Avett Brothers!

Alert. Bulletin. Alert.

Last night I saw the Avett Brothers in concert. ("Avett" rhymes with "pave it," not "have it.")

I am a relatively new fan. My friend Reid put a couple of their songs on a mix CD for me, and I loved them. So he made me a "best of" CD. Then B. gave me "Emotionalism" for my birthday. So I've been digging them for a little while, and I looked to see if they were on tour and by some miracle coming anywhere near here. And they were! And they did, last night.

I bought tickets for B. and me, not realizing he'd have a final the next day. So I brought my little brother instead, knowing he would be inspired musically. The show was set for 8:00, and I knew he had to leave by 9:30 for his own gig, but I figured he'd still see plenty of them.

Well, that was not to be. There was an opening act who was on for the nearly the whole first hour. Matt Butcher. He sang and played the guitar and harmonica and did a fine job and seemed like a nice person. But I don't stay up late, and I was starting to yawn a little bit. And it was no reflection on him; I'm just usually in bed with a book by around that time.

And then it was time for the Avett Brothers, and nothing I'd seen online or heard on CD prepared me for the show I saw last night.

Scott Avett came on stage at about 9:00. And he came out alone and he sang this song, "Murdered in the City." And his voice immediately filled the small theater and I saw my little brother sit up a little bit, like, "Huh," and my yawns ceased immediately. And then Seth Avett joined him, just like he does in that clip. And they sang this song about sharing a name and maybe that song is supposed be about husbands and wives or something, but to me in that moment, it was about mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, and I was so glad to be sitting there next to mine. "Always remember there is nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name." SO! That was a poignant and great way to start the show.

I'm not exactly sure what came next. "Shame," maybe? Which is one of my favorites and it was unsurprisingly fantastic. My brother turned to me wide-eyed as the guys jumped around and sang beautifully and played masterfully and said as if awestruck, "I've never seen anything like this." I said, "I KNOW." Joining the brothers onstage were of course Brad Crawford on the upright bass and also Joe Kwan, who did things with a cello I did not think possible. Sadly, my brother had to leave 30 minutes into the set and I stayed by myself. This theater is small and sort of upscale, and people were sitting somewhat sedately even though clearly enjoying the show from their seats at this time. Not long thereafter, a very loud and bossy guy stood up and started rousing the crowd to get up. "COME ON, Y'ALL," he yelled in sputtering disbelief at the top of his lungs. "GET UP AND DANCE!" And that was all it took and the crowd was on its feet. I think this was during "Paranoia in B flat Major." And lo, it was so fun. And the next song was "Die, Die, Die," which was what I'd been waiting for. And it was great!

And the whole show was just so great. There was a buzz in the air. Somehow the band managed to be having so much fun while also being really serious and professional and it's hard to explain. Sweat was pouring down their faces and there was jumping up and down and the kicking of legs in the air and strings were popping all over the place and Joe Kwan was picking up his cello and playing it while swinging it around and people were dancing and clapping and it was just so damn joyous. Even when things went wrong, like feedback or whatever, if they couldn't get it just right, Scott Avett would shrug from the drumset and command, "Let's go with it!" Scott Avett = very in charge of the whole situation. ("More bass!" "More banjo, please!") By the time they got to "Salina," another of my favorites, and Seth Avett sat down at the grand piano to play the end of the song, tears were streaming down my face because the piano combined with the bass and the cello were so beautiful. That song is a beautiful piece work. DAMN, IT WAS AWESOME.

I can't remember the exact setlist, but they played a couple of brand new songs. One was "And It Spread." Which I loved. "When I Drink" was quiet and lovely and "The Weight of Lies" was lovely and powerful. They came out for an encore when the crowd would neither sit down nor shut up.

I don't really know what else to say. This band makes beautiful music. They are very intense on stage, whether intensely playful or intensely emotional or intensely energetic or just intensely ... intense. Their harmonies are amazing and their lyrics are awesome and they can rock their instruments like nobody's business. Banjoes make the world a better place when played by Scott Avett.

