Just Cyd.

brain is filling up again, not sure where/how to flip the switch to get things to rattle loose. so, typing it is.

*~*~*~*~
finally dragged the stage skirt in from the car. confirmed my redneck measurements were accurate, and finished length needs to be 16". terrified to make the first cut. The only other thing i've decided is that they need a lidded plastic box for all that black fuzzy fabric. a crumbling cardboard box is just not acceptable.

*~*~*~*~*
nastygram via text from the condo association. two quarters behind (again). that's $288 x 2 + whatever arbitrary fees they're tacking on ($25/qtr?) which makes for a whole lot of money I don't have and would rather spend elsewhere. maybe I'll toss 'em $50 when my paycheck hits on Wednesday? WHY IS THIS SO HARD? spending money is easy, it's paying bills that I can't seem to do well.

*~*~*~*~*
got a wild hair on Sunday that I should start looking for part-time accommodations in NC. like, say, for those WFH weeks when I have events on both weekends. like June 1-8. i'm losing two work days as travel days, but if I had a place to stay that cost less than a hotel, I wouldn't have to burn two vacation days and could work instead.

no clue what a reasonable rate would be. I know I'd need a room to sleep and work in, damn good internet access, access to kitchen/bathroom.

today this morphed into house-sitting gigs, but that seems a bit far-fetched that someone would hire me over a local.

I feel like the end of the year is my target to be outta here.

*~*~*~*~*
I feel ripe for paring down my books. Yes, really. I just need to find a place to take them. the next used book sale at Page 158 isn't for a few months, and I need them to go now. maybe I'll unload them at the market?

Ditto for other crafty things. I know i'd feel lighter if I could be rid of stuff, but I also know that I can't dig too deep or I'll get emotionally attached. but I also know some of those boxes are just hodge-podge crap and need to be looked through lest I lose something irreplaceable.

*~*~*~*~*~
hyper-fixated on ND again. still? he's darting off hither and yon, and it's KILLING ME that I can't follow him around like the lovesick puppy that I am. I mentioned TX, and he agreed that it's far more vast than is possible to comprehend, so NOT chasing him around the south was a good call. but...but...

*~*~*~*
I need help. I don't know how to ask for help. maybe it's because I feel like I've used up any goodwill anyone has had towards me? or those who could/would/might/maybe help are too busy with their own lives and don't have time for my nonsense?

It's probably a sign of how off-kilter I am that, now that the initial crisis has settled into the distant past, I am once again planning on making a trip to see a show knowing full well I won't have a place to sleep other than my car.

The first time it happened, it was a surprise. A crisis of my own making. I had a new-to-me hotel booked, and arriving to town early, decided to get that much-overdue oil change pre-show, rather than waiting until morning, hoping I could fit it in between hotel checkout and breakfast with John. I knew money was tight, but with cash in hand for gas, I was not counting pennies. So upon checkin, when the required $100 deposit would not go through (despite having pre-paid for the room), I panicked. I was $5 and change short. I cursed every step I'd made prior to that moment, and panicked. Called my credit union, who assured me if I went to XYZ location I could make a deposit at the ATM, and all would be well. Three Credit Union ATMs later, none of which would take a deposit from me. I had a mini meltdown in a parking lot, noticed the time ticking away on a Friday night in RDU, and ran with Plan B. Found a McDonald's, threw my concert clothing into a bag and changed in the bathroom, cleaning up as much as one can when there aren't paper towels, treated myself to a milkshake for dinner, and headed to Wake Forest for the Attaway/Dixon/Holsapple show.

As a full-on wreck needing distraction, I talked to people and helped out Mike by working the door and in general kept myself busy so as not to think about having to sleep in my car on this cold night. I stayed late to help clean up, and to talk to Don, and to ultimately put off the inevitable. There's a rest stop on I-40/I-85 at the Alamance County Line that's about an hour away from Wake Forest. I saw it and I thought that maybe I should stop there. I was too far over to exit, and figured I'd be fine, just another couple hours to the state line. I was not, in fact, fine. Deer were all over the sides of the highway, and as I'm not used to driving this stretch at night, I was disoriented by lack of visible landmarks and on high-alert for the deer. I stopped in Pilot Mountain to get gas, and was tired to the point of delirium. Clearly the night clerk at the gas station had seen mine kind before, helpfully prompting me through my transaction and reminding me to get my gas as I stumbled to my car. Fortunately, the state line is only 20 miles or so from there.

