August 26, 2006
Down In Front Is Not A Cheer
MZone did an entry a couple of days ago about raising the volume at Michigan Stadium on football Saturdays. His rant about keys is irrelevant (most of the people waving keys around aren't yelling anyway), and the shape of the stadium IS a huge factor in how loud it is, but the central point is valid: Michigan Stadium is much quieter than any 110,000 people should be. It's nearly impossible to say whether noise makes a big difference in a team's record, but it does make a big difference in the game day experience.
When I was three, I went to my first Michigan football game. I, um, don't remember it. Sorry. But I do remember going to more than a few other games as a kid, usually with my dad. I was there when we played Maryland (the first game I clearly remember), the Colorado Kordell Stewart/Michael Westbrook Hail Mary rip-your-guts-out game, the time we played Boston College in a driving rainstorm, and for the 1997 Notre Dame and Ohio State games. I remember my first Michigan State game, how it was so packed that we couldn't even really sit down for the first quarter. It was also the first game where I noticed the stadium get a little loud. Not very, but it was noticeable. The '97 Ohio State game was loud on the field, but it wasn't exactly deafening in the 85th row.
In 1999, I was accepted and enrolled at U of M. On a whim, my friend Chris and I tried out for the marching band. To our shock, we weren't laughed out of Revelli Hall. Our high school didn't have a marching band and we weren't actually good musicians, so we were a little confused. Chris couldn't find a way to make practices work with his schedule, so he quit after a couple days of Band Week, but I stuck around.
Notre Dame was my first game, and it was a revelation. There were at least 300 people in Michigan Stadium who were loud: the band. We played, we chanted, we yelled. Every play. Every play. If we could have, we would've stood the entire game. Unfortunately, the alumni behind us didn't like that idea, so we only stood on every third down. Or if something exciting was happening. Or if we kind of felt like it was an important moment. Or if we thought we could get away with it.
My junior year, I made the marching block for our road game at Michigan State, the infamous clock fiasco where the Spartans mysteriously had one second left and, on the ensuing play, an EGREGIOUS hold wasn't called as MSU scored a touchdown to end the game. What isn't remembered as much is that Spartan Stadium was mind-bendingly loud for the vast majority of the game. I nearly had a brain aneurysm, I was screaming so loudly in the fourth quarter. I wanted that environment for a game at Michigan Stadium.
During my three years in the band, the student section had been getting better and better about their volume. My senior year, I couldn't make band work with my class schedule, so I had to watch with everyone else. My friends and I were up in Row 70-something, but it was still so much better than the alumni section on the opposite side of the stadium. The first time that I felt like I was in a really rocking stadium was when we played the University of Washington, as Michigan roared back to win the game on a Phil Brabbs field goal after we'd missed three earlier in the game off of various kickers. It was the first time I'd felt like the people around me who *weren't* in the band were just as intense about it as I was. I saw it again, later in the year, when we went back into overtime against Penn State (through the gift of questionable officiating). The student section was practically exploding in that game.
Sitting in the alumni section the next year was just a horrible, horrible letdown. And it continues to be. I'm a lot closer to the field now, but the volume just isn't there. One game a year, the crowd seems to really get up for the game, but it has to be a big game that's in the fourth quarter with Michigan trying to make a comeback. The triple-OT game against MSU in 2004 and the Penn State game in 2005 are the ones I'm talking about here, and they were great, simply classic games.
I know that not every game is going to have drama like that, and I'm not expecting jet-engine volumes from the crowd. I just think that when a big-time opponent comes to town we should have a big, loud crowd starting even before the first snap. I don't know how much it messes with the other team, but I do know this: It's just more fun, simple as that. It makes the football game a more exciting place to be. And who knows, maybe a loud stadium this year would make the team more prepared for the environment in the Horseshoe.
August 26: Went on rant about how quiet it is at Michigan Stadium
August 25: Purchased "DOWN IN FRONT IS NOT A CHEER" t-shirt.
August 24: Read "Tressel's World" blog, which is certainly not libelous in any way.
August 23, 2006
Watch This Space For An Exciting New Feature
Yesterday, I of course went out to buy my Veronica Mars Season 2 DVDs over at Best Buy, given that they generally do a nice first-day markdown. I got them (for $37.99, $10 off Best Buy's usual price and $22 off list price), but they didn't have the other thing I was looking for, Burn To Shine, Vol. 3: Portland, OR.
Burn To Shine is a series started by Brendan Canty of Fugazi in which a bunch of local bands get together and each play one song in a house before it's demolished. They've done Washington, DC (w/ Bob Mould and Ted Leo, among others), Chicago (Tortoise, Wilco), and now their in Portland. A house sitting on a golf course is going to be torched as practice for the fire department so that the owner can replace it with a 12,000-ft Italian villa. Chris Funk of The Decemberists curates and brings along ten of his favorite bands, including his own, The Shins, and Sleater-Kinney. I knew six bands on the list, so I thought I'd pick it up.
I drove a bit further down the street and found it at a local chain. The clerk who rang me up said, "This is really good." When you get compliments on your selection from the record store girl, you know you're doing something right.
She was right, by the way. It *is* really good. The name bands perform well, and I'm biased as to which one I like best, but I cracked up when Janet Weiss climbed through the window in the middle of Sleater-Kinney's song. The less-well-known bands steal the show, thogh. The Ready are a trio from the Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls just entering their teenage years, backed by The Shins' drummer, and it's kind of awesome to watch them play. The Thermals kick things off to a shambolic start, and Mirah's gypsy folk "Light the Match" is an appropriate song. The Gossip are the ones to watch, though; Beth Ditto has what might be the most Aretha-like voice in modern rock 'n' roll.
I had wanted to wait to start this soon-to-be regular feature, but things beyond my control have forced my hand. Firstly, Craig left me a copy of this movie poster he created, which is a thing of beauty. And then MGoBlog started up its own t-shirt shop later in the day, including these beautiful items:
The Michigan-Ohio State game is a huge deal every year, so they take some time out of practice every day just to devote some energy to winning that game. In this vein, I present to you
This will let everyone know how I'm doing what I can take down That School Down South. A quick rundown of my last week's activities:
August 23: Posted links to inspiring poster, derogatory t-shirt.
August 22: Disparaged the "The" in The Ohio State University.
August 20/21: Weekend. Off.
August 19: Considered, once again, why passing on Maurice Clarett was such a good idea.
August 18: Refined my hatred of red sweater vests.
August 17: Linked to "rap video" from Columbus. Yeah, MC Snorz is down with the streets.
