything about them other than what I read on the Riot Fest website a few weeks ago. It was just two guys playing honest indie rock, and I’m going to be real here: I’m not sure if I genuinely liked the music, or if I was just captivated by the hilarious guy they had on stage with them, dancing around like an idiot, coming back out dressed like a fairy-thing, and just being overall entertaining. Henry liked them too, so you know that the music wasn’t very offensive. It was a great start to the day though! Especially when the singer thanked everyone for taking a chance on them and that they had recently won a battle against their record label for the rights to their music, and that’s always something to clap about.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BK8LqP_DsFH/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

• Plague Vendor: Right after Brick + Mortar ended, Plague Vendor started their set on the neighboring Riot Stage. I told Henry that I didn’t think he was going to like them, but Henry surprised me by saying, “They’re not bad. He’s like…Mick Jagger and Iggy Pop had a baby.” WHOA. He likes a band, kind of, enough to make comparisons?! This day was really off to a great start. (Plague Vendor is fucking amazing, by the way—frenetic, rowdy California punk rock fronted by a singer with moves slick enough to make MJ grab his crotch in appreciation.

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• Microwave, acoustic set: Thank god for these StubHub acoustic sets, because I was unable to see Microwave perform later that day as a full band, due to scheduling conflicts. (They had the unfortunate scheduling luck of going up against Motion City Soundtrack, who were playing their penultimate show, but now I’m seriously regretting my choice.) I always miss this band when they come to town! Henry immediately peaced out, getting lost in the depths of his phone (what does he actually read on his phone!? I can’t even imagine. He only has like 79 Facebook friends so scrolling through this feed can’t take very much time and what else do old people use Smartphones for?!), and ignored the whole acoustic set, which admittedly wasn’t the best acoustic set I’ve ever seen (Nathan, the singer, seemed kind of nervous) but it was still good to hear some Microwave, even in that soft, scaled back capacity. He even covered that fucking “I’ve got a brand new pair of rollerskates” song which I thought for sure would appeal to Henry, since he’s old and probably danced with some big-haired hussy to that song at a school dance at some point in his life.

Henry ignoring Microwave.

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• Jessica Hernandez: NOPE. She was playing on the main stage and we had time to kill so we were sitting down in the grass and I was just like, “I CAN’T TAKE THIS BROAD’S VOICE, UGH BUT I’M TOO COMFORTABLE TO MOVE.” Also, I tried to snag a sip of Henry’s beer around this point but he yelled at me because there was “SECURITY” right next to us and I wasn’t wearing a 21+ wristband. Oh for fuck’s sake, Henry. Like anyone would ever do a double-take if they saw me drinking alcohol! Unless they thought Henry was my dad and I’m a super-old-looking teenager? A teenager who’s seen some shit? Anyway, this broad considers her band to be “dark soul and goth pop” but I didn’t get that vibe at all. All I got was some Gwen Stefani-mimicking annoying bray backed by trombones. Not a fan.

• HippoCampus: We walked over to the Roots Stage to wait for Hippocampus to start, but Jessica Hernandez said, “We got two more songs for you!” and I was like, “WHAT? HOW?!!?” because it was like one minute away from Hippocampus starting on the neighboring stage. The Riot and Roots staging alternate, so as soon as one band is done, the next band immediately starts on the other stage, and Riot Fest is pretty good about keeping the schedule accurate. However, Jessica wouldn’t shut her trap, and then the powers-that-be did my favorite thing ever: THEY SHUT HER DOWN. She just kept singing, no sound coming out, until she finally realized what was happening and frantically waved her mic around like they were going to turn the sound back on for her, like it was an accident, like she was better than the next band and allowed to abuse her time on stage. Fuck OFF, Jessica Hernandez. Meanwhile, Hippocampus ended up being kind of boring, but I’m still glad they didn’t have their set cut short by that dumb bitch.
• High Waisted: Since Hippocampus wasn’t capturing my heart, I looked at my app to see who else was playing. I quickly skimmed the bio for High Waisted, which mentioned 1960s SURF and DREAM POP, and I was on board. “I thought you don’t like female singers?” Henry asked when we rolled up to the tiny Storyheart Stage. He will never understand my criteria. This band seemed like it was in my wheelhouse and I was willing to give them a chance, and thank god for that because they ended up being a huge highlight of the whole weekend, especially when they had a legit Dick Dale breakdown at the end of the set. Plus, the singer, Jessica Louise, was hot AF! Unlike that other Jessica (Hernandez *hisssss*), this one had an Erin-pleasing voice. They’re on tour right now with Somos and Free Throw and of course it’s not coming to shitty Pittsburgh.

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• Motion City Soundtrack: They were next on the Roots Stage and Henry begrudgingly followed me there. Neither of us are actually fans of this band and in fact, I can’t tell you how many times I walked right past whatever stage they were playing at numerous Warped Tours. I think probably because I associate them with Christina’s crazy sister. But this is the last tour they’re doing, probably for like 5 years at which point they will realize how much money there is to be made on reunion tours, and then they’ll be all, “Wow, we forgot how much we loved making music as this band so now we have a new album coming out! And another tour after that!” I mean, I can’t judge. At least five bands I really fucking love have done this to me over the last 10 years. But still, I wanted to be there and actually watch them for what might be my only chance ever. I only really know two songs and they played both of them so I was content. Henry made his “I don’t get it” face the whole time, and truthfully, we spent most of the set willing someone to “accidentally” step on this bitch who wouldn’t stand up:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BKmB424AsBD/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

Chooch’s new shirt for picture day.

