What I’m trying to say is that

*This post was started Saturday night (early Sunday morning), but is being published Monday night — hopefully that helps what follows make more sense.


This weekend seems to be full of triumphs and disappointments.

The drama that ensues can probably be skipped, but if you are into reading about my life for some god forsaken reason, here it is. If you don’t want to filter through this nonsense, at the least skip to the end of my story where Andrew Jackson Jihad’s lead singer hugs me.

I promised myself to playing two shows tonight. First, a show with Iconicons — although I was reluctant and refused at first. Personally, I was set on staying home and doing schoolwork, as lame as that sounds. After much goading, I realized how much it meant to my bandmates, I said I would do it — on the condition that they set up everything so that all I had to do was leave my school work and play.

Now go back in time with me a little bit. I am sorry to jump around in this story, but earlier (about a month ago) my other band, Making Eyes got a tip that Spoonboy might play a house show at my girlfriend’s house (aka the little blue crack den, inspiration for a song and the place that serves as the band’s head quarters). I was very excited at the prospect of playing a show with him. I practically worship Spoonboy after discovering him only a few months ago. “Stab Your Dad” is so poignant and catchy and clever. But enough with this ridiculous exercise in falling and slobbering over myself.

Around 6 pm Saturday, we found out that he was playing for sure. This conflicted with the Iconicons show, but I thought I could make it work. A little later Andrew Jackson Jihad was confirmed to play as well. This was too much and I told Iconicons that I could not do the show. This was not what they wanted to hear. A universal “that’s fucked up” was texted to me. They were also mad that they had already set up equipment for nothing. I again relented (because I am a sucker) and told them that I would try my best to do both shows.

I watched Matty Pop Chart, Madeline, Dave Dondero, Paul Baribeau and Ghost Mice perform the Plan-It-X day show and then went to my friend’s condo to finish school papers for the rest of the night. But I digress, because I must at least write a little something about my experience listening to these bands.

Paul Baribeau blew my mind. He was dark, funny, uplifting and so many more adjectives that I cannot seem to connect in my brain synapses. I feel like I am just bashing away without any regard on this keyboard. Anyways, his song “Christmas Lights” may very well be one of my favorite songs of all time. I recognized many of his other songs from my two female bandmates constantly blaring them in the car, but it was this performance that clenched him as an amazing artist in my mind.

Ghost Mice was a lot of fun. People really got into it and I felt so legit and punk knowing the lyrics to the songs (I am not legit or punk). Hannah is a perfect balance to Chris. She is pure and genuine and although Chris is nice as well, he can come off as a little abrasive.

I feel funny recognizing Chris Clavin on the streets of Gainesville. I bet he would feel funny knowing that I felt funny. But this is getting into some excruciatingly stupid “well he feels funny that I feel funny that he feels funny” cycle that is based no where in reality. I wonder if he will someday read this (maybe if he is bored and feeling important and Googles his name or something). Speaking of people reading my blog, I found out that Chris Miller of Electronic Sub South had read my blog. He told me at the house show tonight. I will get to that later, though.

Madeline is beautiful and her voice is transcendental. She was smaller than I expected. I swear she stared at me for like an entire song, but I’m pretty certain she was staring past me since I happened to be sitting in her line of vision. We talked to her after the set. And by “we” I mean my girlfriend and by “talk” I mean a simple “you’re amazing.”

So, back to Iconicons; we were supposed to play first at the tree house at 2:30 am (which was actually 1:30 am because of day lights savings). I told them that I would be there and was — right on the dot. Unfortunately, another band was allowed to play first, not because it was anyone’s fault, but because the whole thing was complete chaos.

That first band was really talented, I must admit, and I will have to ask somebody again what their band name is. I believe they were from Louisiana. During their set I got wind that Spoonboy had already started playing at the other house show and so I fled back, texting my band mates that I was leaving.

Oh God. This story is going to have to be finished later. I am so tired. It is now 5:42 am, probably 6:42 am accounting for daylights savings, and depending on whether my computer accounted for it or not. So, this is to be continued tomorrow.

From where I left off:

It has been almost 24 hours since I ended this post, but for the reader, probably only mere seconds. Just enough time for the eyes to glance down a couple lines. If you want the full effect of this written post, then I suggest you take a break for about a day and continue reading from this point tomorrow. If you are not that dedicated, then read on:

I caught Spoonboy in the middle of his set. I have no clue whether he played my favorite song “Stab Your Dad” before I got there, and frankly, I would rather not know least I be really disappointed. I found my girlfriend on a chair shining a light on him as he played. She had found a nice digital camera on the ground and was taking pictures with it. There was a tremendous turnout and the backyard was filled with people. There were at least a hundred for both him and Andrew Jackson Jihad.