August 22, 2006
The dogs on Main Street howl 'cause they understand
I had a strangely great weekend. I thought I'd be going to see Snakes On A Plane, but when it came down to it, I really didn't feel like watching a big dumb action movie. I was a lot more excited to see that Little Miss Sunshine was playing within half an hour's drive of my apartment. So I drove to the ginormous mall for the 4:25 screening and got in as the previews were rolling. It was a packed house, which I hadn't expected. The movie was terrific, with a sweet heart. The climax is absolutely hilarious. I think Abigail Breslin will at least get a Golden Globe nomination and the movie could win Best Comedy or Musical.
I walked out of the theater feeling really happy for the first time since I've been back from vacation, and feeling like I might actually belong in this town. I practically ran out of the mall just so its...mallness couldn't get in the way of that spark. It's featured in the movie, so I slapped a CD into my car stereo and turned "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens up LOUD and felt the hope in that song; the idea that at some point we have to be at peace with our mistakes and put them behind us. As I drove home, even the ghetto part of town looked greener.
On Sunday, I came into work to use the internet to research a new DVD player and maybe a laptop. On the side, I was sifting through Google, looking for one of the first Sleater-Kinney interviews I'd ever read. It was a long piece, at least seven pages, and I think it was in the now-defunct webzine Addicted To Noise. In it, they talked about playing bowling alleys in the middle of nowhere, the then-new The Hot Rock, and the ramifications of being profiled in SPIN.
I never found the piece. It's out there somewhere, I'm sure – nothing on the web is ever truly erased – but it's buried for now. What I did find was something else I thought I'd never have again. Nearly a year ago I saw Sleater-Kinney play the tired-looking St. Andrews Hall in the middle of Detroit. Near the end of the show, there was a little bit of audience interaction.
Corin: "I think we can say that this is definitely our best Detroit show since Zoot's. Is Zoot's still around?"
Crowd (sadly): "Noooo."
Some Guy: "Zooooooooot's!"
Carrie: "I guess we can do some Springsteen. Oh, you said 'Zoot's'. Guess I'm going a little deaf. We're not going to do anything from the first record or Call The Doctor. We'd like to present you with something we've played a few times less."
And then they went into "Step Aside", which rocked. But after that, they held a short band conference and decided to do some Springsteen anyway, ending the show by rocking the hell out of "Promised Land" and asking everyone to sing along. I had no idea that this was a cover they did and I was totally unprepared for how great it was. There's not a lot of time to just enjoy the moment when you're trying to remember the words to a song you've heard maybe once or twice before, and I've often wished I could hear it again. It's still the only cover I've seen them do live. On Sunday, at this fan site I found an mp3 of it from a 2002 show.
Some covers make perfect sense. Pearl Jam on "Rockin' In The Free World"; 10,000 Maniacs on "Because the Night"; Rufus Wainwright on "Hallelujah". Some are forced/wacky. Barenaked Ladies, "Fight the Power"; Cake, "I Will Survive". This is neither. I mean, Sleater-Kinney doesn't have a lot in common with Springsteen-esque roots rock. Their cover of "Fortunate Son" was called the Best Argument Against the Supposed Death of Rock and Roll by the Onion AV Club in 2000, but the politics involved make that a more obvious choice than the Boss.
But, the thing is, they do have connections in a larger sense than pure musical ones. A lot of both their work is tied up in the promises and failings of America. Sleater-Kinney overtly tackle the big issues of gender equality, a consumerist society, and global politics. Springsteen tells stories about working-class people trying to survive (and sometimes how they're hit by global politics). Both One Beat and The Rising are reactions to September 11, just from different perspectives.
In both S-K and Bruce, I hear a real optimism about this place. I was listening to the first disc of The Essential Bruce Springsteen, which covers everything up to Nebraska, and everyone has a plan to how they're going to get what they want, no matter how hopeless or stupid that plan may be. S-K may write about suicide and war, but also about family, love, and rock 'n' roll fun, and it's a huge part of why I love them.
Listening to music like this is one of the ways in which I feel most like an American, like I might really have a place in all of this. The idea that you can come out of East Nowhere, New Jersey, or Washington, or New Mexico and have a story to tell about this whole place. I only read The Great Gatsby once, but I know that it isn't any accident that just about everyone comes from somewhere that isn't New York.
Crap. I thought this was going to be shorter. I'm just now getting to The Point, closely related to The Questions.
I was going to do a little entry ten days ago when Sleater-Kinney played their last shows in Portland, but I wanted to figure out a way to say goodbye without being all woe is me about it, and that led me to a pair of questions, Why are they my favorite band? and What have I learned from them?.
For the first, I ran across the same question when I was searching out the article I mentioned above. It was here, in a column written by one of the Addicted To Noise founders, and he gives a pretty good answer. It's all ultimately how a band makes you feel that determines its worth to you. Listening to Sleater-Kinney makes me feel that someone else is asking the right questions, that art is real and not trapped in a museum, and that we can demand more from society to make tomorrow better. They're kind of a big picture band.
For the second question, I compiled a list.
What I've Learned From Sleater-Kinney:
August 17, 2006
[Cut for excessive laughter]
Thank goodness I didn't go to Michigan State. Otherwise I might've made a website that looks like this.
Even more so than that, I'm glad I didn't go to Ohio State. Because something like this exists, and these people would be claiming to represent me.
Stolen from MZone
August 10, 2006
What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Thursday, July 27
I left work at 4:00, went to the bank on the way out of town, then headed north on US-131. The usual traffic persisted up to Sparta, then finally I could take the car above grandmother-level speeds. I picked up a lot of time between here and Cadillac, where the freeway reverts to a two-lane highway through the woods. After a few more miles, I picked up the road to the village of Kingsley, where I turned north to Traverse City. I drove past the airport I'd be flying out of on Tuesday, Cherry Capital, and made my way to the foot of Grand Traverse Bay, following the beach for a while before heading into the downtown area to meet up with my family at a small fine dining restaurant called Hanna to celebrate my mom's birthday. Some hours later, we emerged.
As I headed west to Glen Arbor, I realized that I didn't really remember the numbers or names of the county roads I'd need to reach my destination. Whatever, I knew what they looked like. I reached the condo we were renting without any trouble and my brother helped me transport everything up the stairs to the condo we'd be sharing for the fifteenth year in a row.
Friday, July 28
I bothered my brother and my dad into coming out and playing tennis with me at the city courts. My dad hit for about 15 minutes before retiring, so my brother and I finished out the hour. The self-appointed woman who thinks she runs/owns the courts came up to us after a while to remind us that there's an hour limit when people are waiting. We still had 20 minutes left, and we heard her later, telling someone about us, "they're still there", as if she was upset that we weren't playing "real" tennis, just knocking the ball around a bit. I hate her, and she's there every day, every year.
