Adam Ezra Group

The day after Paul and I broke up, I went to a concert. At a folk club. With my dad.

Why would you do such a thing? you ask.

Ah, well, you see, apparently there was a last-minute cancellation at a club called Passim (review at The Amandangle) and Adam Ezra was filling in. I didn't know his music too well, but he played at my school freshman year. I joined the mailing list and I'd been getting announcements about local shows ever since. Adam's from Boston so most of the shows were local. The only problem was that most of them were 21+, and I am not. But this one was all ages!

A night in would have been a bad idea. I did well that first day after the breakup. I went shopping with my mom and sister, I spent time with the whole family.... I forget what else I did but I might have made feeble attempts at writing my informative speech, since I was no longer invited to California and would have to deliver it a week earlier than planned.

Anyway, I felt really good until Paul called to ask how I was doing. How could I tell him I was doing great? I was better than I'd been since the beginning of summer. I was free. And I was going to a concert. But I pretended not to be happy because I figured it would make things worse. I was right. Even my "nonchalance" (his quote) made it worse. I couldn't possibly explain that this was the end of my pain when his was so fresh. After hanging up, we both felt worse than before he'd called.

So as I said, a night in would have been a bad idea. The good news is that my dad's always up for a daddy-Mandii date, especially because he'd been raving about Club Passim ever since he and my uncle saw Shane Hines play there last spring.

I can't thank Adam enough for helping me through what could've been a really awful night. He's an enormously positive presence on stage with his clever, beautiful lyrics and energy, not to mention he collided with the microphone at one point and told us embarrassing stories from his dating life (or attempt at one). Everyone laughed like they knew each other as friends (and I found out later that a lot of them probably did; I guess there's a pretty tight-knit community at Passim). My dad and I about died when he sang this song about a guy named Ray Thomas. My dad is Ray Thompson. Our laughter was utterly inappropriate since it was actually a very sad song about a guy who drank a lot and beat his wife, but you would've laughed too if it was your dad.

After the really depressing Ray Thomas song, Adam invited his mom to come up on stage and sing with him, saying, "Me and mama, we're both Jewish, and we know nothing cheers you up like singing a song about Jesus!" I'd never agreed more. His mama was really good! I would've gotten up and danced if there had been more space, but the tables and chairs were set up like Tetris blocks. Not conducive to dancing.

Afterward Dad and I went out to the entryway to buy Adam's CDs and Adam was there. I wanted to thank him, but without telling the story of the past ten months of my life, I couldn't express the degree of gratitude I felt. So I just said, "you have no idea; your music was exactly what I needed to hear tonight." Then I asked if he remembered the time I bought him coffee at Gordon, and he did! Or at least he pretended to, which made me happy enough. He said I should come back in a couple weeks to see him open for Ellis Paul. I said I would.

And I did! Last Thursday I took the train in to visit Wanda and the two of us went back to Passim. Wanda kept saying she felt like a hipster, which I thought was silly because Passim is way more indie than hip. I mean, indie is kind of hip now, but this place is indie indie.

Adam only got about 30 minutes to play, but he brought his mama back onstage and played my new favorite song, "Desperate Plea from the Heart of a Shithead." That's the one about his failed attempt at dating. Between sets I went out to say hi to him and he remembered me again. I got a hug this time (I only got a handshake when my dad was there. Lol). We talked about him coming back to my school again, which I'm working on now. In fact, I'll be right back; I must go harass the campus events council some more since they have yet to respond to the email I sent last Friday.

OK. Now that that's done.

Ellis Paul is a folk legend. I was not aware of this until Adam said so. He was definitely more folksy than Adam, who's more of a singer/songwriter. Still, even though his style wasn't my favorite, I really enjoyed being there, listening and laughing with the rest of the crowd (some of whom had seen him the first time he played Passim IN NINETEEN EIGHTY NINE. That's the year I was BORN.) I think the coolest thing about the set was that I never realized folk singers were so silly. I never would have expected to have such a good time at a folk club, but there I was. It goes to show you should never write anything off!

When Wanda and I left, Adam gave me another hug and said thanks for coming, and made me promise to talk to the events council at school about a show.

Now Wanda says I should date him. o_o

Sleeping at last

How many bands do you know that can play close to an hour’s worth of music without touching a standard six-string guitar? Sleeping At Last can, and they do it well. Though it was more packed than at 12:30 on a weekday, the dark side of Lane was utterly silent while the three-and-a-half-man ensemble played last Friday night.

Singer Ryan O’Neal began the set with a ukulele in hand. Dan Perdue alternated between keys and bass, while stand-in drummer Aaron Mortenson kept the beat for his first ever live show with Sleeping At Last. In spite of the absence of a guitar, Sleeping At Last achieved a sound reminiscent of the Fray or Coldplay.