Admittedly, my favorite part of the set was when some girl pushed her way through us and Henry casually said, “Oh hello, come on in.” I don’t know why it made me crack up as much as it did, other than the fact that I was fucking high on life. And then we saw a guy with flipflops literally tattooed to his feet. OH OK.

• Bob Mould: I hope if you’re reading this that you know who Bob Mould is, but if you don’t: GET YOUR STUDY ON. He’s a living alt-rock legend, and his 80s bands Husker Du and Sugar are both essential for any music fanatic. I have never seen him before so I was pretty giddy about this, especially since he was supposed to be at the first Riot Fest I ever went to but then WASN’T and then when he was in Pittsburgh, I WAS AT RIOT FEST. Guys, these are the big problems in my life, OK? Anyway, a fun fact about Bob Mould is that when Henry and I first started dating, or whatever you want to call, he was way more accepting of my musical tastes and Bob Mould’s “New #1” was like, our song or something. I guess. We haven’t listened to it together in like 10 years because we don’t love each other anymore.

 

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• Balance & Composure: But, as much as I love me some Bob Mould, I REALLY FUCKING LOVE ME some Balance & Composure, so we split the Riot Stage about 30 minutes into Bob’s set and ran over to the small Rebel Stage, where B&C was setting up and I pulled Henry all the way to the front, which he just LOVES. Right away though, I heard A Voice that immediately made me feel angry and tense and then I realized it was the obnoxious Minnesota know-it-all from the line to get in on Day One! Henry started cracking up and I just slowly turned back around and proceeded to block her out. Luckily, I had SAM and her SNOWCONE to fixate on. She was standing next to me and I know her name is SAM because she saw one of her friends, who came over with another friend, and introductions were made but then they left and SAM continued to stand alone with her BLUE snowcone. She was interesting. And of course we saw her like 87 times the rest of the weekend too. Always alone! I felt so sad for her. But then B&C started playing and everyone around me just melted away. For being up against so many heavy-hitters and being relegated to the smallest stage, they really had a shit ton of people there for them! I don’t know what to say about this band other than they are just excelsior alt-rock, kind of emo-revivalist, really great song-writing, the kind of music you want to listen to in the car while driving around in October wearing your favorite sweater and MAYBE DRINKING A MAPLE LATTE TOO. They are for sure an autumn band for me, like just writing about this right now makes me want to go on a haunted hayride, good thing it’s October 1. (OMG it’s October 1 and I’m not done writing about Riot Fest, whyyyyy.) They have a new album coming out so they started their set off with two songs from that and then Jon (he’s the SINGER, you guys) admitted that they were nervous as fuck to perform those songs for the first time, and it did kind of seem like they were stiff and uncomfortable but once they dove into the old jams, they were shining like diamonds. For the record, I love the new songs they’ve released so far. This is one of them, it’s called POSTCARD and you should listen:

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Go back to Minnesota.

After Balance and Composure, we had some time to wander around and forage for food before Brand New started at 6:15. It was around this time that I thought I saw Justin Bobby and Henry was all WHO and I said “Justin Bobby” and Henry was all “…………….” and then I yelled, “FROM THE HILLS!?!?” Fuck Henry, turn on MTV sometime in 2006, OK?

I ended up getting one of the most texturally interesting veggie burgers ever:

I think it was made with potatoes. I liked it. It could have been warmer but it’s better than the soft pretzel I’d be eating at Warped Tour, so who am I to complain. Those food vendors are amazing every year though I feel like this year wasn’t as on point as the past two years. (I’M STILL NOT OVER THE FACT THAT DARK MATTER WASN’T THERE WITH THEIR HOT, HEAVENLY NECTAR A/K/A COFFEE. I missed those tiny donuts that were there last year too. Come back, tiny donuts.)

We saw, for the second time that day, a girl wearing the same Emarosa “For Fox Sake” shirt that Chooch has. She was sitting down with her friend and I did that thing that Henry loves where I boisterously comment on someone’s attire (I can’t tell you how many times I get all Tourettes-like when we’re in another city and I see someone wearing a Penguins shirt). I ran up to the girl and screamed, “I LOVE EMAROSA!” She was clearly caught off guard. I could tell by the way her hand flew to her chest and she let out a startled, “Oh!” But then she said, “Yeah, they’re fantastic!” and that response satisfied me so I continued on my way.

“Why do you have to do that?” Henry groaned.

Anyway, it was around this point where I started to notice a lot of vendors had put up Morrissey-related signs regarding their food and I didn’t realize until later it was because one of his stipulations for playing Riot Fest was that all food vendors had to stop selling meat after 8pm. Obviously I’m a huge fan of THE CURE but I am just a basic, average fan of the Smiths and not really a fan at all of Morrissey as a solo artist (not for any reason other than I just never really paid attention to it because I’ve been too busy worshiping at the feet of Robert Smith almost my whole life), so I didn’t know that this is something Moz supposedly requires of all venues he’s playing at. I guess it really sent Riot Fest attendees over the edge though because the comments I was reading online were so fucking hostile. Like, if you ever hear me complain about not being able to eat a certain food for a two hour block, please fucking kill me. Personally, as a vegetarian, this really made me respect Morrissey a lot more. How fucking punk rock is that?! Plus it incited so much controversy, which come on, who doesn’t love some fucking music drama!?

No one thought Riot Fest would comply to Moz’s demands, but they did and that made my veggie burger taste even more delicious and satisfying, not gonna lie. It’s not everyday us herbivores get a victory.

