Quick Trip: Seeing the Mendoza Line in Philly

I’d like to open, by apologizing for the first article I ever wrote about the Mendoza Line, which fortunately is lost in the wilds of the internet, which was a “review” of the first Mendoza Line show I ever saw. Good Lord, I had no idea what I was talking about. I made several gross errors, most notably, I credited several of Pete’s songs to Tim, and said that Tim was suffering from some sort of terrible throat malady, when it turns out, he just sounds that way.

Two years have passed since then, and I am older and wiser, and I am at least somewhat familiar with the ML catalog. I know everyone’s names, and I know some of the personal foilbles of the group, my favorite of which, is that they just wander off and reappear without warning during the waiting period before the show. Also, Deppler will eat anything put before him, except in the 2 hours before the show, when only gum and beer is allowed. I also have been exposed to more music in general, to make up for a stunted growth in this area in my adolescence. I still don’t know much, but I do know what I like.

I like the Mendoza Line. Now I know what you are saying, I have a personal stake here, I am friends with these nutcakes, why wouldn’t I like them? I am also a noted suck-up, and will pretend to like most anything to please others. But really I do like the music. So yesterday, I took a 12 hour junket to see them in Philadelphia. If we expand the timeline to 24 hours, it looks like this:

8:00am – Classroom, Arlington VA
12:00pm- Lunchroom, Arlington VA
4:00pm – Apartment, Arlington VA
8:00pm – I-95 just outside Philadelphia, PA
12:00am- The Mendoza Line Show at The Fire, Philadelphia PA
4:00am – Walking into Apartment, Arlington VA
8:00am – Walking into classroom, Arlington VA

(I like the whole chronology because the times of 8, 12, and 4 really were significant points in the action. Except for perhaps the lunch, but hey, you’ve gotta eat, right?)

Point the first: Why do rock shows have to be so damn late? I mean, is there anyone who really goes, “Oh, that show starts at 7:00, no WAY am I going to show up at 7:00 to see a band. Seriously, I know I sound like a senior citizen looking for the early bird special at the Sizzler, but come on! Midnight on a school night! Sheesh.

But I am willing to suffer for my art. I also like a spontaneous adventure. And the next day was Friday, so I can tough that out and have a little sleep in on Sat.

Point the second. People should be happy in their work. Now I am not entirely sure that each member of the ML is happy as a clam all the time the show is going on. Humans are complicated creatures, and I know some of the fellows on stage stretch the word complicated to a great extreme, but they look like they are having a good time, and I know that I and possibly the guy next to me (I noticed he was doing some festive foot shuffling, and singing along like I was) would be digging the work, so here’s hoping that it is as fun as it looks to perform.

This is the 7th Mendoza Line show I have seen. Easily the best yet. I must admit initially I was a little alarmed. Tim was doing a bit more screaming (he sort of goes “AAAARRRGH at various moments) than usual and Adam was looking very serious and intense on the drums, but it turned out that this really worked, and the set really rocked along.

Point the third and last. Travel is a little victory. Successful journey, even though I got lost twice, and drove the wrong way down a one way street...in front of a cop.

So that's all for now, friends. Just a quick story about a quick trip.

Europe Journal Part II: E-mail from Munich Germany

7-9-2003

Gruß Gott! ( ilove the waythis german keyboard has all the symbols, however
the z is where the y should be and the ä is where the ´ normally is, so
pardon my typos)


I am in an internet cafe across from the Munich train station. In an hour or so, I will go and get my luggage out of the locker I parked it in, and catch the train to Rome. I get to have a schlaffzimmer(sleeping room) which is something I have always wanted to do. Anne has been told she WILL get out of bed early and come and fetch me at the train station. She is grumbling about it, but will come through, I know. Right Anne?


Germany was great! I forgot how beautiful it was.I had a great time taking long walks in and around the little town Katherine and Jim live in. Of course Jim was greatly missed, but Katherine hears from him often from Iraq. Please keep both of them in your prayers!


I drove on the auto bahn in katherine´s car yesterday, and no one died,so I feel this is a plus. I only edged up on 90 miles an hour once when I was passing someone. The germans do have the greatest road signs ever, as long as you know where you are going,but after some detours I made it to Nürnburg, and had a nice time seeing the old city and beautiful churches.
I have done the same today here in Munich.


I hope everyone is well, I miss you!


ps - Yes, I am watching out for the wierd men. Where exactly might I find them?

A Story

I heard an interesting story the other day.

There was a woman seen by others to be a nice person, likeable, etc. She was no looker, and had a pretty big ass, and no dating history to speak of, except for some long drawn out crushes that always ended badly, or just ended.

This person began to think that she was afraid of the sweaty mens. If asked about it, I am sure she would say that this is true, yet at the same time express her attraction to and interest in same. It's like mountain climbing. Looks like fun but those heights are scary as hell.

Observe if you will her reaction to a recent approach by a man. After wandering in a bookstore for some time, she made her purchases and exited the premises. In the parking lot a man called out to her. She turned, and he stammered a bit - could he ask her something, and she replied yes, thinking perhaps, directions, but already feeling her heart rev up a few steps, and he said that he had been watching her in the store, and could he have her number. With all systems immediately flipped to "flee," she said that she was sorry, she was on her way to meet her date (a lie of course, though she was on her way to pick up someone dear to her)and he pressed the issue, saying he hadn't seen a ring on her finger, but she was moving now, and thanked him for the compliment and flung herself in her car.

Then she cried.

She cried because she was afraid. She cried because perhaps his interest was genuine and she had said no after he had gotten his courage up. She cried because she though perhaps his interest wasn't genuine and the bookstore was perhaps known to those looking for sex or money as target rich environment for fat lonely women, needy enough to say yes. She cried because he was a stranger and they hadn't been properly introduced. She cried because she was afraid she was prejudiced. She cried because the men she had wanted in her life had never wanted her. She cried because she was afraid those men had been deliberate choices so that she would never have to love. She cried because she was afraid sex was never to be experienced or understood. She cried because she could not understand her fear.

She doesn't know what to do. How do you change a pattern of life that is so established? How do you force yourself to diet, hoping that is the key, when you are angry that it is they key, and that the rest of you, the core of who you are, is really just the window dressing? How do you face the fear that dieting is not the key, and what pushes people away is something you haven't even though of? How do you live knowing the few times you have gotten what you thought you wanted; romantic sexual attention from men, you have run away?

I think she will wait, and watch, and cry from time to time. Because how do you change when you don't know what is wrong?

Downpour

I rearranged the living room after the new carpet was installed, and I moved the desk by the front window. On a sunny day it is very nice. It is particularly nice right now to sit here by the window, because it is sunny, but pouring down rain. The water is collecting and beading off the tree leaves, and the slate tiles on the covering over the front door are steaming at the water runs down.

It is past five on Sunday afternoon, and this is the second day I have accomplished very little. I do not feel like I am resting in anticipation of something as I sometimes do, or enjoying a quiet moment in between busy weeks. No, this feels like shirking. Deliberating shutting down to avoid heavy thinking.

Maybe this rain will cleanse away the malaise.

It is really very beautiful, this sun and rain.