The Indigo Girls rock. They’re true artists with fire and passion and a hell of a lot of talent. No matter what, they’re a great show. You can’t help getting tangled in the music, dancing and singing with it. And it’s fun to go with interesting women who are witty and quick and as in love with them as you are.
But I always go to their shows with my sister Christy, who couldn’t come to the show last night. And on top of her not being able to attend, I hurt her feelings on the phone while still waiting in line to get into the Fillmore, so hearing her favorite songs was kinda tough.
And I go to their shows with Jenn, who’s in Ethiopia for a year, who has running (cold) water twice a day if she’s lucky, and who has to carry a flashlight to look for hyenas on her way home from teaching class at night.
I missed them.
But about the show, here you go:
It was great, of course. Audrey (buy her CD, it’s fab) and I wrestled our way to the front where we made a few friends and a few enemies. We stood behind two big-haired people who thought they had invented kissing. But the sound was excellent. They played all the right songs as well as some new ones from their upcoming CD. They played Mystery, which I maintain is one of their best songs ever. “There must be a thousand things you would die for, I can hardly think of two….” Audrey was a great person with whom to watch the show – just the right amount of between-song commentary and she knew all the words.
But Christy wasn’t there. And Jenn wasn’t there. I never really knew that would matter quite so much. After all, the Indigo Girls are my favorite band in the universe, and I was there with a group of beautiful intelligent women …. And I just stood there, missing MY girls.
Brooke, clever girl that she is, got some backstage passes. No pictures, ‘cause that’s WAY taboo, but we did go upstairs afterwards, which was roped off for VIP, and I shook Amy Ray’s hand which, let’s face it, no matter what kind of mood you’re in, is AWESOME. Then we sat around and drank more and sent furtive I’m not a stalker glances at Amy and Emily who were catching up with their SF friends.
Came home a little shell-shocked, I think. Slept badly. Had a FANTASTIC phone talk with Christy as soon I woke up. Made us both feel better, I think. I apologized for being an asshole and she accepted said apology. That always helps. I considered for brief moment how fun it would be to mail Jenn the backstage pass and then I realized that she really might fly home just to punch me. “Hey, good thing you had a backstage pass. I had anti-malarial drugs and no chalk.” (Aside – this is when I become an asshole – when I don’t think things out and through to their logical consequences. When I don’t think before I act or speak. Trying to become better at thinking first.)
Today: To think before acting. To get a cup of chai at my coffehouse and write. To wait for the rain that’s lowering the skies and maybe go grocery shopping for healthy food (and some ice cream).
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