Riot Fest really starts to get crowded around 5. That’s around the time my stranger-danger anxiety usually starts to set in, but the way they had the stages set up this year made it feel like less of a cluster.  I mean, I still clung to Henry’s shirt tail like my life depended on it, but it wasn’t as gnarly as past years.

• Brand New: Henry was being so nice to me around this time! So now instead of associating Brand New with terrible Christina things, I think I will associate them with Henry kind of showing me something that resembled affection! It was nice. But then he said he only knew one song that Brand New played that night and I was like, “YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT THERE IS NO WAY YOU DIDN’T KNOW AT LEAST 75% OF THAT SET LIST, YOU MOTHERFUCKING MORON” and then the mood was killed. But seriously though it was a delightful set. We stood far back enough that we didn’t have to deal with any of their asshole fans (honestly, Brand New has some of the douchiest fans I’ve ever encountered and I can’t even imagine them in real life scenarios outside of a Brand New show). I feel really lucky to have gotten to see them twice in two months, although I’m kind of annoyed that I didn’t jump at the chance to buy tickets to their upcoming Cleveland show because they just announced that they’re playing The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me in its entirety, fuck my life. I also think it’s kind of interesting that Jesse Lacey basically made a career of trolling his fans yet people still fall over themselves to see his band play. There’s a sick kind of respect there, I guess. (I do think this band deserves every accolade it receives though and anyone who says they’re overrated can go fuck themselves because I’m pretty sure Jesse Lacey is a fucking mad genius and when he sings Degausser I lose it every time.) Here is someone else’s video of it because I only have a few Snaps:

Honestly, what else is there to say about Brand New?

Somewhere around this time, we had our third conversation about rats (????). This time we were talking about how we saw rat traps in the yards of the houses we walked past that morning and Henry was mouthing off about how bad rats are, etc., and I said, “Yeah but, some of the rats of NIMH were good though…”

“Those were cartoons, Erin,” Henry sighed.

JUDGING.

• Death Cab For Cutie: This band needs no introduction. There was a chunk of my early 20s when they were my shit, I loved this band so much, before that TV show The O.C. made them a household band (I mean, good for them! But I’m just saying…) However, I stopped listening to them almost entirely after Transatlanticism. Not because I thought they got sucky or anything like that, but because I associated them with this. Basically, I was listening to DCFC when I found out that someone I had a very dysfunctional relationship with had been killed in a car accident/alleged suicide. Pretty hard not to think about that anytime I hear Death Cab nowadays. I actually saw them a week after that happened too, at Coachella in 2004. The first and last time I’d ever see them live, until now at Riot Fest. And I have to say, it felt like beautiful torture. It felt like having my heart ripped out of my chest, only to have it pumped full of life and love and reinserted. It felt healing and necessary. But…if they had played anything from Something About Airplanes, I probably would have had to leave. No lie.

(OH GOD why did I just let myself listen to this?!)

Riot Fest, you are a fucking violent stumble, heart-in-throat, down memory lane, Jesus Christ. I wasn’t ready.

• Morrissey: I had a chance to begin processing the past that had been dredged up slammed into my face after Death Cab’s set since Morrissey kept us waiting for like 30 minutes. I get it, you’re a big star, but FYI: The Cure has never left me standing out in the dark, looking at my imaginary watch. SORRY TO KEEP MAKING COMPARISONS. There was some 30 minute long video montage that we had to suffer through and I guess he does this at all of his shows? OK that’s fine, but maybe don’t do that when you’re playing a festival and people have been there since noon and just want to see you play now so that we can all leave and pass out in our shitty Motel 6 hopefully-clean beds. People were leaving left and right, and Henry really wanted to leave too, but I got all white knight-y and said reasoned, “Come on, it’s Morrissey. We have to see him at least once.” Because unless someone gives me a free ticket, I can’t imagine that I would ever go to a show specifically to see him (unless the Smiths suddenly reunite, then it’s game on). There was a moment where we actually thought that maybe he seriously wasn’t going to be there after all, because when the Riot Fest lineup was announced last spring, he was like, “I never agreed to perform at Riot Fest so this is news to me” in typical Moz-fashion. I mean, you have to admire his consistency with being notoriously difficult and coy, I guess. He did, obviously, come out and immediately began singing “Suedehead” in his typical bombastic fashion and I found myself saying, “IT’S OK MORRISSEY, WE’RE NOT MAD!” because that damn voice. And: “By the way, thanks for opening with a song I know!”

When he sang “Ganglord,” there were images of police violence splayed out on the screen behind him and while it was difficult to watch, it felt so fucking important and I had to give him credit because that was a message that needed to be forced on everyone watching. Like, “Hey guys, you’re here right now enjoying your life at Riot Fest when this is the shit that’s happening in your idiotic country right now. Don’t forget that.” Henry hates it when musicians use the stage as a soapbox but I’m all for it. I feel like more people are going to listen to what their music idols have to say than what a politician is jawing off about, so go for it, Morrissey. Tell us to Dump Trump! WE’RE TRYING!

We stayed for five songs then made our way back down the streets lined with rat traps and rejoiced when we saw our car was still in one piece in the shady parking lot where we left it that morning.

This was by far the best and most emotionally satisfying day of Riot Fest and I wish I could hold it in my hand and squeeze it lovingly like a dove BUT NOT TOO HARD SO I DON’T KILL IT.

 

 

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I haven’t been painting much these last months because of lack of time and inspiration. But I did make some things for some friends and some random things that I don’t know what to do with. 

Like these guys. I have a story in mind for it but I can’t convince myself to just sit down and write the fucker. 

