Listening to I Am The Avalanche and I can’t get to sleep. It would be better for my bank balance if my first response to a sleep delayed night was not “It’s iTunes time!” - that and about one million other things.
January could not have shaped up any better. A month that includes a beach day with people you adore, a Sydney trip where you get to see everyone you love, seeing your favourite band on three occasions, meeting its singer twice, and being cuddled for the first time in (too long) aaaages… And February has Soundwave, the Thursday/Circa/Saves The Day show, the Dashboard/Jack’s/Relient K show, the IATA/Fireworks show (Fireworks! Fireworks!) the La Dispute shows, my birthday, and almost best of all An Idiot Abroad 2 on tv…
2012. What a year so far.
How much do I want a gig buddy/maybe something more buddy to debrief after gigs with and lie on my bed and listen to Lydia with. About forty, in moments like this one. Forty out of one hundred, not aged forty, to clarify.
I started a social media blog. I checked my stats and the most bewildering thing was seeing that people have accessed it from Internet explorer. I don’t think I know anyone who uses Internet explorer. Also I rank on Bing. I don’t know anyone who uses Bing.
So things got pretty hectic at the Lydia shows in terms of dollars and I figured out that the entire reason we work so hard is so we can have these amazing experiences as a result. Meeting Leighton Antelman was an absolute highlight maybe of my entire life. I’ve changed my stance in that you should absolutely meet your heroes whenever you can and tell them how much they mean to you. And if you’re a blithering oddball it’s absolutely fine, because if you can’t be like that in front of the people who keep your heart beating then what’s even the point of being alive?
At this point it will be impossible to convince me that anything in life is more important than music or the feelings it evokes in you. Standing front row centre in front of the man whose voice you hear when you drift off to sleep each night; being unable to move: thinking absolutely nothing and feeling only joy… The people who don’t understand that are not people I could ever hope to understand in themselves.
The heroine of my best selling novel will surely be a mosh princess who goes to all the shows. She’ll hook up with the guitarist, or maybe just a fanboy who knows just what it’s like to have a band grab you by the absolute heart… and for your one great urgent, animal, primal need to be only that they squeeze it tighter, for everything it’s worth, and then some.