We know the people we rent the condo from, and they'd invited us to come over to their place on Glen Lake that afternoon. We ended up going for a ride on their boat for a lot of the time, stopping in the lake to go swimming over the side. As we cruised around, a flying boat, possibly a '40's-era Grumman Mallard, landed on the lake. Back at the dock, we sat around eating watermelon, fresh cherries, and homemade cookies. Good way to spend an afternoon. We each got to try out their waverunners, getting absolutely soaked by the relatively rough water the breeze was kicking up. Before getting too badly sunburned, we went back to our condo, where we promptly went down to the beach to jump in Lake Michigan.
Four days of views from our balcony
Saturday, July 29
In Glen Arbor, Saturday is Beignet Day. A little teahouse in town called Thyme Out makes a batch up fresh that morning and they sell quickly. After breakfast, I tried to convince my brother that we should go climb the Sleeping Bear Dunes. Every succeeding day was going to be hotter than this one, the sky was cloudy. In short, ideal conditions. He, in turn, was worried about getting caught in a rainstorm. I tried to argue that heatstroke was a bigger threat than the light rain the Weather Channel showed in the middle of the lake, but he was not convinced. I did manage to persuade him that we should go to Empire Bluffs and maybe do the Pierce Stocking Scenic Drive after the rain was done.
The rain finally passed through at about 2:00 and drove down through the Village of Empire, turning west on Wilco Road and ending at the trail to the bluffs. We hiked the .75 miles up the back side of the bluffs to the lookout over the water.
It's surprisingly difficult to render just how tall some of these dunes are. The camera needs a wide field to show the top and the bottom and even then you need a familiar object to provide scale. Luckily, a foolish guy and his dog had made the descent to the beach. They're the two dots in the picture of Empire Bluffs. In the background, you can see the actual Sleeping Bear Dunes. They're 450 feet high.
Left to right: Empire Bluffs, looking at Sleeping Bear Dunes. Sleeping Bear Dunes, looking at Empire Bluffs. On the dunes, looking at the overlook and South Manitou Island. Sleeping Bear Point and the Manitou Islands. The little hump near the center is the Sleeping Bear, the focus of an Ojibwa legend. Long ago, across the lake in Wisconsin, a mother bear and her two cubs fled a forest fire by attempting to swim across the lake. The mother made it across and lay down, waiting for her cubs to follow. What she didn't know is that they had drowned within sight of the shore. As she waited, on and on, she became covered in sand, forming the dune. Eventually, the Great Spirit took pity on her and raised the cubs up to form the two Manitou Islands.
We hiked back to the car and headed for the dunes and the Pierce Stocking Scenic Drive. The eponymous Pierce Stocking was a lumberman concerned with preserving the natural beauty of the area. He thought that by building a scenic drive, he could concentrate foot and vehicle traffic on a paved road and specially built overlooks, thus preserving other areas in a near-pristine state. The drive opened in the mid-'60's as a private venture and became part of the national lakeshore after he died ten years later. A lot of people came from out of state to see this. On our drive on Saturday, I saw license plates from Connecticut, Texas, and California, and heard Japanese being spoken.
After coming back, we jumped in the water for a quick 20-minute swim. It doesn't count as a vacation day if you don't get in the lake.
For dinner, we ran back into Traverse City and up Old Mission Peninsula to my sister's favorite restaurant, the Boathouse Bistro, where we were to meet up with my aunt, uncle, and 9-year-old cousin. After a week of solitude interrupted by only my arrival, the rest of my mom's family would now be joining the fun up north.
Dinner was quite good. I had chicken in a phyllo dough crust with spinach and polenta. My cousin had a corn dog.
Sunday, July 30
Sunday was a beach day. Everyone was arriving, nobody had coordinated what we were going to do. It was just easier for me to blow up all of our rafts and head down. After lunch I blew up what we refer to as "the island", a 6.5' diameter raft large enough to require an anchor. My brother towed it out to water not quite over his head and dropped anchor. I spent the next couple of hours lying on it, jumping off it, fishing my much younger cousins out of the lake and then throwing them back in again. After dinner, I went back down to the beach to take some more pictures.
The sunset over Sleeping Bear Point
Monday, July 31
Monday was forecast to be a ridiculous (for northern Michigan) 94°F and we didn't have air conditioning. Why? Because you're not supposed to need it near the 45th parallel. I hate global warming.
I got my brother up early and we went over to the courts to play tennis. They were already full by 9:30 with people trying to play before the heat truly set in. We ended up playing a couple of sets of doubles with other people who evidently played the game more than one week a year. At least they thought I had a wicked serve.
After unsuccessfully trying to convince my grandparents (Average age: 80) to join us for air-conditioned splendor, we went to have lunch at Don's Drive-In in Traverse City, a location famed for its milkshakes made with fresh local fruit. On the way over, the thermometer in the car hit 105. After lunch, we thought about seeing a movie, but nothing was both good and playing at a good time for us. We ended up at the mall, killing another hour and half. Immediately upon returning to the condo we all went down to the lake, staying there until 8:30 when it finally started to feel a little cool around us.
We had dinner at a restaurant in Glen Arbor and came back to find that the air was warm, muggy, and still, except out on the deck. Inside, it was passable if you wanted to sit down, but not if you wanted to move or try to go to sleep. I watched a bunch of episodes of Danger Mouse with my cousin from my DVDs before going upstairs to pack my backpack for Washington.
It took a long time between when I tried to go to sleep and when I managed to get to sleep for any period of time. Even with a fan blowing directly on me, it was still so warm. Finally, at about 3:30, it was cool enough to sleep. When I woke up in the morning at 8:45, the thermometer was already at 88.
Tuesday, August 1
Tuesday was a rough day. I woke up on time, but my parents talked my ear off while I was trying to ease my way out the door. As I looked over my papers, my flight was also ten minutes earlier than I thought. No matter, I made up a good amount of time on the road, getting to the small airport only ten minutes after the recommended time. I then got pinged going through security, learning that my new belt is sufficiently solid to set off the metal detector, which led me to having my shoes swabbed for explosives and forgetting my belt at the security station. Everyone knew it was me when I got up after they made the PA announcement, since the airport has only six gates. I was quite ready to get on the plane after that.
Our flight was on time and we boarded the Saab 340 turboprop by the air stairs. All the window shades were closed, trying to keep the sun out. The air conditioning was blowing weakly, providing just enough relief to keep us from shimmering. On pushback, this was shut off since the engines hadn't been started yet. Now people started sweating. The engines spun up pretty quickly and we got a tiny bit of relief back. I knew we wouldn't really get cool until we got to cruising altitude, where the outside atmosphere would help. We headed to the active runway, the pilot advanced the throttle to full, the props disappeared and the thrum of the engine deepened. We were under way.