Bought this ugly portrait of some tow-headed dinglehoffer at Goodwill, and I needed something to  keep me from stress-eating over the weekend so I painted the background green (I mean, you have eyes, probably, and can see that) and killed him. I still have to write the recipe for murder in that book of his and add something to the right corner up there. A hanging plant with the boy’s hairy scalp sitting on it like a cap? Maybe. 

Abe still lives on my mantle, behind Chooch’s bloody baby teeth in a salt shaker, if anyone is interested. 

My friend Angie got married so here’s this. 

Barb loves to quote from Steel Magnolias so I made her this Dolly Parton painting as a pick-me-up, because it’s been a rough year and it’s nice to make your friends feel good! EVEN I KNOW THAT. 

Definitely not feeling very Ham Sandwich AF these days. Maybe I should I switch my Etsy name from Somnambulant Art to Ambivalent Art. 

OR MAYBE THE PIE PARTY THIS WEEKEND WILL REJUVENATE ME. 

In other news, no more shuttle needed to get me to the trolley! The track by my house is back up and running so now I’m starting to see all my old “friends” again, like for instance I’m standing here with Snots right now. Man, fuck that guy. Santa, bring him a fucking handkerchief this year. 

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Penelope (now known as JonBenet) wasn’t sure what to make of the debate the other night. 

Also not knowing what to think was Henry’s mom, who called him and said she needed to distract herself from the debate so she decided to make Chooch peanut butter cookies, but wanted to check and make sure he doesn’t have a peanut allergy before putting peanuts in it. 

“Well mom, you’re already making PEANUT BUTTER cookies so if he has a peanut allergy….” And way to wait until he’s 10 before asking, Judy!

(The cookies are pretty bomb though.)

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Guys hay guys I conned Henry into seeing Thrice with me because I dislike Stage AE and didn’t want to go there alone, cry me a river. So my Airforce Hero came downtown and met me after work, where we split pizza at some place I can never remember the name but I go there sometimes with Wendy (twice, I went there with Wendy twice).

Now it’s 6:21pm and we’re standing in line waiting for doors to open which is exactly what Henry didn’t want to do, wooooo. We’re definitely at the right place because flannels. So many flannels. Much cozy!

6:27 and one of the guys in front of us just yelled, “Tix out for Harambe!” Dead.

6:56: BLUE MOON HORCHATA. Henry said he forgot his ear plugs for La Dispute. :( Henry is so mean to La Dispute.

7:15: still waiting for the show to start. When security was going thru my purse, one of those plastic prize bubbles fell out and rolled across the floor. “sorry for being a giant kid,” I laughed, stuffing it back into my purse full of ticket stubs, show flyers, Num Noms, and gumball machine prizes.

7:58: Nothing, Nowhere just ended and took my heart with them. From the moment the drums kicked in on the first song, tears started streaming down my face and I just let it happen because Therapy. OH FOR GOD’S SAKE. After the first song ended I yelled “Obsessed” into Henry’s ear and he rolled his eyes. Just now he said “ow my heart” which hello that’s MY LINE.

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805: Uneventful bathroom trip. La Dispute next! I have chills! Stage AE keeps playing some kind of Charlie Brown bullshit in between bands and that’s fine usually but it’s making me feel tired and Henry forced a large cup of beer on me and now I’m drunk.

AFTER ONE BAND!!

OMG HENRY?!

Nah he’s behind me, son.

8:58: this just in – Henry still hates La Dispute. I love them even more!!

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9:13 was just in the bathroom which sounded like a windtunnel of ennui-laden, nasal LA DI DAs and LEE LEE LOOs. Neo-Valley Girl.

Girls are so annoying. I WAS NOT THAT ANNOYING WHEN I WAS IN MY EARLY 20s RIGHT HENRY.

11:10 Guys, we’re on the trolley now and I am so jittery and all a’twit with joy and exuberance and some real life Sound of Music bullshit. (Or bullsjug as AutoCorrect suggested.) THRICE WHY U SO GUD?!

Henry just said “I only know like one of their songs so I dong know why you drag me along to these” and I’m heartbroken, all love-crushed, because I THOUGHT THAT WAS OUR BAND?! Like it has been there throughout the whole course of our relationship?! Like, pre-Chooch random drives in our old Nissan Sentra, playing Stare at the Sun on repeat?! FUCK OFF HENRY.

Anyway, they opened with Hurricane and My heart got all clogged in my throat, you know how that happens when something really emotionally sucker punches you or you’ve just watched some seriously depraved porn. Yeah, that feeling.

And then proceeded to murder our feelings with a 90 minute set worth emotionally dying for.

https://instagram.com/p/BK5dlIXD0wA/

Thrice, welcome back!! When they did their farewell tour, we were poor(er) and Papa H wouldn’t open the pocketbook for me (I know, how 1950s of us but to be fair I was working part time and having my wages garnished lol student loans). We did get to see them last year at Riot Fest after they made their big comeback but a 45 minute set outside just doesn’t compare to what we got last night, a show full of the old standbys and also so many gems from their new album. I was in heaven.

The Pirates game let out at the same time as the show so we’re on the trolley with all those ppl and that is MUCH BETTER THAN STEELERS FANS.

A bunch of us got a beer bath from some asshole on the balcony, by the way. I got it all down my neck and when I turned around to whine to Henry he was like “k cool” but the girl next to me must have been in the early stages of her relationship, the pupa stage maybe, because her boyfriend kept looking up at the balcony like he was gonna FIND THAT MOTHERFUCKER & MAKE HIM PAY. RIP OUT HIS ESOPHAGUS SO HE CAN ENJOY BEER NO MORE!