I pulled into the VA Welcome about 1:30am to find the place quite populated. Potty breaks and parking lot naps all around. I parked on the side against the building, sort of under a light, but a few cars away from others, as had already been established. I ran my heat on high for a minute while I figured out how to make this work, then shut off the car, put the keys on my wrist, laid the seat back, and tried to rest. I lasted about an hour with only my flannel and tee-shirt, before groping around in the back seat for the shacket that was both heavy and long, and used it to cover up. My pullover hoodie was my pillow. I bit later, I was cold enough I needed to run the car for a few minutes for the heat, as some of the others were doing, too. I think it was in the 40s. About 5:30 I had to pee, and felt rested enough that I thought I could try to soldier on. I didn't actually sleep, being on high-alert from the light and noise and paranoia. But I was able to rest, and felt far more able to drive than I had a few hours earlier. I think

I'd had to cancel my breakfast plans with John, and I told him why; figured someone needed to know what I was doing. Dan also ended up getting snippets of the tale, his disapproval obvious through messenger. As promised, I texted John each time I stopped with updates on where I was and how I was doing. I think I was home by 1pm, out cold by 3pm, and slept for the next 20 hours straight.

The following weekend was the highly anticipated Darren Jessee show, and it ended up that there was NO WAY I could afford a hotel for that show. So, I drove down the day of, knowing that I'd be sleeping in my car. I packed sweats to change into for comfort, a clean Tshirt, and the usual road food/drinks, and away I went. This time I made sure to stop at that first rest stop after the show, and the earlier stop along with some Benadryl meant that I actually slept for a few hours. I set an alarm for good measure, and about the time I needed to hobble over to use the facilities, it was going off. I also had to deal with a massive amount of upper respiratory and eye crud, so while I felt a bit more rested than the week prior, I was still miserable. Again, there were many others doing the same thing, and once I remembered to tuck my purse out of view, I felt as safe I could be. I think that drive home was more rainy/windy/foggy, and took a bit longer, but again I crashed out hard once I got home.

All that to say that my situation has not changed one penny, and here I am planning to drive out west a similar distance for a show that I doubt I have the money to attend, knowing that I'll be sleeping in my car somewhere along the way. I've got the days requested off work, at least, and I think I can scrape together the gas money. it's the draw of live music, and this musician in particular, that has me committing crazy the likes of which could be seen from space. I'm sure the DSM-5 would have all sorts of fun things to say about this.

Generally speaking, if Mike Allen or John Gillespie tell me I should really see a band, I listen to them. When two of the three people you've seen once before, and the obvious - none of us is getting any younger - smacks you in the face, you do what you can to be there to witness this alignment of literal stars.

This constellation of greatness took place at the Wake Forest Listening Room in front of a sold out crowd made up of mostly life-long fans.

The show opened with Don Dixon walking onto stage, picking up his guitar, and wowing us with vocal and acoustic guitar prowess. I apologize now, as the phrase "and the crowd went wild" will be wildly overused throughout the rest of this review, because, frankly, the assembled fanboys and fangirls did just that.

After Dixon's first song, he invited Murray Attaway to the stage, and sat down to allow Murray the stage. At last, Peter Holsapple came on stage and rounded out the trio of greatness, and the crowd went wild.

For the next ninety minutes, we went forward and backwards in time while the three greats took turns singing from their vast catalog of well-known tunes and upcoming releases. Both Attaway and Holsapple have new music coming out, and were sure to plug their merch. The three traded quips and clips and misheard lyrics ("Kittens with nine lives"? I thought you were saying "kittens with no eyes"!!), and in general caught up with one another. Attaway and Holsapple hadn't seen each other in many years, while both had been working with Dixon on their new albums. The affection and admiration the three have for one another was apparent, and the room was aglow with it.