Ryan explained after the show that his love for Hawaii inspired him to include the uke on the band’s third nationally released album, Storyboards. “It’s the most exciting instrument I’ve picked up since guitar,” he said. The band really branched out with Storyboards, adding new instruments like banjo and mandolin as well as the uke for a more acoustic album than their previous two.

The band was joined by solo artist Jeremy Larson, who filled in the gaps where three musicians couldn’t cover all the instruments they needed. Jeremy also opened the night with his own one-man, five-instrument set, looping tracks and building to a hypnotizing climax on each song. He layered tracks on guitar, drums, vocals, violin and cello. It might have been the best thing I've ever heard. I can hardly explain the way I felt when he was up there; it was like his music was reminding my heart how to beat. The words, the sounds, even the lights - everything about the set had my heart racing the entire time.

“I learned to play [strings] out of necessity,” Jeremy told me after the show, when I went to talk to him and the band for the Tartan. “I wanted strings on my album and didn’t know anyone who played.” He ended up contributing strings to MuteMath’s most recent album, Armistice. I was totally startstruck when he told me that. I was also at a loss for words when I noticed boxer briefs for sale at his merch table.

"Is that... really an effective way to advertise your music?" I asked. "I mean... how many people really... see that?"

He laughed. "You'd be surprised. We actually sell a lot of them. But yeah, I don't think they're a very good way to advertise...."

Maybe if you're Captain Underpants.

In search of Ryan Todd

So there is this boy - we shall call him Ryan Todd - that showed up at the writing center about a week and a half ago while I was working an extra shift to help pay for the trip to California that I was supposed to be taking this weekend. I had been working for three and a half hours and I'd helped eight or nine people with papers already, so I was none too happy when the door opened again.

But, my dear readers, Ryan Todd was a whole new species of gorgeous. I don't remember that much about his paper because I was too busy thinking "you have really pretty eyes.....," but I remember at one point in the middle of our discussion he looked up and said, "I don't believe in fate." Now mind you, the statement was totally relevant to our conversation about the essay, but I still fell in love a little bit when he said it.

When he left, I promptly berated myself for thinking such silly thoughts when, in fact, I was already taken. Still, I couldn't help feeling giddy when I saw him a few days later and he said hello. That's right, Ryan Todd McGorgeous remembered lil old me. I yelled at myself again on the way back to Ferrin. It was not very effective. I couldn't wipe the fatuous smile off my face, try as I might.

Then I became single and Ryan Todd disappeared off the face of the Gordon bubble. I didn't see him once all week. I kept hoping he'd show up at the writing center with another paper... or just for a visit (XD yeah I know). I at least wanted to know how his paper that somehow had something to do with fate turned out. Mais alas, Ryan Todd was nowhere to be found.

And then today. I spotted him from afar during chapel and was all YAAAY until I realized that he realized that I'd been looking at him. Oooops, heh heh.

Welcome back to third grade, y'alls.

Catharsis, or A Breakup Tale

I guess I'm obliged to try and get some of this out in writing, though I hardly know where to begin. If you're looking for something silly and whimsical, I suggest you wait for my Scatterday post tomorrow afternoon. This post is anything but. See title.

These past ten months with Paul have been full of peaks and valleys. I remember going back to school after the first time we kissed, ecstatic to tell Schneckleface* all about it and the *DATE* we were going on soon!

There were so many firsts for both of us, and for the most part they were exciting firsts that brought me great joy. First time I ever slept over a guy's house. First time I went behind my parents' backs (for the record, that one was more exciting than joyful). First time I'd ever thought I could stick with someone forever, and wanted to. First time I ever planned on it. Among other firsts that brought confusion and even guilt for this quasi-conservatively raised Christian young lady - but let's not think about that just yet. First, a tribute to the things that made me smile... that still make me smile, and will no matter what.

Our first month together disappeared in a flurry of snowflakes and Christmas lights, which somehow seemed brighter than they had in years past. He was so worried about my present, worried he'd offend me since I was "very religious" and he, well, wasn't. For all that, he did a fine job. He even made it to church a couple times. He was so worried I would cheat on him that first month, and I was so glad I wasn't that person, so glad I wasn't bringing more pain into his life when he'd been through so much already (but it's none of my business to go into detail here). He always made sure to tell me how beautiful I looked that day, and I melted every time.

January: I dragged him to a ska show. He teased me about it but didn't complain (even when I got a bloody nose before ever jumping into the action).

