i have been billing the wilco show at bayfront park the "premiere event of the summer." i rarely get excited for things that aren't my birthday or slathered in guacamole, and especially not a concert. concerts of the formal kind -- the ones not on a road blocked superior street or that begin before midnight, as i've said before -- typically involve me bobbing my knees and looking around and wondering why i'm not having more fun. but this! wilco. outside. the soles of my feet dirty from spinning circles in the pukey grass to "heavy metal drummer." $8 bayfront pale ale staining the front of my jeans. and people. oh the people. and a fun duluth summer night.
everyone i know was going to wilco, except one very special person.
"i hate wilco," jcrew said.
"no one hates wilco," i corrected her.
"yeah, well, i hate how everyone likes wilco," she said.
fannie was even going to come to town. it takes more than just me to lure my friend further north than roseville. it takes me and jeff tweedy. wilco, do you know that i haven't seen fannie since thanksgiving?
i like my gratification immediate. not on september 4th. "postponed" is just a synonym for "fun-sucked." now the show previously known as "the premiere event of the summer" is just "that thing that happened in the almost-fall." i mean, i'll still go to the next show. but i better see scarring on that guitar-player's cheek. i want evidence that he was at quaratined at home, in bed, watching the game-show network, clawing at his skin and ruing the kindergartner who breathed on him.
i'm not mad, wilco, i'm just disappointed.