Their songs individually and their show as a whole somehow ran my heart and soul through the entire range of human emotion. I cannot explain it any better than that except to say that the top of my head was vibrating with joy the entire time, even when my heart felt like it was breaking. This morning, I was feeling weepy for other reasons and boo-hooing on the way to work, and "Shame" came on and I started cracking up laughing through my tears at the memory of how wonderful it was live onstage last night.

All I can say is LISTEN UP, AMERICA. They are on tour and they are probably coming near you. Chicago? Are you listening, Chicago? May 14. (The only one of you who is exempt from going is the one who might be giving birth right around that time.) Philly? Is that you? May 25. Alexandria? Yes, Alexandria. That means you, my sister and Elizabeth. And the list goes on and on. Just do yourself a favor and go! I don't care what kind of music you like. I can't imagine your not liking this music or not enjoying the living hell out of this band's show.

I'm so glad I went. I'm so glad I went. I'm so glad I went. You will be, too. I swear.

Fun Home

Boy howdy, but I've read some good books lately. First there was The Story of Forgetting, which I've already mentioned. And I just finished Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. Which I have to sincerely thank Leenie for recommending in a comments thread. It was -- wow. I don't even know where to start. It might be the best memoir I've ever read.

The way that Bechdel writes (and draws) the story of her childhood and the story of her family knocked my socks off. I felt my heart tightening the entire time with a sense of identification, not because my family or my life are anything like hers in any specific sense, but because she's that great kind of a writer that makes you feel that connection -- that intangible something that makes human beings feel connected to each other no matter how different they are. It gave me that feeling of I Am Nothing Like You, But I Am Just Like You, and How Did You Know How I Feel? And in addition to that nagging, longing feeling of identification and yes, yes, I understand this, the drawing and the words and how it all tied together between past and present and James Joyce and Colette and and Oscar Wilde -- it was just so damn masterful, heartbreaking, funny, and beautiful. See? Kind of hard to explain. But I loved it, and when I tried to start telling B. over sundried tomato pizza and pints of Blue Moon tonight how much I loved it, my eyes got teary and I couldn't find the words. Thank you again, Leenie.

The only other thing I have to say is that my Riggins shirt came in and I was a little excited about it.

Of late

Of late:

1.) It was five years ago or so when I first became obsessed with the song "Better Things," and I thought I'd since found every cover out there. But I just discovered a new one! It's by the Bouncing Souls. And it is awesome.

2.) I was watching the behind the scenes features of Enchanted, and I learned that some of the older folks dancing in the "That's How You Know" number are old-school Disney movie dancers. They did an interview with one of the guys, and it turns out he was one of the chimney sweepers in Mary Poppins. Then they showed him as the chimney sweeper. And it warmed my heart more than I can even say.

3.) I just finished The Story of Forgetting by Stefan Merrill Block, and it was really good. Here's what it made me think about: memory in general and memories specifically, mothers and children, fathers and children, love and loss, life and death. What I want to look back on my life and remember when it's time for me to die. Heavy stuff, but good stuff. Things that are important to think about. On top of that, it's just a really good story. Impressive & highly recommended.

4.) Stefan Merrill Block is the roommate and best friend of my friend Annegrrl, whom I first met in the summer of 2000 and like to romp around lovingly with when visiting New York. And EXCUSE ME, but they are in today's New York MF-ing Times. I started screaming and jumping around the living room and called her immediately, which might not have been a sane reaction, but I couldn't help it. She seems to be handling this much more calmly than I am. She is too cool for school. Love that girl.

5.) B. and I watched Lars and the Real Girl last night, which I've been waiting and waiting to see. Basically, it confirmed for me that there is nothing Ryan Gosling cannot do. (Read a great review here that really captures the feeling of the film.) Somehow this movie about a real doll ended up a sweet-spirited fable about what it means to be a nice person and help to heal the inner wounds of our fellow human beings, no matter how bizarrely manifested those wounds may be. I'm not sure how this film pulled that off, but it did. I thought it was brilliantly done, and it made me laugh and broke my heart a little bit.