February: I got a little adventurous in the kitchen, trying to bake the perfect Valentine's day gift (which involved way more red food dye than I ever should have fed him).

March: We took a long walk in the woods with every intention of getting hopelessly lost. The only thing I actually lost was my phone. It happened during a snowball fight, which I confess to instigating. Eventually we found both the phone and our way home.

April: I made it through the semester alive - quite a feat with the amount of pressure I was under - all thanks to him.

May: We took a road trip to New York to see Mae, another band he didn't care about at all, and get their scratch and sniff EP. It became a two-day tour of the city that never sleeps. We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and had dinner with his godmother, who was one cool chica.

June: Our friends came home and much revelry ensued. All nighters. Rock Band. Mike's hard lemonade. Aaand the landmark 6-month anniversary, at which point I was more in love than I'd ever been.

July: His brother Dave took us on a spontaneous late-night road trip to New Hampshire for fireworks, which we set off on the beach on the fourth. I've never nearly died so many times in one night. By that statement, I meant the night of the fourth, but looking back I think I may have nearly died more times on the road trip.

August: I made and promoted the heck out of that video for that scholarship contest with a little help and a lot of support from him.

September: Not much to report, since I was back at school and he was home. We made plans to go to Sacramento for his music video premiere at the Sacramento Horror Film Festival. I was so proud! Oh, and that high school kid raising money door-to-door caught us hooking up in the hallway. Most embarrassing (but hilarious) moment EVER.

October: Well, here we are. Ten months and a break-up later. There are two things I won't say.

1. I won't say I wish I never met him. These are the things that make us who we are. The things that teach us what we need, what we want, what we can live without.

2. I won't say I wasn't in love. It would be a shameless lie.

I will say that it was time to move on. It had been some while since I'd felt the way I felt in June, when I convinced myself I was ready to give him that last piece of me that I had been saving - my virginity. But by the time I got on birth control, I was starting to notice the things I wanted that weren't there and decided not to give it up. Now I'm glad I held out.

I didn't want the darkness and fear he thrived on - the movies he watched, the movies he made, the heavy metal music and the image that went with it. It is my nature to love light and hope and beauty. I love the details that make this world so special. I love the care that God puts into them. Those weren't things he appreciated.

I wanted romance, poetry and love songs. I wanted him to bring me flowers for no reason. I wanted travels and beach days (which he disliked because of the way sand felt on his skin). I wanted adventures and asymmetry (which he couldn't stand, at least not in architecture).

I wanted to be challenged intellectually, spiritually, physically; instead I was only challenged sexually. He never forced me to do anything, yet I always had the sense that I was keeping from him the one thing that would make him happiest. For that I was, and am, sorry; or at least about the pain it caused.

I wanted him to act right around a lady, even when he was with the guys. I was sick of the rude humor and rude language, sick of the way he talked about other races and religions (even if it was only in jest, for to every joke there is a grain of truth).

I wanted to see him quit buying (or, as I saw it, wasting) time and go somewhere he really wanted to go, knowing good things were waiting to happen.

I told him that - that good things were waiting to happen - and in the end, even I couldn't stay his "good thing" forever.

I look at all that stuff I want and think, that's a lot to ask of one person. No one in the world can offer all that. No, but someone can offer some of it. From the beginning I wondered why I was so in love with someone who didn't fit a single one of my criteria, and you know what? It was a good fit. That's all I can say. I was happy, he was happy, and it worked - until now.

About a month ago I started living excuse to excuse. I was constantly relieved to find reasons to stay at school instead of coming back to be with him, because I hated it when we hooked up and didn't know how to say so. Somehow I knew it would break us and I didn't want that. I knew I was being selfish. I loved him (though maybe not quite as I had before) and needed him, so I clung to what we had, even though I knew what he needed was something I couldn't give. Time and time again I heard him talk about the people who had hurt him in the past and how he was moving past it, leaving them behind.

I didn't want to be left behind.

I hated the idea of hurting him and it seemed to me that the hurt of ending it would be greater than the hurt of staying together without having sex, but in the end only he could decide that. He finally got me to talk about what was bothering me after a month or more of knowing something wasn't right. I said I couldn't keep saying I'd be ready soon, soon, soon, when clearly it was going to be some time before I was ready to share that kind of intimacy with someone. By then I was so far into the valley that I had no desire to try and become ready. I had been trying for months. It just wasn't there. I wasn't in love anymore. I didn't say so, but that's how it was.

I left the ball in his court, and tonight he ended it. Even though I'd seen it coming, it hit me hard. I was crying. He was crying. My God, I made him cry - I didn't think I could. That was what killed me, seeing him like that and knowing I had caused it. I knew I would be okay if he was okay and made him promise he would take care driving home. I was so afraid he'd crash, accidentally or on purpose, or that he would hurt himself some other way. I couldn't live with that.

