And I've Been Puking

After the famine, my great, great, great, great grandfather and his remaining siblings, the ones who hadn't been eaten, were packed in the most efficient manner possible into steerage on a large, rusty boat, and after two months at sea, where, tragically, two more of his brothers were eaten (damn you, Jonathan Swift), they were finally and unceremoniously dumped on the shores of America. He and the generations that followed worked their blood, worked their sweat, but not their tears because it's physically impossible for Irish Catholics to cry, into making themselves a vital part of this country. I think of them tonight, on this St. Patrick's Day Eve, as I stare at the Sear's Tower lit green, and as that small annoying girl from down the hall, runs, screaming "Who wants to do an Irish Car Bomb?" (I'm not much of a drinker, but I'm fairly sure when a drink makes you think of the IRA, or for that matter, any terrorist organization, it's kind of against the point. I doubt it would be much of a buzz when you're thinking about children dying in an explosion, pawns in a battle they don't even understand. Or you, know, something along those lines), then trips, giggling on the floor. Or crying. I didn't care enough to find out which one it was.

I'm not entirely sure where I've been for the last few days, today was the first day where I actually felt like I was awake all week. My friend was telling me that not only is it possible for you to get mono without any sort of necking or canoodling involved at all, but that girls can carry it, spread it to guys, without feeling sick at all. I cried shenanigans. Actually, it was more along the lines of "Shen... shenan....." Then I just kind of fell asleep on my feet.

Of course, if I did have a contagious disease, what better way to spend my time than standing, squeezed in with a hundred of my closest strangers at the Jenny Lewis and The Watson Twins show on Tuesday? I got there about an hour and a half before the show started, where I entertained myself by naming all the people around me. There was Ted and Amanda, Amanda being about 7 years younger than Ted, but she was totally at the same emotional maturity level, which is why they're so good together, why they're so in love, why they needed to remind everyone around them of this by gently holding, swaying, and kissing each other through out the show. Needless to say, I despised them. There was Tik, the 38 year old bouncer and father of two, who spent the night swigging back Heineken, since this wasn't exactly a crowd that was primed to become the next Altamont. There was Chris and Mary Ann, by far the oldest people in my section, Chris a big guy with a serious looking face, Mary Ann I'm positive was a second grade teacher. Then there was poor Amy, who's friend, I think her name was Sue, showed up late, which left her to the whims of Tucker, you might know him as that guy who seems to work at every Radio Shack in the country, who wowed her with his endless talks of every sensitive guy pop culture marker, running from 'Before Sunset' to Broken Social Scene.

The show opened with Whispertown 2000, who I thought were great and very charming, though it was impossible not to sympathize with them as they poured their hearts out to the stone faced indie kids standing before them, who gave absolutely nothing back. They deserved a better reaction, but apparently it's not cool to smile when you're cool. It's not cool to move either. Or breathe. Johnathan Rice cracked the crowd though, by being all detached and cynical. Apparently the only way to make cynical kids laugh is to make fun of them for being cynical. I suppose it's just a matter of science, when you come down to it. Rice's act also introduced us to Farmer Dave, who just might have been the highlight of the evening, the man with one expression; if everyone else was starting to convulse to the beat, or if Jenny was crooning on his shoulder, the man continued to look like people do after they hear a knock knock joke. Smiling, but you can't quite tell if he's smiling because he thinks its funny, or he's just humouring you. Plus, he was wearing a pretty sweet cowboy shirt.

But there was only one real reason we were all there. Jenny finally came out with the Watson Twins in tow (who kind of looked like two black haired Janel Maloneys), dressed in a kind of matronly, Loretta Lynn-esque dress. Between the gospel tones of the music and the way that everyone there was completely focused on the stage (I can't remember the last time I saw that happen), the show began to feel like a revival meeting, all of us willing to act on whatever she told us to do. By the time that her set was under way though, my head was fully consumed in a headache, which wasn't being helped by the fact that I had to stand on one leg not to bump into anyone surrounding me. It's a testament to Jenny and her band that I didn't vomit on Ted and Amanda, she kept me distracted from the fact that I felt like I was dying on the inside. But, I imagine that if I was being consumed by some sort of, 'Grey's Anatomy' worthy flesh eating bacteria, I still would have made it through the show. Jenny Lewis was playing guitar three feet away from me. Who needs a full functioning body when you have a memory like that?