I completely forgot about Rock Band.
Robert and Sarah and I played Beatles Rock Band. And it was awesome. And I sucked at it. And it was still awesome.
THE END.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Hot. Part Three. Indy.
Sunday
One of the best things about camping is of course the shower when you get home. So I wasn't home, but the shower at Robert's in Indianapolis was definitely great. He lives in a downtown apartment with a closed-off entresol, so to be fair, it deed feel familiar. Except he has two showers. Because this is, after all, America.
After we all (Katie, Matias, Jen, Sarah, Robert and I) took turns in the showers, it was time to say goodbye to the first three who were heading back to San Diego and Virginia. Sarah was spending another day in Indy. We kind of collapsed on the couch and watched some football.
My head crashed before my body even succumbed to sleep. I was officially gone. The arthritis in my joints was flaring, my thoughts were hazy and lifting my left pinky felt like an emotional and physical trial in the range of running a marathon. Robert and Sarah told me they wanted to go see Toy Story 3 that afternoon and I completely misread that and thought I wasn't invited (seriously Esther, are you five?). I pretty much realized then that I wasn't going anywhere anymore without some sleep first. So after they left, I crashed on the couch. When they got back to pick me up for dinner, I couldn't do that either. I just slept some more.
What did you do on your first day in Indy? I slept through it.
But apparently, I needed it like you wouldn't believe.
Monday
Needless to say, I woke up at the crack of dawn. So I went outside and fetched myself some Starbucks and watched the city come to life (starting with a very obese homeless person waking up on a bench just outside Robert's apartment building. Homeless and obese. How? I ask thee).
Indianapolis has a large obelisk-esque column in the center and this is where 'my' Starbucks was located.
I think this monument was some sort of military memorial because it had all these battles mentioned on it with the deaths on both sides and the outcome. It was very intricate and realistic in it's design - not my favorite style but whatever.
The whole thing fascinated me, because it seemed so grotesque and out of place in a city that otherwise has a certain modesty about it. I also wondered about the mention on one of the four sides, of the defeat of what I assume were the original habitants of the region; Indians. You'd think they'd want to just conveniently not mention anything about that, like the Dutch ignoring how we ever came to rule Indonesia (because we magically were just there one day. Right.). I concluded I found it the presentation not very tasteful, but at least historically aware.
After Sarah and Robert woke up, Robert bought us breakfast at a pretty cool place with great food and really bad coffee. After that, the three of us went to a brand new exhibition in a park next to the Museum of Art. It was called 100 Acres and contained various objects which were obviously designed to invite the visitors to interact and play with the art instead of just looking at it. One of my favorites was an iglo in the middle of the lake, which housed two artists. You could send messages to the them by sticking a note in a floatable mini iglo and set it in the water. All the notes were then posted on a website.
Mine read: home is not where my heart is, but where my soul walks. Needless to say, I get extremely cheesy when I'm tired and hot. Because it was hot, so hot. Again, with the hotness! I loved the setup of the whole exhibition but was also pretty ready to get back to the lavish air conditioning of Robert's car.
Sarah had to leave in the afternoon to get back on time in Nashville. Boo. Sarah needs to live next door. But I think we basically all agreed them coming over to Europe if Dave does a solo tour next year. Get on it, Dave.
(This was before I decided to come out to NYC in the fall and wanting to come out to Chicago end of summer - Chicago I won't be able to do, but I'll talk about that later. The reason is depressing and I'm not in the mood for that right now).
Back in the apartment, Robert and I discussed where to eat. He asked me if I was familiar with the term 'food coma'. Of course I was, because this is what you guys always talk about come Thanksgiving. We were still on the 'Esther's American Experience' tip, so this was our mission. Put Esther in a food coma. We went to a restaurant called St. Elmo.
Beware, because I'm going to talk about this dinner in length.
Now, an observation before I start talking food. Americans who have travelled to Europe know this: everything is the same, yet completely alienating. I entered the restaurant, and notice the hand carved wood work over the bar, the division into bar area and 'nicer' restaurant area, the waiters dressed in tuxedos, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. We are wearing kakis and shirts, and for a minute I'm worried I'm underdressed. And then I notice the baseball caps. So you're in a restaurant that isn't posh at all, but borderline 'someplace nice' (think Friends) all the same - and half the clientele is wearing a baseball cap. My mom would have a fit.
Anyway. I'm not my mom and I concentrate on my table manners (they differ in America - for example, one of your hands, the one not holding a utensil - apparently it's gauche to hold two at a time, stays under the table) and try not to look too stuck up European.