As the clock inched towards 10pm, Dixon confirmed they had time for one last song, then while the other two stayed seated and prepared to play, he got up and futzed around with his guitar, trying to get it out of the way and dig behind the amps for something. As Murray and Peter began singing the opening lines "Love, love, love, love ..." Don appeared with a trombone in hand, and, say it with me folks, THE CROWD WENT WILD!!!! Before the end of the first verse, the assembled fans were on their feet and had joined in, and it was a 1960s love-fest right there in downtown Wake Forest. I was torn between tears of gratitude, and wondering if or when Don would take out a piece of stage equipment with the trombone's slide tube (he didn't).

Typical WFLR shows clear out pretty quickly, but not this show. Peter and Murray made their way to the merch table, while Don stayed "back stage". I hung out to talk to Don, passing on a greeting from his friend Jeffrey Dean Foster who I'd talked with that morning on the drive in. I then went to chat with Peter, who thanked me profusely for my gift of baked goods.

And just like that, as the crowd dispersed, I made my way into the night, thanking my lucky stars for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

-----
Trip #3, Concert #5

The Wake Forest Listening Room is one of my favorite venues; I've attended half a dozen shows there in the last year. And I was thrilled that both WFLR and the Wes Collins Band could reschedule their canceled show so quickly, and on a weekend I would already be in town.

The band is made up of front man Wes Collin, guitarist Scott Dameron, bassist FJ Ventre, and drummer Barry Gray, but the versatility of Wes's music means that in whatever form its presented, it is amazing. (all-guitar trio, Wes & Scott, Wes solo, the full band with cajon, or this, the full band with drum kit)

I arrived as the doors opened and the band was finishing up a delicious-looking deep-fried dinner (I assume from next door), joking all the while about arteries hardening on stage and greasy fingers on guitar strings. They brought me into their banter as I handed off the little care package I'd intended for Friday night's show - Throat Coat tea, honey, and everything but the hot water to make it all happen.

Most bands have a fairly static set list, opening and closing with the same songs, the ones that work best in those positions, and mixing up the middle as the audience and time slot require. They mostly followed the set list that I got a pic of, but moved "I Love You Guys" to the second song, totally throwing me off, as he usually closes with that song. Despite the drum kit, there weren't drums on every song, but three guitars and a bass are what some of these songs need. A few of the songs, like Everyone Dances, are kicked up to 11 by the application of Dameron's electric guitar. I don't know what guitar gods he's channeling, but his playing brings a hauntingly beautiful song far into the depths of speechless beauty. ::shudders:: it's something that must be experienced at least once.

For Sugar Skull, Barry pulled out the cajon for percussion, and the guys blazed a path through the place, killin' in at speed. We talked with them after the show, insisting Barry needs to be on the full kit for this song, and he agrees, but they've never practiced it that way, as he doesn't want to blow out their eardrums. "Earplugs" someone helpfully suggested, so here's hoping the next full-band show will include that.

They wrapped up the show with their amazing cover of Louden Wainwright III's "I Don't Think That Your Wife Likes Me" to uproarious applause. That song gives each member of the band a chance to shine, and turns Wes loose vocally, after his quiet and introspective songs. (and I apologize that it opens with me snickering)

The band has great merch for sale, and I'm hoping the rumors of a new shirt with the line "Making it Awkward" come to fruition. Wes has a bunch of dates coming up in March and April and May, so you should go check him out.

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2025: Trip #3, Concert #5

Driving into a new state, there's a lot to take in. Virginia assaults you with rapid-fire roadside rules: DO THIS, DON'T DO THAT, BRAG BRAG LOOK AWAY NO KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD. West Virginia throws a curve ball, literally, for the first 35 miles, a nail-biting, white-knuckling test of intestinal fortitude as the brain weasels fight for control of the wheel. Ohio is a smooth, slow descent back into the flatlands, subtle but comforting. Seeing the actual horizon is the surest sign i'm nearly home, or what rounds to home these days.