6.) It's a beautiful day. The windows are open. The cats are sitting in the windowsills. I wish I were at Earth Day, but I'm writing a paper. But that's okay. My brother and I are going to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall later, and I can't wait.

V to the Tenth

Somehow I did not learn about V to the Tenth until earlier this week. Either the local press was late in covering the upcoming event or I was just oblivious. Either way, around mid-week, I started seeing notices of the night pop up, and I knew that I needed to go. My girlfriend and I left boyfriend, husband, children, pets, homework, and housework behind and fled for the big city about 5:30.

Background: My sister and I went to see The Vagina Monologues in New Orleans years ago -- maybe 1999 or 2000? -- not sure, and I went to see it a few years ago here. Both time were great experiences, and when I had to choose a "tough cookie" on whom to do a major project for a class a few years ago, I chose Eve Ensler. So I'm pretty familiar with the show and even own it on audio CD. It was clear that I needed to be present at this event, even if it meant sitting five rows from the very tippy top of the Arena (which we did). We sat back with our shared hurricane daiquiri and chicken sandwiches and fries and prepared to relax and enjoy the show.

Let me get the negatives out of the way first: I know I let this sort of thing get to me too much, and I feel almost disloyal saying this about a fellow woman while at a pro-woman event of this magnitude, but there was a row of twenty-something women dressed to the nines as if going out for a night with Carrie, Samantha, Amanda, and Charlotte who were very loud when they came in, very loud as they crossed over us multiple times, very loud as some of them moved to the row behind us, and just ... loud. I really hoped they would settle down and settle in once the show started -- but they didn't. One woman in particular who was sitting behind us decided that she needed to take the thoughts in her head and speak them aloud in reaction to the show. Not quietly, not under her breath, not whispered carefully into the ear of her friend next to her -- but out loud. At full volume. When Doris Roberts (the grandma on Everybody Loves Raymond) and Didi Conn (YES, FRENCHIE) were doing the "down there" monologue and said something about things being noisy "down there," this woman said, "Are they talking about ____-ing?" (Rhymes with leafing.) When they said something about the smell "down there," she said, "Mine smells like oranges!" After each of these comments, I would turn around and shoot her a death glare, but it had no effect. When Christine Lahti (CHRISTINE LAHTI!) delivered the "hair" monologue, the woman shared with us that hers is shaved. When Kerri Washington performed the monologue about Bob, the man who likes to look, when Washington was describing how Bob liked to sit in the shade in the summer and wore beige clothes, the woman's friend turned around to her and said, "Bob is SUSPECT," I don't even know what that means. Then when Washington was describing how Bob looked at it for an hour, my favorite person behind me said, "He'd better be doing something else while he's down there for so long!" Death glare after death glare -- nothing. Then the amazing Charmaine Neville came on and gave a little personal speech before performing "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" and wondered aloud what happened to the people in her neighborhood. She said that she wondered what happened to the German woman who would come sit on her front porch and drink coffee with her so they could "talk about people." About the boy who would ride by every day and tease her dog. About the Vietnamese family who ran the corner grocery store. My friend behind me said loudly and indignantly, "Um -- stereotyping??" And Charmaine wondered what happened to the Chinese family who ran her dry cleaners. "I am getting offended!" Said the genius behind me who clearly did not stop and think that these were actually real families in New Orleans? Hello? Then she continued, "What's next? Is she going to ask what happened to Apu?" That's when I turned to my friend and said, "Get up! We're moving." So she grabbed her purse and we hustled to some empty seats in the adjacent section. And from then on, the evening was smooth sailing of normal people who don't do anything in the audience but laugh and cry and applaud in the right places.