I recognized a few landmarks on our way out, but it wasn't until we got near Detroit that I really felt like I knew where we were. We came in over the part of Oakland County that's full of homes built by/on lakes. We flew past the 275 extension to Walled Lake Rd, I-696, I-96, and finally I-94 before landing on Runway 21R.
After taxiing to the midfield terminal, we started to slowly roast. The engines had to be turned off, the props had to stop rotating, and the checked baggage had to be unloaded before the jetway could be extended. Did I mention that it was 94°F outside?
Finally, I left the plane and, on a hunch, took the Tunnel of Psychedelic Lights back to the main terminal to get a look at the flight status board. Sure enough, I was in the right area. My flight was pushed back 45 minutes to 2:30, but it was at gate A68, so I hopped on the tram.
When I got there, however, all I saw was a sign for the 5:40PM flight to San Francisco. I checked the nearest rack of monitors, and my flight to Reagan-National in DC was now cancelled. It was 1:00 PM and the clock was ticking. Doors opened at 7:30, I was meeting my friend and fellow U of M alum(nus? na?) Sarah at her office at 5:30, and now I didn't have a flight. I checked for any other departures that would fit my timetable. There was another flight leaving at 3:30 that would get me to Reagan-National, but that was cutting it close. Another flight was leaving at 1:50, but it was going to Dulles. Still, it would give me more of a margin to work with, I hoped. I had no idea what to do, so I just went over to the Dulles flight's gate. The woman there ("Shellagh", however that's pronounced) said that I had been re-booked on the 5:00 flight to National, but they had room for me on this one if Dulles wasn't a problem. I told her that it wasn't and sat down to wait. Of course, Dulles is a problem. It's this playground of places where you can hemorrhage time.
The flight was on time. I had no idea what gate we were going to, but I hoped we wouldn't have to go to the midfield terminal and wait for one of those Bus-On-Steroids vehicles they have rumbling along on the taxiways to take us back to the main building. Of course, that's what happened. I managed to get myself onto one under a minute before it departed, saving a 15-minute wait.
When I made it to the main building, I started walking and walking and walking toward the promised land of Ground Transportation. I knew there was a bus to the Metro somewhere, but had no idea exactly where it was. The ladies at the information desk helped me, but mentioned that I'd missed the most recent bus by five minutes already and I'd have to wait almost half an hour for the next one. I was getting the feeling that if I made my appointment with Sarah it would be by the skin of my teeth.
The bus came and I boarded it. As we lurched out onto the road, the air conditioner started dripping on me. Terrific. I switched seats. As we continued down the toll road, I realized that the bus was probably going 55 mph, which was confusing to me after living in Michigan for so long. Last week I was behind a bus that was going 70+ in a 55 zone. Eventually we reached the metro station. I had 50 minutes to get from West Falls Church to half a mile from DuPont Circle. If I could make this more exciting, I would, but it's the Metro. Suffice to say, I had twelve minutes left on the clock when I climbed the LONG escalator out of the station. I had just enough time left to take a brief look at the McClellan statue and the Washington Hilton (I totally recognized the part of the building where Reagan got shot) before being ushered into Sarah's place of business. She had a few more petitions to file (as in sort and put in a box) before we could go. I sat and enjoyed the air conditioning and tried to remember that quote from Dogma about central air.
Soon, she was ready to go. I ditched my backpack under her desk and we walked out the door. We got on the Metro to take it to the U St / Cardozo / African American Civil War Memorial stop, two blocks from the 9:30 Club, but we didn't actually make it that far. At the Shaw-Howard station the train broke down and we were ordered off. We were only one stop away so we decided to just walk the remaining few blocks.
We headed toward the 9:30 Club, keeping an eye out for a vegetarian-friendly place to eat (I was looking for one with the additional modifier quickly, since we were only half an hour away from when I wanted to be in line), but we didn't find anything before getting to the club.
The line was already halfway down the block, setting off a silent (hopefully, controlled) freak-out because I wanted to be really close to the front for this show. Later, I would learn that the people at the front of the line had been there since about noon. Sarah's guidebook had said that the 9:30 Club had good vegetarian options, so I cheerfully acquiesced to her suggestion that we eat when we got inside.
Once inside, I saved a spot about four rows back from Corin Tucker's mic stand and Sarah went to investigate food. I had her get me a turkey wrap. In the convivial atmosphere of the concert, the long-haired guy next to me asked if it was any good and I told him it was.
After a good hour of waiting, the Rogers Sisters appeared on stage. Of this trio, we were standing in front of the Asian male bassist. Also appearing were Black-Haired Drummer Sister and Redhead Guitar Sister. Redhead Guitar Sister (RGS) looked like a slightly younger Neko Case who had stayed with punk music. She was wearing short shorts that showed off the band of tattoos from her mid-thigh to just above her knees. Black-Haired Drummer Sister (BHDS) was dressed in gray and black and had accented her drum kit with a garland of flowers arranged on top of her kick drum. Asian Male Bassist (AMB) was sort of the frontman for the group, introducing them and kicking off the first number.
The Rogers Sisters were good. They played hard indie rock, trading vocal duties between RGS and AMB. The third song they played had some truly rocking instrumental breaks/solos. They laughed when they said that the last song they played was going to be their single. Generally, they just looked thrilled to be there and played a good, tight 45-minute set. Overall Grade: A-.
After they left the stage the roadies began helping them tear down their gear and get Sleater-Kinney set up. After Carrie's beautiful Guild guitar was placed on stage, a bearded roadie-looking guy came up to the mic. He asked, "How y'all doing tonight?" Big cheer. "Well, you're gonna like me less when I tell you this. The transformer out front is way overloaded and the fire marshal has cancelled the show."
There it was. The gut punch I'd been half-expecting all day long. I'd actually said to Sarah, while the roadies were setting up the stage "It's like there's been a million little setbacks today, but none of them matter because I've made it." I'd been so worried, feeling a little queasy, especially when my flight had been cancelled. And now this. One guy slammed his beer bottle on the floor. The rest of us shuffled out the emergency exits through the back.
Sarah and I sat on the curb and watched the fire truck's lights spin around. I talked about how I thought they might reschedule for Wednesday or Thursday night. I knew they had a gig in New York on one of those days, but the other was free before Lollapalooza on Friday. Sarah was wonderfully nice to me and immediately offered to let me keep crashing on her couch until Saturday if I could make it work, but I didn't think I'd be able to do that even if it was quickly rescheduled. My flight was the next day at 12:30. We hung out until a bouncer came and said that they didn't know anything about rescheduling and that we should just check with the website or call the club and that he was going home. We began the slow walk to the Metro. Changing trains in Chinatown, I reached my lowest, just blankly staring into space as I sat ten feet from a puddle of someone's vomit.
