"You have a cute hair...cut?"

It may or may not be Michael, and to be honest, I'm thinking it's not. I think Michael is the other guy, but that's just me... Haha.

---------------------------------



So. Fun times, crazy days:
I saw Okkervil River live last week, it kind of made my life a little bit better. Or, maybe a lot better. I don't know, either way, definitely improved.

The Turnbull ACs were the openers (well, there was a another opening band, but they sucked) and they were great. But they always are.

Um. I also saw a bunch of Tooth and Nail pop punkers at a big church the other day.

Not that it changes my life or anything, it really didn't. I've seen Hawk Nelson before, and even when I could tolerate (even enjoy, a little) bands of that persuasion, and I didn't like them then. I sure don't really give a crap about them now. Well, unless they're flirting with me... (storystorystory:)





So, I more or less was mostly asleep throughout the entire show, there were comfortable chairs, and I was tired, and I can sleep through almost anything. I'm kind of immune to loud pumping basslines anymore. All the bands sounded the same, though, HN tended to talk more during their set then the others. I think because headliners can do whatever they want.

Anyhow, I was just waiting for it to be finished, and it took forever to be finished. Like two hours. And I felt a little like a jerk, sitting down first of all, no one else really was, not even the parents...but you know, I wasn't an over-zealous parent trying to "fit in" with the younger "generation", I am part of the younger gen, and I like good music, but I digress. Not only was I sitting down during the show, whic is fairly unheard of at a "punk rawk (christian-pop-rock) tooth n' nail show", I was reading during set changes. Reading. And you know what reading material I had? I had Paste magazine. Paste magazine, it doesn't get much more indie-elitist than that, and actually maintain semi-decent writing. I was sitting there, reading why Ben Gibbard has no issue with being famous and why he wants to be Kerouac, and I thought 'dang, I wish I had my book with me...' But you know what book I had? The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I should just've pasted (haha, punny) 'wanna be elitist snob' on my face. But, really digression, unnecessary.



After the show, we got in line for autographs. I was not actually intending to get one, I was just standing in line with them, hopding the spot for the girls (Hope and her friend Stephanie) to get autographs from the opening bands, but not lose their spots in the big line to Hawk Nelson.

Hope wanted them to sign...everything. Her shirt, her papers, another paper for a friend... Which wouldn't have been a big deal, had we not been threatened with not being able to "take up too much of their time" they were "very tired". It was barely ten at night, and all I can say is, if you can't roll with the big dogs, don't be a rock band. I don't care, just because you're Christians doean't mean you are uncapable of signing things and taking pictures with a bunch of preteens. It's part of the deal! But that's just my opinion. When it was our turn, I decided that, for the good of the team, I'd get an autograph too. So we could have an extra one, because they acted like they couldn't autograph everything that Hope wanted them too. And I laid it on thick.

Each of the guys got a good dose of guilt: "Thank you so much, I really appreciate you doing this, it means a lot that you're giving us some of your time to sign these, thanks really! This is so great! blah blah blah." I can turn on the charm that makes money when I need to. Mostly I was ignored only slightly less than the other people in line, I managed a "You're really welcome" or two, eye contact from one of the guys, and then I got to the end of the line.



I was wearing this ancient Relient K shirt I have, I mostly sleep in it because it's comfy, and wouldn't wear it out...um, ever. It's a pretty funny shirt, you know, the four guys that were RK in 2001 or something wearing funny costumes. But it's old. And I don't really listen to them anymore. But, anyhow, I was wearing that because my sister wanted me to "fit in", you know, with everyone else wearing their HN gear. So I get to the last guy in line and he glances up and sees my shirt, and hears my appreciation that's as faux as his 'hawk haircut, and says (excitedly) "Dude!! I had that shirt in high school!!" and I say...like a cool kid....
"Haha...me to..."

And then, I swear I must've been glowing because there is no other excuse for his adoring stare, he looks me in the eye and his voice totally changes. It turns soft and sweet, hints of flirtation all over the place:
"...Oh,....hiii...." his syllables all stretched out. I was confused.
"Hey. Uh." I am retarded mostly.

"I like your...uh...your um...hair.....cut? That was weird, I'm sorry. I mean, I like your hair? I guess that's what I mean.... I mean...I mean....You're...uh. Yourecute. Yeah....you're cute, and uh, thanks a lot for coming. Did you like the show? I hope so. I always hope that girls like you...I mean, everyone, but uh, cute girls? Yeah? Cute girls like the show...did you?"
OH. My. gosh. What?

"I loved it. Thanks, no that's not weird, I like your haircut too." Sometimes I wonder who I am. I wonder who is saying things like this. I couldn't do it again. Also, I am a liar, apparently. I didn't do anything remotely close to love it.

He smiles, he's digging on me, and my shirt and hair cut. I'm cute. awww.


Then the guy next to him nudges him, and smiles at me,
"Sorry to break this up, dude, but, uh, you're holding up the line a little bit."
Our eyecontact breaks and I see about 25 angry 13 year old girls in Hawk Nelson is my best friend t-shirts giving me the death stare; they knew my secret, they knew I was the one laying sudoku on my phone during the show, they knew I didn't deserve this.
My sister and her friend were already gone by the time I got out of the line.

"Who was the guy on the end?!" I asked, kind of frantically, a huge smile on my face.
"Whyyyyyy? You think he was cuuuuuute?" my sister is a very obnoxious person, very twelve.
"Uh, kinda ... but mostly he thought I WAS."



and that's why my night didn't totally suck, and was funny. And.

Um.

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Michael? I hope so.