Our waiter is kissing my ass (keeps calling me young lady, which makes me feel 100 years old) and explains the specialty of the house, a shrimp cocktail. It's nothing like what I know and this is why I choose it as a starter. No Dutch grey shrimp, obviously, but bigger, pink ones. No orange cocktail sauce, but what you could almost call a vinaigrette made of young, fresh (because delivered every morning, right off the field) radish (Dutch: radijs). Robert advises me to take off as much of the sauce as I can before I take a bite. I follow it. And put a shrimp in my mouth.
It's delicious. I chew. Very delicious. I swallow. It's really delicious. And then my mouth is on f-ing fire. My sinuses opened wide. It's still delicious and I'll never want a Dutch shrimp cocktail again, it's just hot-t-t-t-t. Not hot enough to leave you with your head in your water glass. But you can bet I kept taking off as much sauce as I could with each bite.
Robert is studying the wine list and to my embarrassment, there's a couple on there made of a grape I'd never heard of: Malbec. Apparently, they'd tried to grow it in France in the past but it needs a far better climate. It does best in Argentina. So he orders an Argentinian Malbec, unfortunately neither of us can remember the name of the house. And it really was one of the better wines I've drunk. Full, but not too much tannine (no idea what the English word is).
Next up was the smallest beef I could find on the menu (10 oz - still thick as a horse) and jacked potato. The potato was the size of my car. It tasted great, but the goal was getting really full, not induce projectile vomiting, so I didn't finish it.
Desert was carrot cake for me and cheese cake for Robert. Again, I'm forever spoiled and will weep when I eat some now-second-class carrot cake over here. So good. So Effing Good. To complete the American Experience, I took home half in a box (gotta do the Doggy Bag, right?). I ate it for breakfast the next morning. Bliss.
Robert suggested I take a smoke outside while he took care of the bill - did I mention Robert is the most generous host ever? He won't take no for an answer either. In any case, as soon as I was out of the air conditioned restaurant and had my smoke in the stuffy night air, I suddenly felt it. The wine (which we had polished off, nicely followed by liqueur with coffee), the food, the great conversation - I was definitely not on solid ground. Didn't feel that way, at least.
So we walked off dinner with a stroll along a canal which I cannot remember the name of. We kept the walk medium length, the bloody arthritis was muted by the wine but I could tell I shouldn't overdo it if I wanted to go somewhere the next day. It really was a great night and if you're ever in Indy - try the St. Elmo shrimp cocktail. Seriously.
Back home we watched some Joanna Newsom (more about her later) on Youtube before calling it a night.
Tuesday
Woke up early of course, because my body doesn't know how to catch eight hours of sleep anymore and headed out for coffee. As I walk out, the doorman, whom I was on a first name basis on (I walked by him about 5 times a day for my smoke breaks), gave me his home made cookies. He baked them himself. Peanut butter chocolate chip I think. I didn't like it, but that's not the point. He gave me cookies. Cute.
As I sit on a bench on the sidewalk, a police officer approaches me. I'm a bit weary of U.S. police & custom officers (most of you know why by now). But this officer tells me he likes my shirt, where did I get it, where am I from, am I handling the heat well, have a great day and smiley smile goes on his way.
After collecting my Starbucks, I pass Robert in the hall who's on his way to work with his purple sneakers on (which I sent him - see how thoughtful this guy is?). I put the only stroopwafel I have left in a ziplock bag and bring it down to André, the doorman. His eyes get so big and his smile so wide, he really is adorable.
Today's mission is getting a little feel of the city and shop before Robert comes pick me up and drive me to the airport.
After walking around without a specific destination but with aim just the same, I hit the nearest mall. I bought A&F shirts in Nashville for a friend and now have to buy some more shirts for our mutual male friend - so he doesn't feel left out. I give myself a peptalk and walk in the dreadful, cheaply perfumed, deafening store. I know my friend's size, but the shirts look a little on the small side. While I'm examining them, I hear a voice ask "Can I help you?". I turn around and it's Edward. I'm staring in the eyes of a bad teen novel. Early twenties, fairly tall (almost my height), green eyes, 'chiseled jaw' and 'carefully disarrayed hair'. My inner girl swoons. My current self shouts "You're 37! Get a grip!", at me.
I explain that I'm worried the shirts are on the small side. He says they're a 'muscle fit'. I hate A&f a little bit more. So if you're not toned the F out, you can't wear them? Whatever. Sales model asks me what built my friend is. "Uh - kinda like you", I say. And Edward takes off his shirt and puts on the shirt I'm holding. We can now add 'perfect planes of his chest' to the fuckery. After André and his cookies and the cop and his interest in my shirt, it really is the epitome of friendliness of the American Heartland. Shirt is a perfect fit (as if) and I make the purchase. I accidently stumble into the dressing rooms in my endeavour to find the exit and sales god winks at me. Call me cougar. Or pathetic. Whatever.
