|Photo by JCrew, who had the sweet seats|
Thursday night was the dance challenge. I won Most Authentic, one of those EVERYONE IS A WINNER prizes. It was so, so, so fun. The PBG danced and wiggled and yelped through the rest of the show, her eyes all wide and her mind blown. (Except for the part where she detonated a burrito in her diaper and Ma Pista had to McGuyver cleanup using a public bench and a frozen bag of wipes).
Later Thursday night Chuck and I went to see one band but wound up seeing another. Someone said to me: "Welcome back to real life." It was too loud to respond "Dude, our cat has kidney stones. Every night we administer an IV to fill him with fluids so that hopefully he can flush the stones to a final resting place in his bladder. There is no 'Welcome back to real life.' I've got real life in spades."
We watched a bunch of kids wearing white face paint play trombone and saxophone and a wood block and a shirtless guy ripped off his denim vest and threw his head back and howled.
"This band reminds me of a girl I knew in high school who drank cold coffee from a mayonnaise jar," Chuck said.
We took a cab home. It felt very strange to be a little fuzzy, sneaking into our own home with my parents sleeping upstairs next door to our daughter. Daughter. Daugh-ter. Our's. Our daughter.
I got up too early on Friday morning with The Morning Lark. Meant to go back to bed but I was seduced by Hoda, who always seems a little one eyed and wine drunk. I picture her propped up against Kathie Lee, two sides of a triangle at last call. Ma Pista can't get enough of these clowns.
My parents are people who get stuff done. Projects and lists and even the toaster goes in a specific place in the kitchen. We kidnapped them on Friday afternoon. Held them hostage on the couch for a Breaking Bad marathon that must have been a personal record for them: Consecutive episodes of anything ever watched ever in the entire world.
On Friday night Chuck and I went out for burgers. Mine was a wild rice patty with jalapenos, onions and blue cheese and it stained my tongue with flavor. Afterward we went across the hall to see The Rock Star Amy Abts play. It was a spare setup: just our girl, a small stage, a stack of new music and a band mate I might have babysat in the late 1980s.
We sunk into a couch and a guy who looks like Louis CK shot video on his phone. Amy closed with a cover of "Pale Blue Eyes" and a joke about Mellencamp.