Jiggety

Administrative note: Effective immediately, the cryptically titled blog "Julia" will dedicate itself exclusively to the publication of small-venue concert reviews.

As my date for the evening observed shortly into Monday night's Blue October show, "It is very refreshing to see a rock performance so completely innocent of any irony." It was true, you know. There was no sense that the frontman was wearing black eye-makeup and a studded leather wristband because he was being coy. Oh no, he was a rocker and these were rock emblems, and as for those theatrical hand gestures? Well I have no doubt whatsoever that they sprung, perhaps during an earlier rehearsal, from utterly sincere emotions that could not be contained. Twenty years ago (ok, eighteen) I would have been enthralled. Ten years ago I would have been amused. Now I was merely bored and a little embarrassed, so the ex-boyfriend and I took our buckets of aging cynicism and headed off to the bar. I still love the album, but they were ruining it for me with all that live in person earnestness. Ruiners.

My ex-boyfriend World Tour is continuing nicely. In Chicago I was fortunate enough to secure the company of a very old friend. Ha! Part of Gregg's initial appeal, apart from the towering intellect, was the fact that I was 16-going-on-17 and he was 44. No, no, I jest. Every time I talk about him I add another 2 years to his age, poor guy. It makes better copy though. Let's see, ok, his birthday is in February… add 6… I guess he was only 22. It was still enough to impress the high school crowd. NOT that I cared about impressing anyone, of course, being too cool for all those chumps who had yet to experience la nausée but having a boyfriend at Georgetown did add a certain élan (whoa, let me grab a croissant here as I go completely French) to senior year.

After driving all afternoon (why aren’t there cowboys in Wisconsin? There are plenty of cows. Do dairy cows not need to be herded? What if they turn vicious?) I was pleased to be in Illinois. You can take it from me, Chicagoans know how to fucking drive. After Wisconsin, where every schoolchild is underwritten by speeding tickets and you had better watch your ass over 72 mph, it was a relief to be in the Land of Lincoln where no one cares if you wrap yourself around a minivan going 120- Illinois has opted for tolls. I hooked up with a very nice guy in an Audi (wearing what I first took to be a cowboy hat [thus leading to 20 miles of cowboy related musing] but later recognized as the fetching fedora it was) and we moved along quite briskly. He would slam up behind dawdlers in the passing lane and I would set the pick for him to the right. All very cozy and a heartwarming example of interstate cooperation.

Then dinner, part of the show and pints of Bass at the bar until the wee hours. Back at the hotel I finally drifted off around 4 only to be awakened at 7 by the goddamned alarm clock. Here’s a travel hint: ALWAYS check to make sure the alarm is turned off before you retire for a restful, baby-free night, no matter how much beer you have consumed. In fact BECAUSE of how much beer you have consumed. I fell back asleep again but it wasn’t the same and to the previous occupant of room 310 all I can say is fuck you.

Right now I feel great. It was lovely to be in the City of Big Shoulders and now it is lovely to be home. Patrick is adorable. Steve is adorable. I am GLAD he left all that laundry for me to put away because it gives me the chance to be useful around here. I am whistling as scrape yesterday’s breakfast off the kitchen floor (wow- applesauce is like epoxy when you leave it overnight, isn’t it?)

Refreshed. Rejuvenated. Yep.