After he left I more or less dissolved into a sobbing, shaking puddle on the floor. I think part of it was adrenaline. Part of it might have even been relief. But the greatest part of it was sadness. I knew I wouldn't be hearing from Paul for a while (although we're going to have to figure out the Sacramento situation, since I'm officially uninvited). I mopped myself up enough to call his dad and ask him to keep an eye on things tonight. Hanging up, I felt marginally better.

The chapter ends like this. I still love him, just not the way he wants. I want nothing but the best for him and I want to be a part of it if he'll let me. I haven't written him off as a romantic possibility, but he's got changing to do if we're going to try this again, and in the meantime, at twenty, I've got people to meet before I can think about settling down. As for my first love, time will heal him, and when it does I hope that we can be friends.

At least one good thing has come of this: My sister is actually nice to me when I'm miserable. Granted, there's nothing comforting about "well, it was God's will" - it still fucking hurts. But this strange peace I feel says she's right. It was kind of her anyway, and after that she gave me music and said good night. Thanks, sis.

Until the sun wipes the sky from grey to blue,
Miss Rex

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* The many Sara(h)s in my life need nicknames so you (and I) can tell them apart ^_^

Relient K - first and forever <3

There are not too many things I know for certain in this life, but one thing I do know is this:

Never pass up a Relient K show.

I took the train into town and met up with Ducky, my friend from summer camp, and her boyfriend Curly. It would be Ducky's first Relient K concert and I was honored to be there for it. We were hours early because none of us had tickets and the show was almost guaranteed to sell out.

Pretty much the first thing that happened when we got off the train was Matt Thiessen, lead singer/guitarist/keyboardist/lyricist extraordinaire, walked right by us to get on the tour bus, which was inconspicuously parked right in front of the venue. I was like "Hey Matt! What's up" really awkwardly because, I'm sorry, his presence alone renders me speechless. And he was like "hi." And that was it.

Later I found out Ducky had a camera. I wish she'd mentioned that when Matt was there.

Then we amused ourselves by wandering around the Goodwill next door in search of a Cruella De Vil costume. Instead I found a Pokemon VHS. It cost me a dollar. Best dollar ever spent.

Then we sat on the sidewalk and ate "dinner," aka PB&J on a bagel and a naner that I brought from school because I'm cheap. Curly had an energy drink. I wrapped my leftovers in the saran wrap from my bagel and was asked whether I saran wrap my banana. The answer is yes, yes I do.

Two or three hours later we finally got to go inside and buy tickets. Then yet another hour of waiting ensued. We had great spots on the floor, although we'd gotten there so early that frankly I think we should've been front row. But no matter; when the crowd got going we'd be able to push our way up.

The first band came on stage. Right away I knew it was going to be an earplug show and I put them in. I don't remember too much about their set except that the drummer had his mouth open the whole time and the guy singing/playing keys kept looking at me. I could've imagined I imagined it until he winked at me.

Copeland played second. I like their stuff well enough, but they're not the kind of band to get you stoked. It's not that they don't have upbeat songs - "Pin Your Wings" comes to mind, thought I might be biased because my name is in that song ^_^ - they just didn't play any of them.

Finally it was Relient K time (I feel like one of those Papa Gino's ads: study time. Party time. Papa time. Relient K time!) I'll admit I was getting kind of tired by then, what with the traveling and waiting and more waiting and forgettable sets, but nothing picks me up like seeing the best band in life. I like to call them my first and forever love. Sorry to whatever lucky guy becomes my husband, but there will always be a small part of me that wants to marry Matty T.

They played a lot of stuff from Two Lefts Don't Make a Right... but Three Do. This made me happy beyond words. Wanda and I played "Falling Out" in a talent show once and I'd wanted to see the band play it ever since. I finally got my wish! They also gave us a taste of the new album, Forget and Not Slow Down, which was coming out the day after. It was too soon for me to pass judgment on the songs... although in a couple of weeks it would be a huge part of me surviving my breakup with Paul. Pretty much best album ever. Definitely the best I've heard from them since 2004's Mmhmm.

My sole complaint about their set is that there was this bitch standing in front of me. Her hair kept getting in my face because it was really puffy and I kept sort of leaning back to keep from inhaling it, but it seemed like she kept getting closer so I put my arms up in front of me, sort of like when you cover your vitals in martial arts. Well she knocked into my arms and apparently interpreted this physical contact as me crowding her and made sure to snap at me for it between songs.