We proceed to Banana Republic where I try on a mountain of clothes, all the while the sales lady keeps telling me that although it all fits, the clothes are just a little short on me. It's sweet. Because we all know what she carefully doesn't say: You Are Too Tall for Banana Republic, You Freak.
It's time to go back to Robert's and pack. And get another Starbucks. And say goodbye to André. And snap some more pictures. And dread going home. And I want to be there right now so I can kiss the Best Kid Ever.
On the way to the airport:
Me: "I looked up the tourdates for Jenna Jameson, but she played Amsterdam the end of May so I missed her. Sucks."
Robert: (blinks) "Who?"
Me: "Jenna Jameson! The harpist you were raving about last night."
Robert: "Uh..."
Me: "What?"
Robert: "You mean Joanna Newsom." (smirks)
Me: "Who's Jenna Jameson then?" (and I just know the answer just by looking at him)
Robert: (grins) "A pretty famous porn star. What the hell were you doing this morning, Esther?"
I want to die. Instead I snort. And mumble something about a probable mention on Friends. I can see Robert thinking "Sure, Es. Whatever you say". Thank god we're both laughing out loud now.
I do solemnly swear I have not ever seen a Jenna Jameson film. And yes, I would admit it if I had, because I'm Dutch. There.
It's time to say goodbye and get on the plane. Transfer at O'Hare, once again. And once again, I secretely think of running out and just stay. Get a feel of the Windy City. Good thing I've got the Best Kid Ever to get back to, or I might just do it. Instead, I have a reasonably comfortable flight back to NL. Amsterdam never seemed more glum.
Thus ends the tale of my latest visit Home. I'll be back. And am making arrangements for a... longer stay, if everything goes to shit back here. More on that later. Like I said, not in the mood right now.
95% of people I've hung out with on this trip don't have access to this blog, but I'm leaving a message in cyber space just the same: THANK YOU!!! It was great. Sigh.
One of the best things about camping is of course the shower when you get home. So I wasn't home, but the shower at Robert's in Indianapolis was definitely great. He lives in a downtown apartment with a closed-off entresol, so to be fair, it deed feel familiar. Except he has two showers. Because this is, after all, America.
After we all (Katie, Matias, Jen, Sarah, Robert and I) took turns in the showers, it was time to say goodbye to the first three who were heading back to San Diego and Virginia. Sarah was spending another day in Indy. We kind of collapsed on the couch and watched some football.
My head crashed before my body even succumbed to sleep. I was officially gone. The arthritis in my joints was flaring, my thoughts were hazy and lifting my left pinky felt like an emotional and physical trial in the range of running a marathon. Robert and Sarah told me they wanted to go see Toy Story 3 that afternoon and I completely misread that and thought I wasn't invited (seriously Esther, are you five?). I pretty much realized then that I wasn't going anywhere anymore without some sleep first. So after they left, I crashed on the couch. When they got back to pick me up for dinner, I couldn't do that either. I just slept some more.
What did you do on your first day in Indy? I slept through it.
But apparently, I needed it like you wouldn't believe.
Monday
Needless to say, I woke up at the crack of dawn. So I went outside and fetched myself some Starbucks and watched the city come to life (starting with a very obese homeless person waking up on a bench just outside Robert's apartment building. Homeless and obese. How? I ask thee).
Indianapolis has a large obelisk-esque column in the center and this is where 'my' Starbucks was located.
I think this monument was some sort of military memorial because it had all these battles mentioned on it with the deaths on both sides and the outcome. It was very intricate and realistic in it's design - not my favorite style but whatever.
The whole thing fascinated me, because it seemed so grotesque and out of place in a city that otherwise has a certain modesty about it. I also wondered about the mention on one of the four sides, of the defeat of what I assume were the original habitants of the region; Indians. You'd think they'd want to just conveniently not mention anything about that, like the Dutch ignoring how we ever came to rule Indonesia (because we magically were just there one day. Right.). I concluded I found it the presentation not very tasteful, but at least historically aware.
After Sarah and Robert woke up, Robert bought us breakfast at a pretty cool place with great food and really bad coffee. After that, the three of us went to a brand new exhibition in a park next to the Museum of Art. It was called 100 Acres and contained various objects which were obviously designed to invite the visitors to interact and play with the art instead of just looking at it. One of my favorites was an iglo in the middle of the lake, which housed two artists. You could send messages to the them by sticking a note in a floatable mini iglo and set it in the water. All the notes were then posted on a website.