We backtracked to Sarah's office and then took the Metro to the house in Virginia she was sharing for the summer. Her roommate agreed to leave her laptop out in the morning and I collapsed on the sleeper sofa. The final indignity? Beneath the couch cushions we found a layer of cat hair and I started sneezing.
Wednesday, August 2
After I woke up and took my shower, I was on a mission. I checked the 9:30 Club website. Nothing. Sleater-Kinney's official site? Nothing. The sleater-kinney.net boards? On the third page on the 9:30 Club thread someone had written, allegedly taken from the 9:30 Club site somewhere, that Thursday would be the makeup date. I checked, and both the band and the club had an open date, so it was plausible. I wrote down my Expedia information and the relevant phone number for the club and looked for an internet cafe. Supposedly there was one near the DuPont Circle stop. Since you need a key to lock the house, I went with Sarah on the Metro to her stop. With no solid information, we had to assume that I'd still be leaving on my 12:30 flight, so I hugged her goodbye.
The cafe was supposedly at 19th and R, but all I found were the embassies of Sierra Leone, Barbados, and a few doctors' offices. I called the number on my 9:30 Club matchbook, but it directed me to Somethingorother Strategies. 411 actually gave me the correct number, but no one was at the phone yet. I walked around a little more and tried again. Someone finally answered and confirmed that the gig was rescheduled for Thursday. Now I had options.
To start with, I really still wanted to spend a couple more days up north. It's my favorite place on Earth. I had a wedding to be at in Ann Arbor on Friday, so unless I went back today I'd be giving up the up north part of my vacation, not to mention the fees I'd incur from switching my non-refundable airline tickets. Still, it wasn't much of a question. I'd already put so much time, effort, and money into getting here that it would be worthless to chuck it all away. With up north, there really is always next year. My mom's family has been going since before I was born, so I feel reasonably confident I'll be able to make it next year. With this, it was an opportunity that would never come again.
All this passed through my mind as I walked to the Starbucks I'd seen down the block. I stole a table and put my notepad down in front of me with the data I needed and called Expedia. My experience with them wasn't bad, but there wasn't much they could do for me other than unlock my ticket, give me an idea of the Friday flights available, and pass me to Northwest. The woman from Northwest sounded like she'd worked in customer service for a little too long. I asked her how early they could get me back to Traverse City on Friday. It's at least a five-hour drive home from there and then I had to get to a 5:00PM wedding in Ann Arbor. When she told me "12:20", I knew that wasn't going to do it. The Expedia guy had told me about a 10:30AM flight, but the Northwest woman laid down the law that it wasn't within my fare code. I then asked if she could just book me into Detroit. I could get someone I'm related to to pick me up and take me to my parents' house and I knew my brother's suit would fit me. She was firm in her statement that she COULD NOT do that, but noted there was nothing they could do to prevent me from just leaving the airport in Detroit. Assured that I wouldn't get put on some no-fly list, I decided to do that.
After it was all over, I called Sarah to let her know I'd be hanging around. I called my parents (still up north), and let them know what was going on. They offered to help set up my ride back from DTW, which I was grateful for, and to drive my car from Traverse City back to Detroit. I shouldered my backpack and entered the Metro again, trying to decide how I'd kill two days in DC. I emerged only a stop later, at the north end of Farragut Square, deciding to visit the White House or at least see the exterior from a closer distance. On the way, I stopped in Lafayette Square. I didn't actually have Assassination Vacation with me this time (my brother had brazenly stolen it from me to read up north), but I'd written down key locations and their street addresses in case I'd had time to do some quick sightseeing after my plane got in.
From left to right: Baron Von Steuben was responsible for creating a real army out of the American volunteers. Thaddeus Kosciuszko, Son of Poland. He took some of the money he received after the Revolution and used it to purchase the freedom of several slaves. Back in Poland, he emancipated all of his brother's female serfs and reduced the males' servitude to two days. When the Russians invaded, he never lost a battle. Andrew Jackson rides a horse and later ridiculously tramples on the separation of powers. The Marquis de Lafayette, who keeps showing up on Treasure Hunters. Rochambeau, namesake of the famous game and victor at Yorktown.
David "Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead!" Farragut. His actions in the Battle of Mobile Bay not only won a Civil War victory for the Union, he gave us the name of a Tom Petty album. The Court of Claims Building: I was completely Seward Plaqued on Tuesday night. The White House, with anti-nuclear protestor in the midground. William Tecumseh Sherman, famed arsonist and progenitor of "Hotlanta". I like the Civil War monuments in DC and their not-so-hidden message of "SCREW YOU!" to the Confederacy.
After I finished taking pictures of statues, I continued on to the Smithsonian Museum of American History. I took in the exhibits on Honky Tonk, the Muppets, and the American presidency. I was pleased that no one really cared that much about Harrison Ford's suit from Air Force One, but at least two people took pictures of Martin Sheen's windbreaker and a poster from The West Wing. The best part was seeing the actual Star-Spangled Banner from Ft. McHenry.
I like the Museum of American History, but I saw it as the sort of museum that's broken up into Exhibits About Things rather than the sort of museum that tells a coherent narrative. I didn't see a place in it where you start with Clovis points and the Bering Land Bridge and you end with Roanoke or Jamestown and then move on to Plymouth Plantation through the Civil War. That sort of thing.
Following lunch, I went next door to the Museum of Natural History, which I'd last been to when I was in maybe second grade. I saw the Hope Diamond, which we'd missed on our last tour, and a huge sheet of almost pure copper removed from the Upper Peninsula, the only place where this phenomenon occurs.
I wandered my way into the exhibit on the skeletons of modern animals. It's interesting to see how much smaller some animals look than you expect. The musk ox, in particular, looks a lot shorter than I thought. The Alaskan brown bear, on the other hand, is perfectly enormous and a walrus's skull looks exactly like its face.
Sea cow.
All of this, of course, was a mere prelude to the hall of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs! Until I got to high school, I wanted to be a paleontologist. Then Friends came on the air and I decided not be Ross Gellar. OK, not really. It was more that I wanted a job not dependant on grant money and that didn't require me to live in a tent for an extended period of time. But still, dinosaurs!
Left to right: Tyrannosaurus rex would like to eat your face. This triceratops is nicknamed Chopper. Ceratosaurus was a carnivorous therapod, but he had a bit of a horn on his nose. Last I heard, it was thought to be an egg tooth that didn't have much of a function in adulthood. Allosaurus was not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley or open field or pretty much anywhere.