North Carolina is a bit kinder, gentler. They ease me into the full-contact sport that is highway traffic through Greensboro. There are quirks, sure, but charming ones. They love their double decreases on the freeway, each merge adding from the left and decreasing from the right, as any good knitter would do. Except that one spot. Was Elizabeth Zimmerman from GSO? Did she have a thing for High Point, a left-leaning exit south from I-40 westbound? that lane that springs forth like her favorite invisible increase, a gentler reminder that EZ Was Here. it still makes the shortlist of things that surprise me when encountered.


All lanes are right on red according to my fellow drivers, and I don't know how I feel about that. Splitting stitches in live traffic is scarier than dividing for armholes. "Australian Rules Driving," I call it, picking up the old term I've batted around since grade school to define that which cannot be defined any other way.


Left turns at your own risk with that flashing yellow light. I still don't understand that one. are you telling me that Continental is too risky but English is fine? I'm a Continental/picker; I take this personally, you know, my hopefully-future home state.

North Carolina is also generous with exit-only lanes, so much positive ease built in, increasing to decrease.

But why do busses need to stop on the side of the highway? Are we joining yarn mid-row? I don't know how to asks the question to get an answer that makes sense in the context of what I've seen.

Snow.
Changes people
Haters heat up, tempers flaring, so hot you'd think they could melt the offending freeze with their gaze of rage.
Lovers embrace it, hunker down, soup pots simmering, snowmen and sleds surrounded by laughter, smiles and mismatched woolens.
Middle ground, if it exists, is slim and tenuous.
"We need the cold and snow to appreciate the beauty of spring," I'll chirp, Pollyanna in a parka.

Snow gives the landscape makeover - highlights the contours, brings out the ridges and things normally blended together or hidden in foliage, changes disorienting at turnpike speed, new as it is, trying to reconcile what is NOW with what was last week.
Hillsides of barren trees become pale skin under thinning hair, The World's ugliest dog in landscape form.
Cheekbones teased out of an ordinary face, A drag queen's first layer before the pastels of spring come into play, the palette saved for special occasions. What is Appalachia's drag name?

But lines blur. "Whose lane is this anyway?" is not as funny as a similarly-named TV show. The show I drove down to see was canceled before my departure, the musician notifying me personally, hours before it was made public, wanting to spare me the expense of the trip. The hotels paid for, I forge ahead, with a tease of an alternate idea. Their Plan B was canceled by the next morning, three-fourths of the band not willing to take the risks of doing battle with Mother Nature. The Triangle itself all but shut down, save one show I didn't know about until just hours prior. Do I risk it? I don't know the laws. Does "winter storm warning" in NC translate to "level 3 snow emergency" in OH and all that comes with it? I know what I'm doing out there; does anyone else?

I do, and the risk is worth the reward. I'm greeted as he glides to the stage, a side hug and a kiss on the cheek, rough stubble lingering, mine alone to enjoy. He talked to me mid show, from the stage, shouting out our shared home state, later asking me to confirm the oft-missed Canal Street Tavern. Our little inside joke. Lifelong friends on our second meeting. His post-show glow and sincere thanks that I made the effort. The moderately well-attended show should have been a sell-out. this time it's Mother Nature that is the woman who ruins everything.

Carefully penguin-walking my way back to the parking deck, the pt pt pt of the icy pellets as they hit earth, still warm enough to remain slush on the ground. Echoes of laughter and flashes of light as college kids do battle with snow balls and cell phones, trying to capture the moment for the 'tok, or 'gram, or maybe mom and dad back home. I chuckle with them under my hoodie, hoping they remember to save a copy to their brain, to recall years later. Google Maps directs me through campus, down residential streets and past buildings I've heard of but not yet viewed. Students are out en masse, just another Friday night at UNC Chapel Hill. Rain with teeth can't stop the promise of a good time. A collection of snow-people chill on the ledge of a historic building/tower that I cannot find in the full, lush summer street view of Google Maps.

