No rocks at the rock show
I give up. No more trying to hide from students in public, it’s futile. I was at a show last night, waiting for the apathetic bartender to make eye contact when I hear, “¡hooolaa, profesora Cristiiina!” Yes, yes, ¿Qué tal? to the student about to wave her hand off her wrist. Damn, they spot me fast! I headed up to a balcony area to watch Mimicking Birds and Typhoon from this nice vantage point:
This is why I can’t have nice things: I set my beer on the wooden ledge, Typhoon’s rockness was so raucous that the beer shimmied its way to the edge and ermmm… dived in all of its 12oz glory into the poor drummer below. I stood there, not touching anything, mortified as the fella rightly looked up with a stink-eye. After he finished the song with his beery-bells, he said, “Why don’t you throw down a towel next time?!” Arghhh, not being able to explain to him that sound waves were to blame, I unraveled my scarf and lowered it down. By now, the whole crowd was watching, judging with their beady eyes. A kind soul brought a towel and
drummer-boy threw the scarf back up to girl-who-shouldn’t-be-taken-out.
A-puh-puh-puh-puh-plause. The show went on, sticky drum and all.
My friends kept offering me sips of their beers, but all I wanted was a huge rock to crawl under. At the end, I passed along my apologies to the nice ladies at the merch table and paid my dues. This album is fantastic, listen to it and understand how it could make a glass of beer want to crowd surf.