Highlights: Rosario Dawson & and an Eastern European actress performing the one about the young woman and violence in her village, who explained that the woman who told Ensler that story and on whom the monologue is based was in the audience. Seeing Amber Tamblyn come onstage, not knowing she would be there, and thinking in my head, "OMG Joan Girardi, OMG Joan Girardi, OMG, OMG." Hearing the insane reaction of the audience to the entrance of Jennifer Beals, who, along with Alex Hedison, Ilene Chaiken, and Daniela Sea (The L Word), was hilarious in the monologue about moaning. (Jennifer Beals is really as beautiful in real life as she is as Bette Porter, if that is humanly possible.) It was neat to see Jennifer Hudson, who looked great. She performed a monologue about loving being a girl. And I feel like she had the potential to BE great, but she held her cards so closely up to her nose that I wondered if she had not practiced at all? It was kind of weird. The other actresses had cards, but they only glanced at them sometimes and did not read straight off of them. Oh Jennifer Hudson. I know you have it in you! And Jane Fonda, the amazing Jane Fonda, who was the only person (I think) besides Ensler in the opening "I am worried about vaginas" monologue who went off-book. Not a card in her hand had Jane Fonda for "I Was There in the Room," probably my favorite of all of the classic vagina monologues. In case you don't know, this monologue was written about Eve Ensler being present in the room when the wife of her stepson, Dylan McDermott, gave birth. More on him later!

Now it is time to talk about Liz Mikel, otherwise known as Smash's mom on Friday Night Lights. I have been known to say when watching that show, "This episode could use some more Mama Smash." Which any episode of any show could, frankly. She is always wonderful on the show -- strong and tender and fierce all at the same time. I saw her walking in with the little parade of stars and I got very excited. She performed the "my vagina is angry" monologue, and it was funny and fantastic. I was so proud of Mama Smash and thought she was such a great addition to the night.

Meanwhile, I'd read that Oprah was going to be there to perform a new monologue that Ensler wrote in honor of women affected by Katrina. And sure, I was excited to see Oprah. Oprah is an event unto herself, you know? So when Liz Mikel came back to the stage late in the evening following an amazing gospel choir (Lois DeJean and the Voices of New Orleans) and said this was a new monologue in honor of a New Orleans woman named Patricia Henry, I wondered, "Hm. Isn't this the one Oprah was going to do?" But the thought left my head when Liz Mikel started performing this monologue. She had cards, sure, but she barely glanced at them. She embodied the spirit of this woman with her full mind, body, soul, and spirit. She was soft in the right places, mighty in the right places, angry in the right places, and so forth. It was called "Hey, Miss Pat!" and she told of the people who would come by and say that and ask her what she was cooking that day. And she talked about all of these people who were lost in or damaged by the storm. And I don't really know what to say other than when Ensler is good, she is great, and that Liz Mikel was unbelievable. By the time she was done, she was crying, and Ensler ran to the stage and embraced her, and then Ensler, whilst basically sobbing, called the real Patricia Henry to the stage, so she was escorted up there, and she was crying, and she and Liz Mikel held each other and rocked back and forth and wept, and Liz Mikel said, "God bless you, God bless you," and we were all on our feet and tears were streaming down thousands of faces, and it was just one of those transcendent moments in theater and in life.

A few minutes later, Eve Ensler, still totally overjoyed and overcome by Mikel's performance and the whole beautiful scene, said, "I guess you've figured out that Oprah couldn't here tonight," and she explained that Oprah was sick, and continued, "But I think we can all agree that seeing Liz Mikel was such a gift," and said something about how some things happen for a reason and we just have to let ourselves be carried by however the wind blows. And I mean, it was clear to her and to everyone, I would think, that there is no way that Oprah's performance would have been nearly as extraordinary as Liz Mikel's and that we were blessed to have experienced it. Right? Not long after, we decided to start making our way down to the car as Ensler was wrapping things up, and some people were clearly not as blissed out and zen about the whole thing as I was, because people were PISSSED about Oprah and about not being told until the very end. Which my sister assures me was a very reasonable reaction on their part, and maybe I am just so blindly in love with Mama Smash that I could not be fazed by Oprah's absence. Anyway.