I want to believe it was some sweet, demure young lady who became so enrapt and overcome with The Passion of the Thrice that she spilled it by accident.

BUT IT WAS PROBABLY SOME DUMB YINZER-BRO.

Speaking of the people next to us, everyone at the show was super chill & regular and no one got on my nerves. Whaaaat. I’m not even kidding. It was much better than when I saw them at Diesel in 2009 and got in a mild physics altercation with some douchebag (no, not Henry this time).

LOL’ING ALL THE WAY TO THE MARKET.

1146: OH SHIT Tourette’s was on the trolley with us that whole time!

Wow Out walk home is like a bad comedy. Dormont you LIT for a Tuesday night.

Just walked past the gas station down the street from our house and Henry opened up and told me and intimate story.

“See that guy working in there? I used to come here sometimes to, you know, buy a bottle or whatever—”

THIS ALREADY SOUNDS FISHY. DEFINE “WHATEVER” HENRY.

“—but he’d always be in there, like rooting around through the garbage and then he would stop and handle products without washing his hands! Sorry but don’t touch my water after your hands have been in the garbage. One time, the garbage can was on the counter!”

Wow, cool story. That’ll really help lull me to sleep.

Goodnight!

(I fell asleep before posting this, so now I can say GOOD MORNING!)

ETA:

Henry, in his head: “First she makes me come to this fucking show and now I have to have my picture taken too? UGH.”

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Here are some random photos of my kid around town from last weekend.

This is his kind of cat.

Brookline’s lit every Sunday at 6.

This is a mural behind Las Palmas, a Mexican grocery store that lures hipsters to Brookline in droves thanks to its famous taco cart. It used to just be some kind of garage door thing but then what I can assume was an ardent, brain cell-minimalist Trump supporter spray-painted some gross racial sentiment on it, something like “go back to Mexico” but maybe worse. Fucking assholes. Anyway, this beautiful mural was painted with love over top of it.

GTFO with your hate. Maybe go build a wall around your house and never leave it.

And that’s all. Our weekend was pretty chill and uneventful, which is what I promised Henry after the previous weekend was busting at the seams with all of the things he hates.

How is next weekend the pie party already?!?!

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Since the shitty “hotel” we’ve stayed at for all three Riot Fests switched brands, they no longer offered breakfast. Not like we were missing much because it was below basic breakfast fare, we were still disappointed because it was convenient and free. Going to Riot Fest is not cheap, you guys, and I’d rather spend my money on merch than food, ugh. All of this is to say we went down the street to some joint called Victoria’s, where I had crepes that were OK and Henry had meats.

Then Meghan Trainor came on (the worst M.T. song of all time, All About That Bass) and I believe this was the first time where I had found myself in a position where there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t change the station! I couldn’t leave because I was still eating. I HAD TO SIT THERE AND ENDURE IT.

Oh, the horror! The pain! But I reminded my ears that soon they would be in Douglas Park, surrounded on all sides by the most beautiful blend of pop punk, punk rock, emo revival, hip hop — it was all going to be there. Some of my most favorite genres, and most favorite bands.

It was going to be OK, ears. It was going to be OK.

After breakfast, we went back to the “hotel” and ordered the first Uber of the weekend, an older man named Woody, who, in spite of having his GPS up on his dash, asked Henry unlimited questions regarding the route. Henry was happy to answer because he is a PROFESSIONAL DRIVER and I can guarantee that Woody’s lack of directional savvy gave Henry his own woody.

Luckily, through numerous detours and train crossings, we made it to Douglas Park with a good 45 minutes to spare before the gates opened. This year, it was set up a bit differently with only one entrance, but I was happy to see that it wasn’t yet a cluster fuck.

Only bad part about standing in line was this uber-annoying Minnesota broad who talked extra-loudly to her friend about how EVERYONE KNOWS HER and HOW MANY TATTOOS SHE HAS and HOW SHE IS SO FUCKING COOL HOW ARE WE NOT MELTING BENEATH HER RADIATING BRILLIANCE. Henry knew right away that she was annoying me so we communicated through eye-expressions alone, and then when she mentioned in her grating Midwest lilt that she COULDN’T WAIT TO SEE BALANCE AND COMPOSURE the next day, Henry started to crack up because I had literally said that same thing about 37403720580 times that morning.

Ughhhhhhh.

Gates opened late as usual and we ran, I mean I ran and Henry slowly lumbered behind me, to the Riot Fest merch tent to snag a set of the limited edition Riot Fest Garbage Pail Kids and then Papa Drunk skipped off to get his 21+ wristband and guess who couldn’t get her own because she left her whole entire wallet in Pittsburgh? My preparedness is a non-factor in my game of life. Do not ever choose me for your zombie apocalypse team.

Ugh. First beer at like 11:30. Get it, Hank.

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We had some time to kill before noon so we stomped around the food vendors looking for Dark Matter because I desperately needed coffee. Couldn’t find it right away, so I settled for a water and while Henry was paying for it, some guy at the next food booth asked, “Hey! Why’s my name on your shirt?” I looked around and when I realized he was talking to me, I had to glance down to refresh my memory with what shirt I was even wearing that day, and it was my beautiful Howard Jones shirt!

So I walked closer and engaged in a rare conversation, because I hate talking to people but Riot Fest is an exception because it makes me remember who I used to be, how alive I once was, and it reminds me that hey, I’m surrounded by a ton of my people right now, so it’s not really stranger danger, right? Anyway, the guy’s name ended up being Howard Johnson (like the hotel, I guess), not Jones, but he had never heard of Howard Jones before so I encourage him to check that shit out.