While taking dinosaur pictures, my camera died. Boo. I left the museum and went across the street to the National Archives. Craig had suggested it to me, and I went in to see what they called the Charters of Freedom exhibit. After they x-rayed my backpack, I retrieved it and climbed the stairs to the second level. As you enter the darkened hall where the documents are kept, the first one you reach is the Magna Carta. The real 1279 Magna Carta, cracked wax seals and all, one of the four original copies all written out there in Latin and with no line at all. After a while, I moved on to the long line to see the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. My legs were really complaining at this point, but seeing the documents themselves is inspiring.
Just walking the block between the Archives and the Navy Memorial entrance to the Metro was enough to get me soaked again. I had about an hour and a half left to kill before Sarah left work. I decided to go find the Surratt house and Ford's Theatre, both accessible from the Chinatown Metro stop. I went to the Surratt boarding house first, the site where John Wilkes Booth and his co-conspirators formed a plan to kidnap Lincoln in March of 1865. When that didn't work, the plot changed to assassination. Today, the tavern is a Wok 'n' Roll Chinese restaurant with a big plaque out front.
I started walking over to Ford's Theatre but the bath of humidity I faced made me reconsider. I bought a pop from the CVS on the corner and walked over to sit outside the National Portrait Gallery and Museum of American Art. Sarah called me and I met her in the Metro station. We took the train home.
Thursday, August 3
I took the train out with Sarah again and sat in Cosi for 45 minutes, until just before the museums were scheduled to open. I wanted to go to the Udvar-Hazy Center, the National Air & Space Museum's giant site near Dulles in Chantilly, VA. The museum runs buses from its location on the Mall, but I had no idea when and how much it would cost me. I went into the Smithsonian castle for information and got a schedule. The last bus left ten minutes ago, at 10:10AM. The next one would leave at 1:00. I left the castle and headed back to the Museum of Natural History to finish my dinosaur photographs.
The museum also had a bunch of early mammals and mammal-like reptiles, but most of them were behind glass cases or just looked like weasels. I should've taken pictures of uintatherium and some of the bizarre horned animals from early North America, but I fail at life.
Instead, look at this giant ground sloth. Enormous! The mammoth was nicely lit for viewing, but not for photography, just like this moose. "The wolverine's strength is unmatched among animals of its size."
I left the museum and bought lunch outside before walking on to the National Air and Space Museum. I went inside to buy a ticket on the bus, where I was informed that although I could get on this bus, the return trip was sold out. Terrific. I now had an additional 4.5 hrs to kill and I really wanted to stay off my feet as much as possible, considering that I had the concert to go to in the evening. I bought a ticket to an IMAX movie and sat down on an indoor bench to do some reading, since it didn't start for another hour and a half.
The movie, Magnificent Desolation: Walking on the Moon 3D, was pretty good, but it was nowhere near as good as Space Station 3D, which is just magnificent. I liked that they focused a lot on the missions that came after Apollo 11, especially Apollo 15 (with its all-Michigan crew). It was short, though, and I still had about two hours to kill.
I started walking my way up to Ford's Theatre. I was grateful for the FBI's landscaping. A double row of trees shades the grounds around the building, making the walk much, much easier in the heat. I reached the theatre and went into the basement to view the Lincoln museum, including pillows the dying president is said to have rested his bloody head on.
With some more time left on my hands, I went back to the National Portrait Gallery and Museum of American Art, but this time I went inside. I viewed some of the portraits of 20th Century Americans and some modern American art before it was time to get myself back to the Metro.
I met Sarah when she changed trains and we headed back toward the 9:30 Club. We made it all the way to U St / Cardozo this time. Sarah wanted to look around for Ethiopian food and that was fine by me, especially when we found Ethiopian take-out. But they didn't have a menu up, so we went next door to the sit-down restaurant. The food was good and relatively quick, but my alarm could only be suppressed for so long when it was 7:10 and there was no sign of a check. I left Sarah with enough money to pay for the whole meal and walked the three blocks to the club. As I passed by the door, I could hear "O2" coming through from the soundcheck. I ended up twice as far away as I had been last time, all the way down the block from the entrance. By the time Sarah arrived fifteen minutes later, the line was two blocks long.
The line moved inside the club achingly slowly when they opened the doors, but somehow I managed to steal almost the exact same spot I had as before, right down to many of the same people near me. The long-haired guy was there and recognized me; "Hey, Turkey Wrap Guy!" I left to buy a shirt (and ended up buying two because they were so cheap - $15), but we ended up talking a bit when I came back. Sarah was annoyed that science, good social policy, and long-term economics were being trumped by a desire to keep the budget flat for a government program. I told her that's why I don't vote for Republicans these days, and Long-Haired Guy commended me on my choice. He was working for Greenpeace as a computer programmer and camping in Greenbelt Park. He lived in West Virginia, where his five-year-old son was going into kindergarten, and camped in the park on work nights. This is the sort of person I don't really meet where I live now.
The opening band this time was a local act called French Toast, or at least 2/3's of French Toast, the guitarist/drummer and drummer/bassist. They were the sort of post-punk band that liked banging out a rhythm on one chord for most of a song. It wasn't quite my thing, but they were decent. Maybe if they had their full complement I would've liked them better. The rest of the crowd wasn't really that into it either, but I think we were all worried that again we'd get to see an opening band but no headliner, that something would go wrong. The drummer/bassist also really seemed like he wanted be Billy Corgan with his shaved head and very earnest lyrics. Overall Grade: B.
It seemed like it took forever before Sleater-Kinney's gear was totally set up on stage. They kept checking Corin's microphone over and over and over. Finally, the lights went out and the show started.
(Note: NPR was there, recording and webcasting the concert. If you'd like to stream or download everything Sleater-Kinney played, go to NPR.org. At best, it's like making a black and white photocopy of a painting and then running it through the fax machine, but it's still a live Sleater-Kinney show.)
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One Beat
In hindsight, I think Janet made tonight's set list, or at least had a lot of input. I've read before in interviews that "One Beat" is one of her favorites they've ever recorded, plus everything they played was from after she joined the band. "One Beat" was actually a little quieter than I expected, but Corin's vocals were punching right through and announcing that she was ready to go. Everyone's digital camera was out.
Not What You Want
I was surprised when they went into the back catalogue twice in a row right at the beginning, but I was happy that this might mean I'd hear some things I'd given up on ever hearing live, including this song. They put the throttle down on this one and just took off. People started moving around near me, starting to really get into the show.
Wilderness
Carrie started really breaking out her rock goddess moves here, throwing herself and her guitar around. I noticed here that she was wearing the same shirt as in a few of their promotional photos. Near the end, all three of them started working it out, but Janet just pounds the drums like thunder.
The Fox
Carrie starts playing with her guitar while Corin gets ready for the next song and we wait for the chords to resolve into something. Big cheers when it turns into the pummeling opening for "The Fox". Corin's microphone and guitar still sound too quiet, but that doesn't really matter when she unleashes her voice on this song, especially on the ecstatic "No looking back!".