By Ohio standards, the highway is fine: slushy, sloppy, but lines are mostly clear, and other drivers match my reduced-for-survival speed of 40 MPH. Rover's new Coopers serve us well. The plows aren't out, but there's no point in plowing until it stops. By the next morning, the only signs of the storm are the plow-deposited piles, and the frustrated hotel guests trying to re-book canceled flights. Did I dream it all? my still-damp hoodie confirms my remembered weather, and the two different event posters satisfy my other questions. By the time I venture forth post nap, well past noon, my pink plaid flannel is all I require.

The blue sky of the drive home belies the prior storms, until Greensboro and points northwest show accumulation retained, the power of elevation. The sun spotlights the frozen tears streaming through the rocky borders of my path. Ramrod straight, as gravity demands, their sparkle and spikes adding yet another facet to the face of the path I thought I knew so well. The icicle tears spring forth from hidden places; what else am I not seeing? I shudder, collect myself, and sing louder, drowning out the voices of all that must be faced when i return to what still counts as home.

Two recent concerts, on two different weekends, were held at Kings in Raleigh, NC. The website talks a lot about the old space, and how the new space is split up for different purposes (Kings is the music venue, Neptunes is the hip bar). I couldn't really get a read for how this was all set up, so I sent a message to the venue to ask. They short answer: They're not.

While you enter the building at street level, you have to either go downstairs to Neptunes, or go upstairs to Kings. It's a good 20-something stairs to get up there -- even the bands have to haul their gear up stairs. Once you get in the place, moving about it easy, and there is some seating, but anyone non-ambulatory will not get to enjoy a show in this venue. *sad trombone*

Accessibility aside, the venue is pretty decent. Seating along the perimeter in the form of benches and some tall tables with stools, some seats at the bar, and a nice open area in the middle. Bonus: Waldorf and Statler are on the far wall, judging all. The stage is a good size for the room, and the acoustics are nice. Maybe Waldorf and Statler help dampen the reverb in an otherwise boxy room?

Getting to Kings was tricky, as Raleigh is a happenin' kinda town, and this venue is just a few blocks from the Red Hat Amphitheater, which on my first visit, had a major event going. I chose to take Lyft for that event, running me about $25 each way from about 7 miles out. Street parking is free, but getting a spot is tricky. I played the Crip card on my second visit, and only had to walk two blocks to the venue, having parked in the handicap spot on the opposite corner of that block. There was all manner of warnings online about the parking decks, so I chose to avoid.

The staff were all very kind, and I thanked them for the info, as it helped me prepare, and we had a brief chat about the challenges of adapting older buildings for modern use.

Will I see a show at this venue again? Yes, if the band ranks high enough, and cannot be found at another, more accessible venue.

What do you get when you combine a book store, a cafe, a yarn shop, and a community space offering live music and author events? Heaven. You also get the Wake Forest Listening Room (WFLR).

Page 158 Books is modest-sized independent book shop in the middle of a strip mall in Wake Forest, NC. Ample parking, friendly staff, nice selection, and more progressive than Wake Forest is known to be. The shop has two storefronts/doors, and the books spill over into the right side, but during the week most of the space is taken up by the Lemon Tree Cafe. Up front on this side, taking up about 12x12' is the Knotty Sheep, with yarn and books and notions (Blue Q bags!). There's a cozy seating area by the front window, and when it's not set up for live music, it's a lovely, eclectic space.

Once, sometimes twice a week, the cafe seating gets moved out, a stage and backdrop go in, and an assortment of chairs fill the space. Then it's lights, amps, music! The acoustics are great considering the boxy interior - I imagine all those books help dampen the echo. They can comfortably cram in about 210 people without angering the fire marshall, but not every show is that large. The cafe serves wine, and shareable snacks can be ordered in advance for pickup, but I've yet to see anyone take advantage of that.

In terms of accessibility, it's a pretty good setup. ample parking in a strip-mall lot, curb cuts to get up to the sidewalk, and the usual doorway transitions, although someone would need to hold the door for you. a sold-out show might be hard to navigate in a power chair, but everyone there is extremely friendly and accommodating, and I am pretty sure they'd offer help before you could ask. There are two gender-neutral restrooms, and the one I've used was large enough to maneuver in easily.

10/10, will rock again.