And now for our up close and personal celebrity spotting of the night! As we neared the exit doors, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dylan McDermott in jeans, a black leather jacket, and black Chuck Taylor sneakers hurriedly making his way to the door beside ours, and I crammed my mouth into my friend's ear and said, "Look to your right, RIGHT NOW," and she did, and her eyes flew wide open and we exited beside him as he totally speed-walked to wherever he was going, I guess to avoid being recognized (sort of funny considering how much, much bigger stars were there, but I guess they were not Among The Common People like he was for some reason), and he was very handsome if a little shorter than I imagined, and I thought for a fleeting moment about how I like him best as Leo Fish in Home for the Holidays. And he was holding the hand of a young girl with long hair whom I suspect was the girl whose birth inspired "I Was There in the Room," and I wondered how it must feel for her to hear something like that being performed by Jane Fonda, to hear about herself -- "first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms" -- and it was a nice, sort of mind-blowing, full-circle way to end the evening.

It was wonderful, and it was wonderful to spend an evening with my friend, and it was wonderful to be there, and I'm so very, very glad we went.

Getting graphic

For a few months last year, I really loved going to the CLASS. It was called the CLASS in my mind because regular lowercased letters did not do justice to it. I loved the teacher, I loved the crowd, I loved the volume, I just loved it. Even though it was really hard and hurt a lot, I loved it. Looking back, I don't even know why I stopped going. I wish I hadn't. Anyway. Bygones.

So the other night a few girlfriends (one CLASS veteran, one newbie) and I decided to go back to CLASS. We knew it was a new teacher and were sort of sad about that in advance, but we had no idea that the CLASS would turn out to be the class. Instead of using the whole gym with 12 stations of 10-12 people apiece, only half the gym was used, with only 7 stations, with only 4 folks max per station. Where did all the people go? I guess they left when the teacher did.

The new teacher was perfectly fine in that he was superfit and pushed the group hard and all, but he did not tell randomly yell out, "LOVE YOURSELF!" or give us sweaty high fives when it looked like we might fall over and collapse. He just did not inspire the passion or the self-love that the other teacher did. He also wanted us to do lunges in a giant circle around the 1/2-gym with no alternative exercise, which I think is ridiculous. Part of what is awesome about the concept of this CLASS is that if you can't do what someone else is doing, you can always modify whatever equipment you're using (mat, bike, jump rope, bosu ball, whatever that heavy basketball thing is, those stretchy ropes, the heavy bars, I don't know the names of anything) to suit your own fitness level. I could not do all those lunges without my knees feeling like they were going to explode, so I would just go get water. Which kind of broke the spell and took me out of the moment. Anyway, it was very disappointing.

I did some Googling and found that the old teacher has started his own gym! Good for him, but it's kind of far away. Not so far that I might not try to go some time, though, just because that is how great of a teacher he is. OH, CLASS.

Meanwhile, because I am a nerd, I've decided to try to read some graphic novels in advance of the course I'm thinking of taking this summer. Let me preface this by saying that I've only ever read Persepolis and its sequel and the two Maus books and Autobiography of My Dead Brother, so I'm not exactly an expert of the genre.

First up was Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth because (a) it's one of the required books and (b) B. said it's awesome. And I have to tell you, that upon starting this book, I hated it. I hated it loudly. "This book is terrible!" I complained. B. told me to stick with it. But I had no idea what was going on, who was who, and when things were taking place, and what was real and what was imagined. Fed up, I went online to read a little about it. First, I saw that it has won multiple awards. Second, I read this, which said, in part, "Some pieces of art, literature and music survive into the decades and centuries to come. Among the bits of 20th-century knowledge that may make the leap are two collections of cartoons. One is Art Spiegelman's 'Maus,' a breathtakingly engaging and nuanced cartoon document of the Holocaust. Chris Ware's 'Jimmy Corrigan' is the other." Now, like I said, I haven't read many graphic novels, but the Maus books are beautiful, powerful, devastating, incredible works of art that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life. So for someone to put Jimmy Corrigan in the same category made me think that maybe I needed to give this book a real chance.