Jumpers
Another crowd favorite. What you can't hear in the NPR recording two minutes into this song is the sound of 900 people completely losing their shit in the best way possible. One old guy behind me decides that we all need to mosh NOW and slams into me (or at least my backpack). I careen into the tiny girl next to me, whose head is right at the level of my elbow and I feel terrible, but it's mostly forgotten as they launch into the next instrumental break and I brace myself better. The end of this song is just amazing.
#1 Must Have
Going back to All Hands On The Bad One for the first time, they come up with a ridiculously smoking version of "#1 Must Have". You might cut yourself on Carrie's guitar work here if you aren't careful. I like a band that isn't afraid to say something like "Culture is what we make it, yes it is! / Now is the time, now is the time, now is the time / To invent!" in a punk song.
Steep Air
With this song, I've heard them play everything on The Woods live. I feel close to it tonight, with its lyrics about air travel.
Rollercoaster
Finally I'm not suckered in by the false stop in this song. Corin's guitar is still too muted here for my taste, but you can hear the lyrics clearly. This song reminds me of Sarah because we were just talking before the show about her cherry tomato plants and, look! A song which uses ripe cherry tomatoes as a metaphor.
Burn, Don't Freeze
The Hot Rock finally makes an appearance on the set list, but not with the song I thought. Corin's guitar and vocals get a little covered up here by Carrie, the vocals especially during the chorus.
Night Light
I know that they've been using "Let's Call It Love" to segue into "Entertain" instead of "Night Light" but it's weird to hear "Night Light" on its own. I prefer it the other way around, but I really don't have a say in this. It's still a terrific song on its own. Corin's guitar has the weight it needs in this song as Carrie provides the higher accompaniment.
The End of You
One of my favorites off of The Hot Rock. Janet powers her way through the first instrumental section. Corin sends shivers up my spine when she belts out "I'm not the captain, I am just another fan!" before they race for the end.
What's Mine Is Yours
Carrie meanders through a long, fuzzed-out introduction and Janet joins her before it all snaps into place. Even before it becomes recognizable, I have a feeling it's going to be "What's Mine Is Yours". This is one of the two tracks from The Woods with big guitar solos and they make the most of the opportunity.
Modern Girl
"Modern Girl" is almost the polar opposite of WMIY. It's short and pretty with minimal volume and not much dissonance. The bite comes from the lyrics here, which most of the girls in the audience sing along with, when they aren't cheering for Janet's harmonica solo.
Let's Call It Love
The other enormous guitar solo from The Woods, "Let's Call It Love" goes for over 11:00 and contains three or four different songs within it as all three women jam together and improvise on stage before Janet guides the song to a momentary pause...
Entertain
...as "Entertain" breaks out. The boiling sea of humanity simply explodes here. Carrie plays her guitar one-handed as she points out at the audience and gestures while she sings. She cuts through everything as she dares us, "Rip me open, it's all free!" The end of this song is just sick.
Little Babies
I thought they were going to just walk off the stage after "Entertain", because I didn't know if the crowd's energy could go any higher than that, but they've got one more song left at least. A guy behind me bellows "Never leave us!" and Corin responds, "Sing along me on this last one, OK?". We do, but you can't hear it on the recording.
The end of "Little Babies" is a quiet landing, but you wouldn't know it from the enthusiastic applause as they leave the stage and the cheers only get louder for two minutes until they come back out. A fan wants them to take us with them back to Portland, but Carrie makes jokes about only having one guest bed in order to elicit a rim shot from Janet.
--------------Encore--------------
Ironclad
Yes! I'd hoped to hear this one, since we're in DC and not all that far from the site of the Battle of Hampton Roads, where the Monitor and the Merrimack referenced in this song fought each other. Carrie will later confirm that she also likes playing "Ironclad" in DC because of the impression she has that people around here are more informed about the Civil War.
Get Up
I knew, I knew, I knew they wouldn't leave me without playing "Get Up" again and it's just phenomenal. The crowd opens up on this one. The girls around me sing the first "Whoo!" and continue to follow Corin's part. When Corin asks us to, I join in. You can faintly hear the crowd building up to the first "Get up!" in the recording.
Buy Her Candy
Never did I think I'd hear this song, but Janet broke her snare on "Get Up" and had to go find a replacement, leaving Carrie and Corin alone. Carrie shared a look with Corin, trying to get her to go along with her and play this song, but Corin was reluctant. She was pretty quickly overcome, though, and they went into it. It was beautiful.
Turn It On
Someone wanted them to play "Dance Song '97", which I love, but Carrie wasn't sure they could do it. When I was there, I misheard her a little and wasn't sure if that meant they didn't really know it very well, but hearing the recording makes me realize Carrie was only teasing the crowd. She had a wonderfully wicked gleam in her eye when she said it, too, and declared us "a Hot Rock crowd" because we were "moody". After an informal vote, they tore into "Turn It On", which I love.
Dance Song '97
With a promise that everyone would dance, and a demonstration during "Turn It On", they went on with "Dance Song '97", which is awesome and another song I never thought I'd hear them play. It's the sort of song a Hot Rock crowd appreciates. Carrie and Janet went into an extended outro as the audience applauded and the next song started to take shape.
Words and Guitar
Words and guitar!
I got it, words and guitar!
You want it
Way, way too loud
I got it, words and guitar!
I got it all, I got it all, I got it
Words and guitar!
The place explodes. People are bobbing up and down all over the place with reckless abandon and all remaining sense of personal space is obliterated. I'm drenched in sweat, as is the tall girl next to me who I'm literally rubbing elbows with. The sing-along section that didn't quite take off when I saw them in Detroit for the first time soars here.
I hear those quiet sounds
I know those silky songs
Hush, hush and rock
Oh give me pretty songs
Oh let me have the sound tonight
Everyone in the audience has simply lost control as the song picks up speed and heads for the finish line. Applause just explodes as we watch them leave the stage, and then something I've never seen before happens. The house lights come up, the applause just gets louder. The music comes on over the PA and the applause just gets more organized and grows louder and louder, like a plea for them to come back. And then they do. It's amazing. On the recording, it's only about three minutes long, but it felt like an eternity, not knowing whether they'd come back for us just one more time and play anything. I've never seen that happen any other time in my life and I've been to 63 rock concerts.
--------------Second Encore--------------
Sympathy
The bluesy nature of this song is a little overpowered by the bent guitar Carrie's playing, but that's what I'm looking for now. This is another song I'd counted on hearing one more time. Corin drags out her "breakiiiiiiiiiiiiing" to epic lengths and gives me chills again.