Henry was like, “OK REMEMBER WHOSE PROPERTY YOU ARE LET’S GO.” He is like, so possessive of me. It’s almost sickening.

(Lol, sike. He was like TAKE HER, SHE’S YOURS.)

(This just brought up a horrible memory of when I was briefly dating this guy Erik in 1998 and we were hanging out at my apartment with some guy named Kevin who I recently met at a Sunoco — hey, I made friends everywhere I went back then when I still had self-esteem — and Kevin, who was totally blitzed off a 40 of Miller’s High Life, asked Erik if he could steal me and Erik said, ugh do you know what he said? He said BE MY GUEST. I have that heart-breaking moment on 8mm, even.)

(Well, fuck you Erik Grove, because now I’m with Henry and here we are at Riot Fest and some cute guy name Howard is talking to me so suck it.)

First band up was Tigers Jaw at noon on the Riot Fest (main) stage.

These guys are on Run For Cover Records, one of my fave labels, but this was the first time I ever saw them live. If you know me, you know that I’m horribly fickle with female singers, but I love the boy-girl sharing of vocal duties going on in this band. It’s fun, feel-good indie rock, you guys and there is no reason why Henry should have said, “Nope, they did nothing for me” other than the fact that he wasn’t paying attention because OMG WHAT ARE HIS 57 FACEBOOK FRIENDS DOING, GOTTA CHECK!

During their set, an older gentleman strolled by and said, “GREAT ALBUM!” while pointing to my Howard Jones “Human Lib” shirt. I agree, guy!

Ahhh, Citizen was next on the Rise stage. I can’t say enough wonderful superlatives about this band. They get me right in the feels, as all the kids and ironic bloggers say these days.

It started to rain during their set and I hated almost everyone around me, but I didn’t let that sully my third live dose of Citizen for 2016. Also, Mat basically dresses like Henry, proving he just doesn’t give a fuck.

 

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Here’s Henry, secretly enjoying Citizen and his style-twin, Mat.

Right after this was Touche Amore on the Rock Stage and I was ready to burst — they’re part of this trifecta for me which also includes La Dispute and The Saddest Landscape, but I’ve never seen Touche Amore before; it was a long time coming.

Some of the finest post-hardcore I’ve ever heard comes courtesy of this beautiful man. I play their records so loud in the house and Henry and Chooch are always like, full-body eye rolls and grimaces, but GUESS WHAT? Guess who finally jumped aboard the Touche Amore-wagon? Mr. Henry J. Robbins.

“They weren’t that bad,” he mumbled, and then, “I didn’t hate it,” which in regular people’s terms translates to, “Say, I think I actually enjoyed that.”

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After Touche Amore, I had penciled in a small window for getting food. I can’t remember what Henry got, but I enjoyed a wonderful BBQ jackfruit with slaw on top of a slice of Texas toast. It was delicious, except that the slaw was more just a wad of pickled vegetables, which found me for the second time in less than a week explaining to no one in particular that the only pickled things I like are pickles.

Oh, I think Henry had vegetable paella and I accused him of being a vegetarian but he defensively said he wasn’t turning his back on meat, he just simply “didn’t feel like eating meat right then.”

HMM THAT SEEMS WEIRD.

Anyway, thanks to Henry having to also get food, I missed Dillinger Escape Plan so thanks Henry, like you couldn’t have waited until later to eat.

After missing DEP, we wandered over to the outskirts of Douglas Park, where the two smallest stages live. Jule Vera was going to be playing soon on the Storyheart Stage, so we figured we’d just hang out in the grass and take selfies, right Henry? Because that’s totally a thing that Henry does. My hair looked shittier than usual that weekend because remember our shitty “hotel”? Well, they don’t supply their rooms with hair dryers and Henry even tried for a hail mary by inquiring at the front desk if they had any available and the answer was NO THEY DID NOT, YOUR RATTY-HAIRED GIRLFRIEND IS FUCKED, BOIIIII.

So frizzy, air-dried hair it is, then!

We had to suffer through the tail-end of the Far East’s set and I absolutely hated them, like if a person could vomit out of their ears, this would have triggered my aural gag reflex, for sure. Let me just describe it as Reggae No Doubt. I was like GOOD RIDDANCE when they finally ended.

Then it was Tancred, which I kept confusing for Tantric — like, totalllly different band. Fun Fact for anyone who cares: the singer is also the guitarist from Now, Now and the singer from Now, Now is dating Lynn Gunn’s (PVRIS) ex-girlfriend Alexa San Roman, OMG there more you know. Anyway, Tancred is a good example of why I’m picky with girl-fronted bands — they usually tend to have that 90s sound to them and I know this is putting my head on the chopping block, but I really didn’t like a lot of rock or alternative from the 90s, until later on in the decade. SORRY BUT I’M JUST BEING HONEST. In my defense, I was heavily into hiphop, gangsta rap, and R&B back then though.

Also, around this time, Henry started complaining about a “foot cramp” but I was like, “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like the name of any band that I like so I’m officially exiting this conversation, bye now.”