Mine read: home is not where my heart is, but where my soul walks. Needless to say, I get extremely cheesy when I'm tired and hot. Because it was hot, so hot. Again, with the hotness! I loved the setup of the whole exhibition but was also pretty ready to get back to the lavish air conditioning of Robert's car.
Sarah had to leave in the afternoon to get back on time in Nashville. Boo. Sarah needs to live next door. But I think we basically all agreed them coming over to Europe if Dave does a solo tour next year. Get on it, Dave.
(This was before I decided to come out to NYC in the fall and wanting to come out to Chicago end of summer - Chicago I won't be able to do, but I'll talk about that later. The reason is depressing and I'm not in the mood for that right now).
Back in the apartment, Robert and I discussed where to eat. He asked me if I was familiar with the term 'food coma'. Of course I was, because this is what you guys always talk about come Thanksgiving. We were still on the 'Esther's American Experience' tip, so this was our mission. Put Esther in a food coma. We went to a restaurant called St. Elmo.
Beware, because I'm going to talk about this dinner in length.
Now, an observation before I start talking food. Americans who have travelled to Europe know this: everything is the same, yet completely alienating. I entered the restaurant, and notice the hand carved wood work over the bar, the division into bar area and 'nicer' restaurant area, the waiters dressed in tuxedos, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. We are wearing kakis and shirts, and for a minute I'm worried I'm underdressed. And then I notice the baseball caps. So you're in a restaurant that isn't posh at all, but borderline 'someplace nice' (think Friends) all the same - and half the clientele is wearing a baseball cap. My mom would have a fit.
Anyway. I'm not my mom and I concentrate on my table manners (they differ in America - for example, one of your hands, the one not holding a utensil - apparently it's gauche to hold two at a time, stays under the table) and try not to look too stuck up European.
Our waiter is kissing my ass (keeps calling me young lady, which makes me feel 100 years old) and explains the specialty of the house, a shrimp cocktail. It's nothing like what I know and this is why I choose it as a starter. No Dutch grey shrimp, obviously, but bigger, pink ones. No orange cocktail sauce, but what you could almost call a vinaigrette made of young, fresh (because delivered every morning, right off the field) radish (Dutch: radijs). Robert advises me to take off as much of the sauce as I can before I take a bite. I follow it. And put a shrimp in my mouth.
It's delicious. I chew. Very delicious. I swallow. It's really delicious. And then my mouth is on f-ing fire. My sinuses opened wide. It's still delicious and I'll never want a Dutch shrimp cocktail again, it's just hot-t-t-t-t. Not hot enough to leave you with your head in your water glass. But you can bet I kept taking off as much sauce as I could with each bite.
Robert is studying the wine list and to my embarrassment, there's a couple on there made of a grape I'd never heard of: Malbec. Apparently, they'd tried to grow it in France in the past but it needs a far better climate. It does best in Argentina. So he orders an Argentinian Malbec, unfortunately neither of us can remember the name of the house. And it really was one of the better wines I've drunk. Full, but not too much tannine (no idea what the English word is).
Next up was the smallest beef I could find on the menu (10 oz - still thick as a horse) and jacked potato. The potato was the size of my car. It tasted great, but the goal was getting really full, not induce projectile vomiting, so I didn't finish it.
Desert was carrot cake for me and cheese cake for Robert. Again, I'm forever spoiled and will weep when I eat some now-second-class carrot cake over here. So good. So Effing Good. To complete the American Experience, I took home half in a box (gotta do the Doggy Bag, right?). I ate it for breakfast the next morning. Bliss.
Robert suggested I take a smoke outside while he took care of the bill - did I mention Robert is the most generous host ever? He won't take no for an answer either. In any case, as soon as I was out of the air conditioned restaurant and had my smoke in the stuffy night air, I suddenly felt it. The wine (which we had polished off, nicely followed by liqueur with coffee), the food, the great conversation - I was definitely not on solid ground. Didn't feel that way, at least.
So we walked off dinner with a stroll along a canal which I cannot remember the name of. We kept the walk medium length, the bloody arthritis was muted by the wine but I could tell I shouldn't overdo it if I wanted to go somewhere the next day. It really was a great night and if you're ever in Indy - try the St. Elmo shrimp cocktail. Seriously.
Back home we watched some Joanna Newsom (more about her later) on Youtube before calling it a night.