Dig Me Out
Perfect, perfect, perfect. The first song I ever heard by this band, it's the song I most wanted to hear again. It wouldn't be an overstatement to say this song changed my life. They slam through it and you feel like Corin Tucker might legitimately be pleading with God at this moment.
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Set List:
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This was hands down the greatest concert I've ever been to in my life. It was absolutely worth the money, the time, and the trouble to make it here. We don't get a lot of chances to destroy the barriers between us and strangers and really live in a moment and I like to grab that chance whenever I can. This show certainly delivered. It was like everyone came there with the same purpose. There are more things I remember, but not exactly when they happened. Sometime shortly after S-K took the stage, all the pain in my legs and back left my body. Someone brought their very blonde little three- or four-year-old daughter to the show. She sat on the side of the stage wearing the sort of ear protectors you see at a rifle range. At one point, Janet came over and did a little fake drumming on her head. It was really sweet. Carrie was a fireball of energy. She and Pete Townsend are the only two people alive who can properly windmill a guitar. I love her wicked sense of humor, which has a strong non-verbal component when she's on stage; it comes through in her eyes and gestures. Corin just puts everything into her voice. Last time I saw them they played for about 90 minutes through 16 songs. This time they ripped through 24 songs in almost two full hours.
I wanted to stay and try to meet the band, but it was almost midnight and we had to catch the Metro. We made the last Green Line train out of U St / Cardozo by only five minutes and the last Yellow Line train out of Chinatown by only two. A girl on the train asked us what show we were at and we enventually learned she's from Ferndale, MI. In Alexandria on the way home, I bought the biggest bottle of water in the 7/11 and nearly finished it by the time I walked in the door. Sarah had bought us a treat earlier in the week, frozen bananas. Sadly, she didn't watch Arrested Development so I couldn't crack jokes about it until morning. Standing near the air conditioner, I was so soaked with sweat that I began shivering uncontrollably. We turned in at about 1:30AM. I had a whole four hours earmarked for sleep before I had to be up for my flight.
Friday, August 4
5:30AM. Time to get up. I make the airport Metro stop by 6:15 and wait for the shuttle to take me to my terminal. There's a tattooed meathead in a wifebeater and gold chain in front of me at the electronic check-in. He puts on his Michigan State hat backwards, making me say "Of course" to myself for two different reasons. He's so boring that he has the standard barbed wire ring around his arm.
At check-in, it looks like the flight is rather empty, but it's a lot fuller at the gate. I think the 6:40AM flight was cancelled and that everyone has been rebooked onto our flight, since the gate attendant asks people without a seat assignment to wait while we board. I end up sitting in the window seat next to a middle-aged woman and her elderly mother. The woman is wearing a sweater, so she doesn't care that her air conditioning vent is blowing straight onto my freezing arm all the way to Detroit.
I get off the plane and walk straight out of baggage claim to the pick up/drop off zone and wait for my cousin to come pick me up. After about five minutes, he pulls right in by me and off we go. I find the key to our house where it's supposed to be and walk right in. I'm feeling rather surprised at this sudden burst of luck I've been having.
The universe starts reasserting itself a bit later. After not having been charged since Monday night, my cell phone is finally ready to give up the ghost. I drive my brother's car over to the Verizon store to buy a replacement charger, but I'm told that they no longer support my phone. They go on my list.
Back home, I find that NPR has posted the full concert on their website. I download it and start chopping it into individual songs (Author's note: If you want them that way, I can do that). I've noticed that my brother's radio antenna isn't connected to the car anymore and that he's taken all his CDs with him up north, so this is important.
As I continue stealing anything of value from his life, I change into my brother's suit and hit the road for my friends' wedding in Ann Arbor (You'd forgotten that I had that, right? Good, otherwise you're way too observant or know me in real life). Several of my other friends were already there and wanted to know what happened with me, so I gave them the short version of the last 8700 words.
The ceremony was nice, the pastor was a nerd, and everything was over really quickly. I nearly, nearly lost it entirely during the second reading, the passage from Matthew that goes "When I was a child, I thought as a child and spoke as a child..." In my head, all I could hear was Bill McNeal's "...but when I became a man I took that child out back and had him shot." Had I been in the same row as Craig, we would have been hopelessly gone.
The reception was at Weber's Inn, the traditional Ann Arbor location for this sort of thing. I stayed from 6:00PM to nearly midnight, eating, drinking, and dancing with my friends. Then I drove home. After coaxing the air conditioning back to life, I passed out in front of a vent for the next 7.5 hours.
Saturday, August 5
Saturday was something of a continuation of Friday night. At 11:00AM, the groom's parents were hosting a brunch in Northville which I drove out to. Everything was almost ready on time, but people were hurrying around without much getting actually getting done. It felt so much like home to me. I did my best to stay out of the way and the rest of my friends started arriving shortly after I did. After we'd all stayed for over three hours, we sensed it was time to move on.
The Tigers game had sold out, but the Mud Hens were in Toledo and six of my friends had gotten tickets. I hadn't been around to contact, but we figured I could get a ticket somewhere in their vicinity since it's only minor league baseball. Rather than drive 45 minutes away from our meeting place, I went on to Ann Arbor and hung out until our appointed time.
Dinner before the game was at the world-famous Tony Packo's, which was pretty good, and then we moved along to Fifth Third Field (not to be confused with Fifth Third Ballpark or the other Fifth Third Field). Problematically, due to a mix-up the tickets had been for Friday night, so everyone else had to buy a ticket as well and standing room was all that was left.
Less problematically, Fifth Third Field is a small ballpark with good sightlines from the outfield wall. The game itself was halfway decent and our Mud Hens (as a Tigers farm club, they're "our" Mud Hens) built a sizable 6-0 lead over the Louisville Bats (a Reds affiliate), based on an excellent outing from Hannam until things started going awry for him in the 7th and our relief pitching blew the game in the 8th. A pitcher named Ennis (There's a Brokeback Mountain joke somewhere in here) and his excruciatingly slow pitching routine let two runs (charged to Hannam) score in the 7th before ex-Tiger Chris Spurling (on a "rehab assignment") and a couple of fly balls lost in the lights let the Bats tie the game at 6-6.
There the score stayed for the next five innings. In the top of the twelfth, a brilliant throw from left field by the Mud Hens' Raburn saved the game. After the Hens failed to put anyone across in the bottom of the twelfth, we decided we'd had enough (Louisville would eventually win it in the 14th inning).
Sometime while I was at the game, the rest of my family had returned home from up north. I noticed them for a while before I fell asleep.
Sunday, August 6
I did a few things around the house, had some lunch, and started packing my things. In the early evening, I started my drive (in my own car, once again) back to the west side of the state, listening to my concert again.
