You're Not Hardcore Unless You Live Hardcore

So Ryan and I conquered the show at The Hawthorne Theater.

We rocked hard and sang our hearts out for an enthusiastic crowd consisting mostly of people from my commune. When everything was over, we both kinda felt like superstars. But in the hours leading up to the show, it seemed like the entire universe was against us and our crazy trash rock.

I was freaking out because I had a terrible headache and sore throat the day of the show. Fortunately, I got those things under control in time to get all glammed up. But then I discovered I was without hot water yet again. I quickly took a cold shower and tried to pretend I wasn't grumpy when Ryan came over to load up equipment.

We took separate cars because we can't fit all of our stuff in one vehicle. I was still working on my rock and roll make-up, so I sent Ryan over to the venue and told him I would be right behind him. I spent a few moments debating over whether or not I should wear the sparkly strapless dress I've been dying to wear onstage. As I mentioned in my last post, strapless dresses terrify me, but I decided to overcome my fear and wear it. I threw my high heels and a hair brush into a bag, covered up my strapless ensemble with a coat, nervously glanced in the mirror one last time, and went out the door.

I was running low on gas in my little truck, so my first stop was the gas station around the corner. Buying gas went alright (it usually does), but my car died when I attempted to pull out of the gas station.

So there I am, on the way to a rock show, stuck at a gas station in a sequined strapless mini-dress. Not to mention I'm on 82nd Avenue, which is a street that's infamous for hookers. The gas station attendants are laughing at me and Ryan is at the venue wondering what the hell happened to me.

Luckily, I was only a few blocks away from where I live. So I made a quick phone call and declared that I was in a state of rock and roll emergency. It wasn't long before The Poet came to my rescue.

He had a bit of smirk on his face as he dinked around under the hood of my car. "Okay kid, this is such a rock and roll moment. You better remember this story when you get on 'Ellen,'" he said, poking something with a screw driver.

It wasn't long before he fixed the car and had it running. The Poet saves the day yet again! He left the screwdriver with me and gave me instructions on what to do in case I had another problem. I drove him back to the commune and set off towards the venue. This time, I actually made it there.

Since we were the last band of the night, we had a couple of hours to kill after we set up our equipment. We walked to the grocery store across the street and bought trail mix to munch on. Yes, I was still in the dress.

When we got back to the venue, my friends Purple Hair and Mr. Syracuse were at the bar. I hung out with them for a bit, trying hard not to think about how nervous I was. The song "Missed Me" by The Dresden Dolls randomly came on in the bar and it gave me a strange boost of confidence. That is not really a song I hear being played from sources other than my stereo and it seemed like an omen of sorts.

Anyway, the bands that played before us didn't draw much of a crowd. The first act was a DJ and a trumpet making weird trip-hop. The second act was a lesbian punk band. There were about two people in the audience for both of these bands. "No one comes to shows on Wednesday" was the common excuse for the empty room.

But all of my friends are currently unemployed and have no problem staying out all night. So at 9:45, three jam-packed carloads of my hippy/hipster friends showed up ready to cheer. The once-empty room now had about 25 people in it (including all the favorites such as The Poet, The Fonz, The Chef, Mr. Merry Christmas Forever, etc.). We took the stage and delivered an imperfect yet incredibly fun set.

I always have a hard time remembering what happens onstage during shows. I think it's because I sort of turn into a different person. But I do remember that people were dancing right in front of the stage. People were clapping and yelling in between songs. Some people knew the words and sang along. Honestly, it was one of the best audiences I have ever played for.

And then there was the part where Ryan cut his finger on a guitar string halfway through the set and spent several songs bleeding all over everything. That was so rock and roll.

But I think it's time to stop rambling and bust out some more pictures.

We're into the music

I have a hard time believing that's me. It is.

Keytar!

Ryan's finger after the battle. So hardcore.

Despite all of the chaos, it turned out to be a good night. I felt so on-top. The other night, people in my kitchen were telling me I'm built to do this sort of thing. I think they're right.

Anyway, that's all I've got for now. I wound up with some audio recordings from the show, perhaps I'll post them tomorrow...