OK, then it was finally time for Jule Vera and I missed Chooch so desperately. (He’s annoying me so much today though, a week later, so I already forget what that felt like.) Chooch has loved Jule Vera since we saw them last winter at the Never Shout Never and blushed the whole time he was posing for a picture with Ansley, their singer:

Not even gonna front here, I got totally misty-eyed during their set because it made me miss Chooch so much. We were sending him pictures of Ansley on Facebook during soundtrack and he was getting so mad at us but then he said “SEND ME VIDEOS.” Originally he wanted us to record their whole set, but contrary to popular belief, I actually don’t like being That Person holding their phone up at concerts. I tend to grab a few Instavids (like 30 seconds in length at a time) just for my own posterity and to have something to post on the blog as a memory of the night.

SO FUCKING SUE ME.

But for Chooch, I broke that rule and recorded 30-60 seconds of every song the performed, but I didn’t feel too asshole-y doing so because I was right against the barrier so I didn’t have to hold my phone up high, which means no one behind me was bothered, and if they were, it was probably because of Henry.

Henry’s mere existence is very bothersome to some.

Is it wrong to say that I think a band is adorable? I also think they’re really talented, but there is something really charming about watching such a young band play their hearts out on stage. I didn’t think I was going to care much for them when I saw them last winter, but I fell for them alongside Chooch. He’s got good taste.

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Some old dude, like even older than Henry, yelled, “Hey what high school do you go to?!?” to Ansley and OK, I get where he’s coming from, but damn dude, that sounded totally creepy, go away. Save that for when you’re role-playing with your old ass wife.

Their finale had to have made new fans out of the unbiased people lounging under nearby trees. Even one of the security guys came over to get a better look and then to me and Henry said, “This shit is crazy!”

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Set Your Goals was up next on the Rise Stage and I was so excited to see them again! They recently reunited and I didn’t even realize how much I missed them. This is the band that Henry always pauses and then asks, “Is this the big guy and little guy?” Ugh, yes Henry. Sure. SYG has the dual-vocals thing going on, and I credit them into getting me into pop-punk, after swearing it off for years. They were my gateway, if you will. I always liked emo and post-hardcore but really never cared much for pop-punk, until I heard one of their songs that Vinnie Cuarana was on, and then Hayley Williams rapping (literally!!) on one of their songs in 2009 really helped the medicine go down.

I made Alisha go see them with me that summer at Mr. Small’s and it was just such an awesome show and I kind of wanted to get punched in the face but it didn’t happen.

Henry was not into it.

This guy stood right by us while sucking on his CHRONIC CANDY lollipop and I wanted him so badly to turn to Henry and offer him a lick, which prompted Henry to later go on a tangent about how Chronic Candy “isn’t actually a drug, Erin!” and like yeah OK but it’s still part of DRUG CULTURE and we all know Henry has the D.A.R.E. insignia tattooed on his left ass cheek.

Oh you didn’t know? WELL NOW YOU DO.

He also has “just say no” on his inner lip.

Anyway, go listen to Set Your Goals.

We tried to catch some of the Citizen acoustic set in the StubHub Tent, which was packed, so we were standing near the entrance when some dumbass rolled up with her friends and proceeded to shriek, totally unrelated to the music, like she had been proposed to and this really set me off so I flipped out and stormed away (I was also suffering through some major coffee-withdrawals, thanks for not having my back this year, Dark Matter!), and had a mini-meltdown, but then Henry calmed me down after some guy stared at me with a scared smile because I think he thought I was yelling at him. Not you, bro. Not you.

Once Henry verbally massaged my frontal lobe, we were able to catch a little bit of Somos on the Storyheart stage. The best way I can explain this band is that they would be perfectly at home on a soundtrack for any 1980s John Hughes movie. This is a good thing! But Henry doesn’t get it, which is why I had to see them alone at Bled Fest last May.

This was the harried, frenzied block of time on Friday where there were three bands playing all around the same time and I wanted to see them all, so after two Somos songs, we had to do a brisk walk to the Rise stage where Glassjaw was playing and can you believe I have never seen Glassjaw in my whole entire life?? Henry thinks this is incorrect, but that’s because we saw Daryl Palumbo’s other band, Head Automatica at the Cure’s Curiosa festival in 2004. So I got to have major chills hearing Daryl’s screams cutting through the early evening Chicago air. No one sounds quite like Daryl Palumbo!

(LOL, a commercial for Motel 6 just played while I’m writing this and our Motel 6 did NOT look like the one on TV at all. Nice try, Tom Bodett.)

FUN FACT: I sold a custom serial killer card to G.G. Allin’s brother last year and it was pretty much the highlight of my card-making career thus far.

Oh man, young emo Erin was READY to see Jimmy Eat World again. I kept trying to remember when the last time was that I saw them, and Henry swore that it wasn’t him because Jimmy Eat World is evidently a band that he would remember seeing. I stressed about this for the whole weekend because I was sure that I saw them at one of the Edgefests in Buffalo but I couldn’t find them listed on any lineups, so then I searched for their all their 2001 tour dates and said, “Well, I just don’t know then because this says they only did Warped Tour in 2001….oh wait I was at that Warped Tour, never mind LOL forever.”

Mystery solved! I saw them at Warped Tour with my pal Wonka.

When I first got into emo, it was through Instant Messenger (good ol’ AIM) and I was chatting with some random, and I remember asking him what his screen name meant. I don’t remember the name anymore, but it had something to do with the band Christie Front Drive, and that’s how I fell down the emo rabbit hole and, 20 years later, still haven’t clawed my way back out. Once he suggested that I listen to the Emo Diaries compilations, I knew it was for me.

(Full disclosure, I was still heavy into nu-metal back then too, hahahah, but emo clearly won the war over my heart.)