Tuesday
Woke up early of course, because my body doesn't know how to catch eight hours of sleep anymore and headed out for coffee. As I walk out, the doorman, whom I was on a first name basis on (I walked by him about 5 times a day for my smoke breaks), gave me his home made cookies. He baked them himself. Peanut butter chocolate chip I think. I didn't like it, but that's not the point. He gave me cookies. Cute.
As I sit on a bench on the sidewalk, a police officer approaches me. I'm a bit weary of U.S. police & custom officers (most of you know why by now). But this officer tells me he likes my shirt, where did I get it, where am I from, am I handling the heat well, have a great day and smiley smile goes on his way.
After collecting my Starbucks, I pass Robert in the hall who's on his way to work with his purple sneakers on (which I sent him - see how thoughtful this guy is?). I put the only stroopwafel I have left in a ziplock bag and bring it down to André, the doorman. His eyes get so big and his smile so wide, he really is adorable.
Today's mission is getting a little feel of the city and shop before Robert comes pick me up and drive me to the airport.
After walking around without a specific destination but with aim just the same, I hit the nearest mall. I bought A&F shirts in Nashville for a friend and now have to buy some more shirts for our mutual male friend - so he doesn't feel left out. I give myself a peptalk and walk in the dreadful, cheaply perfumed, deafening store. I know my friend's size, but the shirts look a little on the small side. While I'm examining them, I hear a voice ask "Can I help you?". I turn around and it's Edward. I'm staring in the eyes of a bad teen novel. Early twenties, fairly tall (almost my height), green eyes, 'chiseled jaw' and 'carefully disarrayed hair'. My inner girl swoons. My current self shouts "You're 37! Get a grip!", at me.
I explain that I'm worried the shirts are on the small side. He says they're a 'muscle fit'. I hate A&f a little bit more. So if you're not toned the F out, you can't wear them? Whatever. Sales model asks me what built my friend is. "Uh - kinda like you", I say. And Edward takes off his shirt and puts on the shirt I'm holding. We can now add 'perfect planes of his chest' to the fuckery. After André and his cookies and the cop and his interest in my shirt, it really is the epitome of friendliness of the American Heartland. Shirt is a perfect fit (as if) and I make the purchase. I accidently stumble into the dressing rooms in my endeavour to find the exit and sales god winks at me. Call me cougar. Or pathetic. Whatever.
We proceed to Banana Republic where I try on a mountain of clothes, all the while the sales lady keeps telling me that although it all fits, the clothes are just a little short on me. It's sweet. Because we all know what she carefully doesn't say: You Are Too Tall for Banana Republic, You Freak.
It's time to go back to Robert's and pack. And get another Starbucks. And say goodbye to André. And snap some more pictures. And dread going home. And I want to be there right now so I can kiss the Best Kid Ever.
On the way to the airport:
Me: "I looked up the tourdates for Jenna Jameson, but she played Amsterdam the end of May so I missed her. Sucks."
Robert: (blinks) "Who?"
Me: "Jenna Jameson! The harpist you were raving about last night."
Robert: "Uh..."
Me: "What?"
Robert: "You mean Joanna Newsom." (smirks)
Me: "Who's Jenna Jameson then?" (and I just know the answer just by looking at him)
Robert: (grins) "A pretty famous porn star. What the hell were you doing this morning, Esther?"
I want to die. Instead I snort. And mumble something about a probable mention on Friends. I can see Robert thinking "Sure, Es. Whatever you say". Thank god we're both laughing out loud now.
I do solemnly swear I have not ever seen a Jenna Jameson film. And yes, I would admit it if I had, because I'm Dutch. There.
It's time to say goodbye and get on the plane. Transfer at O'Hare, once again. And once again, I secretely think of running out and just stay. Get a feel of the Windy City. Good thing I've got the Best Kid Ever to get back to, or I might just do it. Instead, I have a reasonably comfortable flight back to NL. Amsterdam never seemed more glum.
Thus ends the tale of my latest visit Home. I'll be back. And am making arrangements for a... longer stay, if everything goes to shit back here. More on that later. Like I said, not in the mood right now.
95% of people I've hung out with on this trip don't have access to this blog, but I'm leaving a message in cyber space just the same: THANK YOU!!! It was great. Sigh.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Hot. Part Two of Part Two: Deer Creek
The word of the day is: epic.
Night One - June 18
The Deer Creek experience apparently starts with a walk from the camping site to the venue. An epic walk, they called it. It was. Partly because I was completely not feeling okay. The lack of sleep, the time difference and the sweltering heat were really doing a number on me. Partly because the girls were chattering up a storm while the guys were goofing around, on a two inch wide patch of grass along the road. For a mile long. It wasn't scary or anything - I didn't realize then that we have take back that walk, in the dark.
