I’ve learned more about hurricanes this past six weeks than I ever cared to know. I know about eyewall replacement cycles, the effects of wind shears and warm Gulf currents on big bad-ass whorls of wind. I cover my nose and mouth and run at the sight of dead birds. The websites for the Center for Disease Control and the National Hurricane Center are at the top of my list of bookmarks. Meanwhile, the earth rumbles, and its ice caps silently melt into the ocean.
Whereas previously I laughed at my mother’s periodic frantic phone calls advising me to stock up on bottled water and logs, now I kind of nervously chuckle and eye that section of Dillons whenever I’m grocery shopping. The apocalypse aisle. Rational considerations and general college apathy cannot stand in the face of such terrible news. When birds fly overhead, or the wind picks up, I panic and check to see how full my gas tank is. I draw up plans to evacuate myself, my roommates, and cat safely in the event that my apartment complex bursts into flame. The boy and I have stockpiled alcohol.
Well, maybe that last bit has more to do with the fact that we like to drink. And maybe a high concentration of alcohol in a place is a poor defense against apartment fires. But for the other apocalyptic scenarios that could occur, the bottles of cheap wine and good whiskey shall do perfectly.
Went to see Sleater-Kinney, my all-time favorite girl band, at the Bottleneck last night. I haven’t had the time or a big wad of cash to attend concerts for a long time, so I’d almost forgotten about the myriad of problems that short girls (i.e., myself) face at concerts. We don’t really have much in the way of options. Either we can put up with standing behind Mr. Tall McGangly Legs Guy the entire time, catching a few glimpses of the act every now and then when he stoops down to kiss his girlfriend or whatever, or we can try and get there early and stand in the front. Which I usually end up doing.
But this second option has its problems, namely being that as a short girl standing near the front, you place yourself at the mercy of the POSH: the Painfully Obnoxious Shit-for-brains Hipsters. The scenesters. The trendwhores. The people that will do anything to get the band’s attention, that will shove themselves towards the front in an effort to show how oh so devoted they are to this band, and repeatedly shout requests for obscure songs to show off their hipster guns. These merry folk ruined the Belle and Sebastian concert, almost ruined Sonic Youth, and were dead set on ruining this one. Hey, I’m all for showing enthusiasm for the band and all, but does one really have to do so by flailing around like a jerkbucket and smacking us short girls on the head in the process? Also, just because you happen to be gay does not mean that you have license to grope me and other short girls that are being trampled while you are flailing around like said jerkbucket. You are still very much a creepo.
Okay, done with ranting. Here are pictures, some of which are kind of crappy because I forgot to change the ISO when I turned on the flash. I am a photography tyro:
The ever lovely Corin Tucker, belting out songs in her amazing, unique voice. She seemed a little annoyed with the crowd at times. Maybe I am just projecting. I hope so, at least, so that they will want to come back again!
One girl got on someone’s shoulders and tried to rush the stage. Corin patted her on the shoulder and told her in a parental, patience-being-tested tone of voice to please get back down, it wasn’t safe. Hehe. I guess motherhood does change people, even former wild riot-grrls.
A (blurry) Carrie Brownstein, rocking out. Her guitar solo on “What’s Mine is Yours” was awe-inspiring.
The best picture I could get with Janet Weiss in it, the drummer. She was just moving too damned fast! I wasn’t paying attention to how many drumsticks she split in the course of the evening, but it seemed like a lot.
The opening band, “The Gossip,” who also kicked a fair amount of ass. I admit, I was a little skeptical of the frontwoman’s camo tube-dress (I have been reading too many fashionista websites), but after she opened her mouth, I decided she could wear whatever the hell she pleased, as long as she continued to sing like that. Their music was a blend of blues, rock and even a gospel flair to the vocals, and was probably the most danceable rock music I’ve heard. I’d highly recommend seeing them live if they are in your area.
My feet hurt by the end and my ears were ringing, but it was definitely worth it. I will, however, look into getting musician’s earplugs before I go to the next concert. And possibly stilts, or failing that, spiked armor.