Sweetheart. You're at a show. There are no personal bubbles at shows.

I apologized sweetly for the fact that there was no space behind me to back up, and suggested that if she felt crowded maybe she could move up into the foot and a half in front of her. She was pretty fat but she didn't need as much space as she was taking up. She didn't take my advice; instead she kept randomly backing up just to piss me off, so Ducky and Curly kept launching themselves into me and, by extension, into her. This pissed her off even more. She kept giving me death glares over her shoulder. I actually feared for my life.

But after Miss Bitch's little fit and Ducky and Curly's faux mosh pits, some kids behind us started a real pit. Shame they waited until the encore, though I guess we might've been kicked out if we'd done anything during the show. There was a congo line, too. When it was all over, Curly helped me find Matt Hoopes' guitar pick on the ground. Now I have one from Matty T and one from Hoopes! <3

But I still have no drumsticks, which is my true life goal. If I can get one from Darren King (MuteMath) next month, it may just be the climax of my entire existence....

Everything in Transit

Sometimes I think my life is like The Little Mermaid.

I'm the girl who has everything. I go to a great college, where I study great subjects under great teachers. I have a great family that loves me and is not broken by divorce or sickness. I have a great boyfriend who would do anything for me. I have great friends and roommates capable of fun times and deep caring. Yet some days, and today is one of them, I just feel utterly, hopelessly miserable. I think the fact that I compare my life to a children's movie is somewhat indicative of the problem.

Everything makes sense when you’re little. All that matters is the world inside your head. Save Fantasyland from the bad guys! You’ve got all afternoon to do it, and for someone whose existence has only spanned eight years, that’s a lifetime. You can’t understand what faith is because you can’t imagine anything else. When your mind is so huge and pure and the world knows no bounds, that’s when your imagination can wrap itself around God. You can shrink him down when your mind is like that. You don’t need answers to all these silly questions before you can love him or love other people; you just do because you should, and that’s all you know or need to know.

So maybe my life is more like Peter Pan: I don't want to grow up!

When I'm under pressure, I regress. I try to re-become the child I once was. I can talk myself into seeing the world as if it's the first time I ever looked at the sky or the sea or a little yellow snail that anyone else would pass by or step on. People know and expect that simple things amaze me and bring me joy, but they don't know that I had to practice seeing it that way. My mind is not the place it was when I was small. I can only regress so far.

Not much makes sense anymore. I don't know who I am (even though I spent four years of high school telling everyone I did). I can't understand what faith is because I never needed to know. I can't even wrap my mind around a little piece of God because I know now that shrinking him down the way I did once is a lie, and I wouldn't want to lie about something like that.

I want the happy Disney ending. Sometimes I just forget that heroes and heroines have to fight the bad guys to get there, and in the process, they change. Belle fell in love with the Beast. Pinocchio became a real boy. I don't want to change, but my position in the world is changing and I have no choice but to change with it. I want to love the things I've always loved and do the things I've always done with the people I've always held dear, and I want them to be exactly the way I've always held them dear.

Maybe that's what heaven is like.

Does anyone else feel this way? Or, a more fun question to amuse me on this over-thought and emotional afternoon: Which Disney movie describes your life? What character do you relate to? If you could be any Disney character, who would you choose? Entertain me!

O(k)toberfest

By a show of hands, who knows what Oktoberfest is?

OK, leave your hand up if you said it was a booze-free event.

Right.

Well, that's what my college decided it was. I opted to forgive them the misleading title and went with my roommates (including honorary roomie, Joanna) anyway. Hey, they promised me hot apple cider and cider donuts; how could I resist?

But there was no cider there when we arrived. No cider donuts. There was some kind of... bratwurst cooking over a grill and some root beer. Popular indie music and indie pop was blaring and three kids from the improv team were "dancing," otherwise known as flapping their appendages and writhing. You can imagine my ecstasy....

We grabbed some pumpkins from the pumpkin-coloring table; we intended to carve them and light them in our many windows. Then I bumped into my buddy Jarin and we were chatting when all of a sudden The Addict ran up and said to hurry up; the rest of my roomies were on the hay ride.

The tractor was already driving away. I went "okimcomingbyejarin!!" and chased after The Addict, who took a running leap onto the trailer's sideboard. I couldn't decide what to do with my pumpkin. I hated to lose it....

But the tractor was getting away, so I chucked Mr. Pumpkin into the woods and dove for it. The hayriders cheered and made room for us. Highlight of the night!

The ride ended 48 seconds later. How anticlimactic.

I can't help thinking this whole night would've sucked less if they'd just left the event at face value and passed out booze. At least we wouldn't have had to remember how lame it was. =/