The crowd wasn’t too bad. My strategy was to stand behind a lady in a wheelchair because no one wanted to stand right in front of her, which meant the view was pretty clear for me. I’m really picky about how far up I’ll travel into the crowds — I base it on how much I love the band and how big/small the stage is. I do not like being close to the main stage because people scare me and I hate feeling trapped.

Anyway, they played my favorite song, Lucky Denver Mint (mixtape staple!)  Enjoy my finger cameo! I’m good at this!

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It was time for Second Riot Fest Feeding after Jimmy Eat World and I went with a vegan sloppy joe. I think Henry got salt and vinegar fries. Who cares. I kept stealing swigs of his beer and he was getting so angry because “if you had really wanted to drink, you wouldn’t have your left your fucking license at home!!” He kept saying, “I hope you get busted!” because I didn’t have a wristband on, but come on, I think it’s pretty clear that I’m over 21. Maybe it’s debatable in a dark club, but when the sun is shining down on me, the grays are all a’shimmer and the bags under my eyes are looking ready and willing to hold your car keys and Altoids.

So gimme your fucking beer, Henry.

That sloppy joe was wonderful. Riot Fest has the best food! This is what I wish Warped Tour would do — but I guess because it’s at an actual venue and not a park, outside food vendors aren’t allowed in so we have to stick with the standard $10 soft pretzels and nachos or whatever that First Niagara whips up. This is why I just stuff my bag with granola bars!

 

On the way back to the Storyheart Stage in preparation for BASEMENT!!!, we watched a few minutes of All Time Low at the Rise Stage. I never really got into them that much, so after a song or two, we began to walk away, but then they started the next song and I screamed, “I KNEW IT!!” and ran back to the stage because Vic from Pierce the Veil came out to sing “A Love Like War” with them. Henry was like, “Wha—-what’s happening!?” and had to follow me back. He’s so dumb sometimes. But then he saw Vic and understood.

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For real though, after that song ended, we had to run to the Storyheart Stage because I wanted to be up front for Basement and now, as I type this, I feel like I’m going to start crying because this was the first time that weekend, other than crying about missing Chooch or just being my typical whiny self, that I dropped real tears.

This is the same band that threw a wrench in Henry’s “driving to Disneyworld” plans last April — he wanted to leave on a Saturday morning but then I quietly, while slowly back away, reminded him that I had a ticket to see Basement that night, so we had to wait until 11:30pm that night to embark on our Orlando road trip, lolololololol all the way to the market.

I am obsessed with Al specifically, the guitarist, because he was the man behind the camera in all of the Tuesdays with Tay videos that Henry and I love (well, that I love), and I’m just a huge groupie for Run For Cover Records. Huge. I make Chooch wear their shirt to school in an effort to get those basic Brookline brats interested in good music.

(Hasn’t happened yet, although Chooch played some Emarosa for his friend Dimajio and said that he liked it, so fingers crossed. Chooch is a lot like me in many ways but he hasn’t yet honed the SHOVE YOUR INTERESTS DOWN YOUR FRIENDS’ THROATS skill yet I guess. I’ll work on that with him some more, don’t worry.)

When we were waiting for Jule Vera to play earlier, Henry elbowed me and pointed to the fenced-off area behind the stage, at a white van that had just rolled up. “Isn’t that Basement?” he asked casually. AND IT WAS. Henry is so great at recognizing bands that he hates!

Some of my friends were disappointed in me because I chose Basement over some other band, but bitch please, I’m not going to skip a band that I genuinely love in favor of a band that I don’t like but feel like I’m supposed to watch just to say that I saw them. That’s not me! I like what I like. And Basement pumped me full of life. I love how James has Robert Smith-esque dance moves and I love their energy and their fans aren’t assholes and they’re just adorable Brits who make emotional, heart-felt, energetic rock.

I’m used to disappointing people with my music preferences though. It’s my thang. Bang bang.

Plus, they have a song called Bad Apple and I have a rotten apple tattoo, so I’m kind of obligated to be a fan. <3

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I’m going to listen to them all weekend now because they’re such an autumn band for me. And I finally got Henry to admit that he likes them so it was a big moment in our relationship. This band is just so good, and they are HILARIOUS on social media (their Snapchat stories are entertaining) and I have to say, when a band plays super emotional music but then act like complete clowns on the Internet, I love them even more.

Just do yourself a favor and listen to their latest album. It’s the first release since they came out of hiatus. I mean, I’m no Lou Pappan, but I think “you gonna like it.” (SHOUT OUT TO MY PITTSBURGH READERS LOL.)

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“I wish I was Jennifer Aniston,” I sighed wistfully. 

“Why?” Henry asked, as if this was a statement so extraordinary that it warranted an explanation?

“Um, because she’s the most beautiful girl in the country?” I answered snidely, like hello she’s America’s Sweetheart, you idiot. 

Henry chewed on this and then said, “But then we wouldn’t be together.”

“….yeah, sure we would,” I said with zero conviction. 

“OK how would we have met then?”

“Well, obviously at a Days Of Our Lives convention, where I would be there supporting my dad,  Victor Kiriakis.”

Henry considered this and then, with a smirk, asked, “But why am I at a Days Of Our Lives convention?”

“To see JOHN BLACK,” I shouted in a LE DUH tone because hello, have you ever even read Henry’s LiveJournal?

Meanwhile, at Eat n Park, I got all let down when I thought the beginning of a song was going to be Jon Secada’s Just Another Day but ended up being Ace of Base ughhh. So I sadly tweeted about that and fifteen minutes later, THIS HAPPENED: 

My Saturday night is so fucking full. SO FUCKING FULL. 

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