The awesomeness that is Sarah K. Brown had managed to get us pit tickets (she told me this when we were in Nashville at which I belted out a very loud "HOLY FUCK". In the middle of the street.). We went down to the pit, where I proceeded to sweat my brains out. The pressure of the thick moist air was only getting heavier. After about half an hour of waiting, a guy came up on stage to tell us the show would be delayed because of a thunder storm approaching. There would be a complete set, but we had to wait until the weather would pass. The people on the lawn were allowed to hide in their cars and re-enter the venue after.
So we waited. And it got hotter. And we waited. And I was almost passing out. And we waited. And I had to sit down my tired behind before I'd really make a spectacle of myself. And we waited. And all hell broke lose.
It was a pretty amazing sight - probably because I was low and dry in the pit. Although... dry? The wind was blowing so hard, even we got sprayed with rain. I was standing on the side rail with some shirtless guy (Sarah had spilled her beer on him and this was apparently the moment he'd been waiting for to show off his abs), who kept yelling "God, I love this country. God bless America!". I had to laugh a little - I mean, that's pretty... funny, right? But then he looked at me all serious and told me not to laugh about that. He wasn't kidding. He almost got into a fight after that and that was my cue to get the hell out of there, back to where Sarah was.
After an hour and a half of waiting, the rain had almost disappeared and the band came on. I had a flash of regret that I would never be as wired as that very first time back in 2002. Until they kicked off with JTR.
Here's what I secretly love about not having seen 100 shows, and having to really work to get my fill of DMB: I'm still a virgin in some ways. And this was the first time I heard JTR. And they opened with it. Yeah, suck on that you hardcore tour whores ;).
Fine - I'm jealous as hell. But in a way, it is nice.
The setlist wasn't that spectacular, but because of the incredible storm and all the waiting, the vibe of the crowd was pretty amazing. And they played It. It was so good. It came as a big grin, arms open wide. It was a welcome Home. I felt an ease floating in my tummy. Until The Lines. I kinda broke. Again. But it caught me off guard. So I sobbed a little. Sarah understands, that made it less embarrassing.
(I'm so talking inside talk right now. The It song I'm referring to is #41, the song that did and continues to do me in. The Lines are "Why won't you run/In the rain and play/Let the tears splash all over you". I get epic - see picture below.)
I got a couple of more Firsts, got something to eat which made me feel much better, Sarah was nice and buzzed, we stumbled back to the camping site in the black dark where another thunder storm awaited us (see prior post).
Night Two - June 19
My turn to get nice and buzzed. After sporting an orange fan outfit the entire day (Japan vs. Holland; 0-2), it took little encouragement to bring my huge inflated orange thumbs-up to the venue. Every song I liked, I would put up the Thumb. Probably embarrassed the hell out of my seat partners, but I'm... Esther, I guess. Got a nice response from people around us, so I guess it wasn't too bad.
They started with Big Eyed Fish.
It segued into Bartender.
I got to hear Sweet Up And Down, live.
There was a surprisingly sweet Stand Up -> Cornbread -> Recently(!).
I got a Dancing Nancies, which I hadn't heard in a long time.
I rocked my Thumb during Why I Am, which I hate on the album but love live.
And then I decided to get beer and coke for me and my seat partners.
As I was standing at the booth, waiting for the guy to fix my order, I heard the notes. Of Warehouse. Passion Intro Warehouse. I. could. not. believe. my. ears. THIS, Esther, is why we don't get drinks during a show. Luckily, the guy sensed my discomfort and quickly finished preparing the drinks. I rushed back to my seat, threw drinks at Sarah and Cuong and grabbed my Thumb which I almost lifted up turned upside down in all my excitement, but fortunately, Cuong caught me just in time. Needless to say, I thumbed the hell out of that song.
Sarah said she would like them to proceed with Grey Street. Uhm - they did. Aaaaah - such a great night!
We again stumbled our way back to the campsite, even the super drunk managed not the get run over, a limousine with a giant rooster on it hit another car in the rear, I took a hit from a bowl (which scared the bejeezus out of me), life was pretty excellent. Oh, and I ate the infamous Fried Stuff. And I had an interesting encounter at the port-a-potties, but let's not dwell on that.
The next morning, our crew was packing up swiftly, but we were still last to leave. Apparently, that's part of the Freaks at Deer Creek tradition, too. In short - I hope I get to come back there, desperately.