After the set, the crowd scattered and I did not see Spoonboy for the rest of the night. I suppose he was tired.

I did find a girl looking for a camera, though. I went to my girlfriend and persuaded her to do the right thing. My girlfriend has had many things stolen including a digital camera. Most notably and recently, her Apple notebook was snatched. She sympathized, but was sad to see a working camera leave her hands.

Andrew Jackson Jihad played next. They were nice enough to perform despite being exhausted and having just played a real show. The singer, Sean, was losing his voice and I could tell that they had been busy this weekend. The entire front lawn was filled with people whispering and cooing along (as not to overpower Sean’s frayed voice and Ben’s quiet upright bass).

The two band members are among the nicest people I have ever met. It is a grand thing since it would have broke my heart to find out that they were assholes.

Their friend, Porches, played next and I listened to his gravely voice with a small crowd in the living room.

The lights had been illegally turned on at some point that night, yet he asked for them to be turned off and we lit candles.

During his set there was a small spat between a former roommate of the house (who was claiming ownership of the home all night) and Making Eyes concerning who would play next. I was still in the mindset that I could possibly make it back to play with Iconicons and so I tried to reason with him. It was getting later than late and people were tired and grumpy.

Somewhere in there, I recognized Andrew from Action Research and Chris from Electronic SubSouth. They said some quirky things and were overall really nice. I recall Chris asking me to turn up the temperature of the earth since I had no control over the thermostat. They thanked me for the article I wrote about Action Research. I meant to go to their Halloween show, but never made it and admitted this to them. Supposedly there was a haunted maze to go through in order to get to the performances.

Making Eyes ended up going next and the former roommate was also content as he got to play for Sean in the backyard (which is all he really wanted). Our crowd was very small and mostly composed of dedicated friends and people who were too lazy to leave the front yard. Despite the frustrations of the night and the eventual broken guitar string mid-performance; I had a blast. Call it the euphoria from seeing such great music earlier.

My bandmates left to go to the tree house and I hung out with a guy from New York and a Gainesvillian that I vaguely know. We decided to walk to the tree house as well.

It turns out Andrew Jackson Jihad and the gang were still around as I started to leave. I thanked them for playing at the house in the most awkward manner possible. Sean asked me if I lived at the house. I told him that my girlfriend lived there and described her to him as the short one who was kind of loud. He called her feisty and adorable and then told me that she was a keeper. He then hugged me as I left.

I don’t care how corny it is or how small it is to other people, but that was amazing.

I saw them at the show I was volunteering at the next night and tried my hardest to act natural. That probably made me seem less natural. I mostly let my girlfriend blab to them and I just stared.

Back at the treehouse I found the guy who goes by Homemade Handgrenande. He was very thankful for letting the house use my PA. It turns out that Tiltwheel played. He was stoked to have played the same show as them. I felt bad that I let my band down as I am sure that they would have been thrilled to play with Tiltwheel. I talked to them later and it has since smoothed over. Homemade Handgrenade, his friend and I packed up the drums and PA and dropped them off at the little blue crackden.

I ended up at Rachel’s for a bit with my girlfriend and that is where I typed up the first half of this post. As of now, I am sitting alone on my bed procrastinating a paper (but not to a frightening degree yet).

Volunteering at the Kickstand went alright and I saw some decent bands. Japanther was not as good as I expected them to be, but the crowd was pleased. The people went so crazy that the show had to be cut short.

More activites went on. I heard about dueling wizards and fireworks, but my girlfriend and I decided to sleep through it.

I think we got in a small fight or something this evening. Anyways, I ended up here, which is fine. Having running water is definitely a plus. I need to go to bed early anyways and being away from the crusties that have infested her house helps in this endeavor.

The wandering, showerless souls started appearing around Wednesday and multiplied throughout the Fest weekend. They have names like Stoney and Dirt. One of them always wants me to rub his tummy. They are overall nice and interesting people with lots of stories to tell. You can smell their dust and sweat from about fifteen yards away as you walk to the house. I am especially fond of the group because they have dogs.

Though, the Fest crusties have been getting on my nerves as time wears on. Many continue to ask me for change, calling me too pretty to not have money. I can handle it on the streets, but not in the front yard and hallways of the house. When first arriving, they were relatively clean and tidy (save for appearances), but that has gone out the window as the group bulked up. There is no running water and so the backyard has taken on the smell of a portable toilet.

A couch appeared in the front yard, which I am sure will be left with the trash and beer cans.

But I am bitter.

Well, good night. If you made it through this post, consider yourself a marathon runner of blog reading.


~ by shawp on November 4, 2008.

One Response to “What I’m trying to say is that”

  1. It probably would of been a fun time had I come. Stupid illness. It sounds like it mostly was a good weekend.

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