And I'm very glad I did. Once I gathered from a few reviews that the book skipped around between generations and time periods and characters, I was able to understand who was who and when was when. I stopped and read the author's note in the back cover about his relationship with is father, or lack thereof I should say, and it added a whole level of sadness to the whole book as I read it. I stopped being frustrated and confused and realized I was reading something special, and I finished the book last night and plan to go back and re-read the first half. It's such a painful book, but it's so beautifully done. So, thumbs up. Difficult, kind of, but very good. It occurs to me now that both of these stories -- Maus and Jimmy Corrigan -- are about fathers and sons. Interesting. I had to get the latter via interlibrary loan because neither the public library nor the university library has it. Which is quite frankly bizarre considering that even though I'm new at this, I kind of don't see how a proper graphic novel collection is complete without it.

Today I tackled another of the required books, my first Manga. And based on how much I liked it, I hope it's my last. Oh My Goddess! Wrong Number. What? Why? No. It was not interesting, it was not compelling, and frankly it was sort of a spin on the whole male fantasy of a subservient female who, due to a magic spell, literally cannot leave his side and does things to save him, protect him, please him, and barf. I suppose it's possible that the (male) author was being ironic, but it doesn't really come across that way. Not that the male character really LIKES being waited on and tended to because gee whiz, she's such a trouble maker (see: Jeannie, Samantha Stevens, etc.) and she's so exasperating when trying to please him! But he is definitely sexually attracted to her and wants to sleep with her. And overall, I just found the whole thing annoying and gross. Maybe I just don't know enough about Manga to get what it's all about. But it was certainly no Jimmy Corrigan. And now I need to figure out what to read next.

What are your favorite graphic novels?

Things Worth Doing, 26-50

26. Watching my older brother shoot free throws.
27. Tubing down Boulder Creek.
28. Canoeing down Green River in North Carolina.
29. Lying on the new Pier One throw rug in the living room of my first apartment on the first night.
30. Walking the dogs after work around my neighborhood with my mom.
31. Sparklers and toasts to new beginnings with friends in the backyard.
32. Sneaking out to Sliding Rock at night to bid a new friend farewell.
33. Riding on the back of a motorcycle through New Orleans City Park.
34. Moonlight canoe trips in the swamp.
35. The first time I saw the Indigo Girls in concert, skipping school with friends one Jazz Fest afternoon in 1993.
36. Floating on rafts in the Gulf of Mexico with friends one spring break, counting the fish.
37. Going to Thursday gumbo lunches at Piccadilly with my grandfather.
38. Riding home with Daisy on a towel in my lap after deciding on the spot that she was the dog I was taking home.
39. Seeing the egrets on the trees at sunset while running around the lakes.
40. Watching a flock of big white pelicans take flight.
41. Drinking sazeracs on the porch of the Columns Hotel in New Orleans.
42. Seeing my little brother take second place on ESPN 2.
43. Reading what my students wrote in my yearbook.
44. Hearing my sister sing to me from an iPod on speakers from across the country at my karaoke birthday party.
45. Watching my friend's four-year-old daughter belt out "Tomorrow," arms flung wide, while standing on top of her backyard slide.
46. Hearing Better Things in the middle of the night in a sweaty French Quarter Bar at the last "secret" Counting Crows Shim Sham show and feeling like it was being sung directly to me.
47. Putting my head down on my desk and laughing when one of my favorite students called out, "Stick a fork in him! He's done," when Romeo killed himself.
48. Sitting in the booth with my dad.
49. Replanting my front flower bed with my mom.
50. Driving down River Road at night in high school with cigarettes, friends, and songs.

(Inspired by Maggie of Mighty Girl.)