Next up: Indianapolis. Showers! Hot art exhibitions. Good food, Greater wine.
I also added pictures to the post below.
Night One - June 18
The Deer Creek experience apparently starts with a walk from the camping site to the venue. An epic walk, they called it. It was. Partly because I was completely not feeling okay. The lack of sleep, the time difference and the sweltering heat were really doing a number on me. Partly because the girls were chattering up a storm while the guys were goofing around, on a two inch wide patch of grass along the road. For a mile long. It wasn't scary or anything - I didn't realize then that we have take back that walk, in the dark.
The awesomeness that is Sarah K. Brown had managed to get us pit tickets (she told me this when we were in Nashville at which I belted out a very loud "HOLY FUCK". In the middle of the street.). We went down to the pit, where I proceeded to sweat my brains out. The pressure of the thick moist air was only getting heavier. After about half an hour of waiting, a guy came up on stage to tell us the show would be delayed because of a thunder storm approaching. There would be a complete set, but we had to wait until the weather would pass. The people on the lawn were allowed to hide in their cars and re-enter the venue after.
So we waited. And it got hotter. And we waited. And I was almost passing out. And we waited. And I had to sit down my tired behind before I'd really make a spectacle of myself. And we waited. And all hell broke lose.
It was a pretty amazing sight - probably because I was low and dry in the pit. Although... dry? The wind was blowing so hard, even we got sprayed with rain. I was standing on the side rail with some shirtless guy (Sarah had spilled her beer on him and this was apparently the moment he'd been waiting for to show off his abs), who kept yelling "God, I love this country. God bless America!". I had to laugh a little - I mean, that's pretty... funny, right? But then he looked at me all serious and told me not to laugh about that. He wasn't kidding. He almost got into a fight after that and that was my cue to get the hell out of there, back to where Sarah was.
After an hour and a half of waiting, the rain had almost disappeared and the band came on. I had a flash of regret that I would never be as wired as that very first time back in 2002. Until they kicked off with JTR.
Here's what I secretly love about not having seen 100 shows, and having to really work to get my fill of DMB: I'm still a virgin in some ways. And this was the first time I heard JTR. And they opened with it. Yeah, suck on that you hardcore tour whores ;).
Fine - I'm jealous as hell. But in a way, it is nice.
The setlist wasn't that spectacular, but because of the incredible storm and all the waiting, the vibe of the crowd was pretty amazing. And they played It. It was so good. It came as a big grin, arms open wide. It was a welcome Home. I felt an ease floating in my tummy. Until The Lines. I kinda broke. Again. But it caught me off guard. So I sobbed a little. Sarah understands, that made it less embarrassing.
(I'm so talking inside talk right now. The It song I'm referring to is #41, the song that did and continues to do me in. The Lines are "Why won't you run/In the rain and play/Let the tears splash all over you". I get epic - see picture below.)
I got a couple of more Firsts, got something to eat which made me feel much better, Sarah was nice and buzzed, we stumbled back to the camping site in the black dark where another thunder storm awaited us (see prior post).
Night Two - June 19
My turn to get nice and buzzed. After sporting an orange fan outfit the entire day (Japan vs. Holland; 0-2), it took little encouragement to bring my huge inflated orange thumbs-up to the venue. Every song I liked, I would put up the Thumb. Probably embarrassed the hell out of my seat partners, but I'm... Esther, I guess. Got a nice response from people around us, so I guess it wasn't too bad.
They started with Big Eyed Fish.
It segued into Bartender.
I got to hear Sweet Up And Down, live.
There was a surprisingly sweet Stand Up -> Cornbread -> Recently(!).
I got a Dancing Nancies, which I hadn't heard in a long time.
I rocked my Thumb during Why I Am, which I hate on the album but love live.
And then I decided to get beer and coke for me and my seat partners.
As I was standing at the booth, waiting for the guy to fix my order, I heard the notes. Of Warehouse. Passion Intro Warehouse. I. could. not. believe. my. ears. THIS, Esther, is why we don't get drinks during a show. Luckily, the guy sensed my discomfort and quickly finished preparing the drinks. I rushed back to my seat, threw drinks at Sarah and Cuong and grabbed my Thumb which I almost lifted up turned upside down in all my excitement, but fortunately, Cuong caught me just in time. Needless to say, I thumbed the hell out of that song.
Sarah said she would like them to proceed with Grey Street. Uhm - they did. Aaaaah - such a great night!
We again stumbled our way back to the campsite, even the super drunk managed not the get run over, a limousine with a giant rooster on it hit another car in the rear, I took a hit from a bowl (which scared the bejeezus out of me), life was pretty excellent. Oh, and I ate the infamous Fried Stuff. And I had an interesting encounter at the port-a-potties, but let's not dwell on that.
The next morning, our crew was packing up swiftly, but we were still last to leave. Apparently, that's part of the Freaks at Deer Creek tradition, too. In short - I hope I get to come back there, desperately.
Next up: Indianapolis. Showers! Hot art exhibitions. Good food, Greater wine.
I also added pictures to the post below.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Hot. Part One of Part Two: Dead Creek
When I really joined the human side of the interwebs (as in: when I joined nancies mailing list), I learned the hard way that online characters can severely differ from their real personalities. The lesson came for example in a stalker who wouldn't leave me alone for three years.
Meh.
Nancies mailing list was an entertaining, unkind, hilarious, fickle downward spiral of flaming, gossip, ass kissing and ass kicking. I loved it. I even managed to make friends on and off it, and they were the embodiment of 'looks can deceive', or rather 'the written word can deceive'.
Whoops - the clown whose posts 90% of the list couldn't even comprehend, turned out to be a provocative, intelligent but most of all incredibly loyal and fun friend.
Sarah - the quiet type who hardly ever posted, was in fact an incredibly determined, vocal and thoughtful lady, who trots the globe like she owns the thing (and most of the time, she does).
Sharon - the snarky sarcast, who was much more shy than I'd ever imagined and, although we've fallen in and out of touch, still reaches out when you most definitely need it.
I could go on and on, but I won't. nancies was crowded and after nancies I joined other media and the list of examples would grow out of proportion. The point is: arriving at Dead Creek, unofficial camping site of the venue Deer Creek and official 'Home of the DMB Freaks', I was once again baffled how I can be so right about 'online' people, yet at the same time so wrong. There's something pretty awesome about meeting people you've 'known' online for years - some for almost a decade - for the first time. Legends aren't so legendary, subdued becomes spontaneous, sharp as a razor purrs like a kitten in the sun. You see them as old friends you haven't laid eyes on in ages.
I loved it. I loved them. The familiar as well as the unfamiliar faces. I loved their dynamics. Their antics. Their inside jokes. Their differences and the mutual respect for it.
What can I say? Some watch birds, I watch people.
The camping site is situated on the fields of a farmer, who apparently pays his mortgage by renting out his property for about four concerts runs a year. You pay, you set up your tent. He provides port-a-potties and makes sure there's catering. If you can hold your breath and have strong thighs, the peeing situation is bearable. Staying away from catering is advised though, because I don't want to imagine what a daily dose of funnel cake, fried Oreos and candied apple will do for your bowels - without a decent toilet nearby.
There were four things, other than our group, which dominated the Dead Creek experience.
- IT WAS FECKING HOT. Hot. Hothothot. No weather for a Dutch person. Sweating my eyes out. So hot. God it was hot. No wind. Just humidity. Eff 30 Celcius and calling it a heat wave. Eff that. Try 35 and tangible, stifling, thick as grits air. And then walk a mile :).
- Five PM starts at about noon. I haven't drunk so much beer since my university years. You'd sweat it out immediately though, so it's all good.
- Hotness + humidity = storm. In the middle of the night. And nono - not a good old fashioned Dutch storm. Not some lightning, some thunder, a shit load of rain. Are you Dutch? You know our infamous October storms, right? Triple that and add another swimming pool of wet. Sarah, God bless her, had offered me the inflatable bed and slept on the camping mat herself. So she got the grunt of it. But yeah, even I was soaked. Our tent was very strategically placed between cars, so at least we didn't end up with a table in our foreheads.
- The food. 1. Let it be known that Cuong Vu can cook. Well. 2. Let it be known that part of 'Giving Esther the American Experience' entailed eating all of the fried stuff mentioned prior, Gripos (some sort of chips), pretzels (about 100 times the size of our pretzels and so much better) and an insane lack of good coffee. Yes, I eat lack of good coffee. I chew on it. It's hard to digest. I don't recommend it.
Needless to say, I had a blast. I'm sure you don't want to hear about flabongos, icing someone, team USA, monopoly money, the phrase 'That's what she said', high fives from lickables, a gambling game called LRC and how I had to text myself through Holland vs. Japan because of the storm.
I'll just say that once again, as in 2002, I thrust myself into a group of people who have known each other for years and I felt absolutely welcome. People were kind, considerate, interested, funny as hell and they made the experience for me.
I love America.
(will add pictures later)
(up next: the shows)
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