Just Cyd.

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.

John Gillespie and Alexa Rose/Rebecca Jones, Wake Forest Listening Room, Wake Forest, NC

One of the things I admire about John Gillespie is that he just -IS-. I walked into the Listening Room side of Page 158 Books as John was doing sound check, and he greeted me mid-song and then kept going - He had business to attend to, but by golly he was going to acknowledge his friend from three states away had just shown up for him. The black tee and blue jeans he was wearing were what he wore on stage later. No glitz, no glam, no fuss. Well, he might agonize a bit over which black tee to wear, if he feels like making some sort of statement. Tonight was a plain black tee, one fewer distraction from his performance. Alexa and Rebecca were milling about, setting up her merch, Alexa in denim overalls and a sweater, Rebecca in a buffalo plaid shirt and jeans.

An hour or so later, after a disappointing Mac & Cheese dinner at Strike and Barrel a few doors down, I was back in the Listening Room, greeting the manager, Mike Allen, and a growing number of friends I've made since I began this journey nearly two years ago, while grabbing a drink from the bar and claiming the chair closest to the exit. People continued to stream in and mill about, until Mike bounded up on stage to give his quick announcements (bar, restrooms, merch, please don't talk), and indicate the show would begin soon.


John stepped on stage without much fanfare, but that's where the ordinary ended. His first song out of the gate, "Tell You," took off like a shot. I've never seen him so bold, or heard him project so much of himself into his work. He opens his Live At The Eno House album with the same song, but with a bit more restraint. He cranked this up to 11, and never looked back. Stage banter while tuning is a thing ("we tune because we care"), but this, too, was pure professionalism without being smarmy and scripted, singing the praises of our hosts, the headliner, what had passed and what was to come. In a brief moment of humanity, he paused to take photos of the crowd, surprised that he couldn't fit the entire audience into a single frame. Ricky Garni, the photographer for the evening, brought his wide angle up on stage to help out. (those photos are here!). I truly believe John was feeding on the energy of so many friends there to see him, and that professional high that comes from sharing the stage with an idol. John bursting into tears at the end of his final song was a surprise, but not. He is far too genuine and wholly grateful to be anything but overcome with emotion at the outpouring of love shown to him. The day he shrugs something like that off is the day I walk away from him.

John's Set List:

Tell you
Shine
Radiant
Lies
Alive
I Died Too
A Mark
Not Now
Swimming Test

After a break to re-arrange equipment, Alexa took the stage, a false start at first, having left her tuner elsewhere. She made jokes, citing the lack of recent shows. Never mind that she forgot the lyrics to her first song partway through. "We still love you!" I shouted from the back row, hopefully speaking for all assembled that her showing her humanity made her all the more endearing. The Anti-Diva in a calico prairie dress.

When she opened her mouth, what came out was part sound, part emotion, but all bliss. Ethereal, heavenly, songbird-like; those are the words I can pull forth to describe her voice. Clarity like a bell ringing out, effortless. The word "sound" is not nearly polished enough to do justice to an acoustic guitar - truly acoustic in that she played and sang into a single mic - backed alternately by pedal steel or banjo, also picked up by the same single mic. Voice and strings blended so beautifully, I found myself swimming in the sound. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The intimacy contradicted the 100 people in attendance, the speakers overhead and the brand new sound system creating a room in which Alexa and Rebecca were playing to each person individually, until applause brought us back to the reality of a shared experience. The rapt attention of the near-capacity room is a wonder to behold. Mike told us to be quite, and by golly we were.


If the sounds swirling around were magical, then the words carried on those sounds were something beyond that. I find myself lacking the vocabulary required to describe her words. Maybe I should just let her tell you herself.

Human

I want to go downtown and look some stranger in the face
I want to be myself again, remember why I love this place
I want to wake up now and squeeze the living from the day
I want to believe truly everything's gonna be okay
But I'm only human now
I'm as vacant as a drum
Won't you tell me I'm allowed
to be overcome
I wanna feel clean, shiny and new
I wanna wash myself away til I'm just a mirror before you
I want the glossy sheen of a new leaf in the rain
I want a solid color that the seasons never change
But I'm only human now
I'm as vacant as a drum
Won't you tell me I'm allowed
To be overcome
I'm moving through your love like a paddle in the sand
Pretending that it's water cause I want to be an easy woman
I want to take a swim in some frozen channel to
Remember I was dying when I washed up gratefully over you
But I'm only human now
I'm as vacant as a drum
Won't you tell me I'm allowed
To be overcome
I want to make it clear you don't have to speak up to be heard
Sometimes it's even louder to find some quiet in a word
Don't let em change you, kid, that's what somebody said to me
But you know it gets harder to hear myself over all this humanity
I'm only human now
I'm as vacant as a drum
Won't you tell me I'm allowed
To be overcome
To be overcome
To be overcome

Another heartbreaker of a song was Tried and True

I scribbled down these words as she sang,but could not find the full lyrics online

Storms:
I can't pull the weeds from your head, I have to tend my own garden bed

There are storms in you I never saw. I don't need you to tear out all your walls, but I could use a window.

Throughout their performances, John and Alexa were just two old friends building each other up without a hint of irony or veiled jealousy. The love flowing through that room was the warm hug we all needed that cold Friday night.

-----
Trip #4, Concert #6

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.

-----

2025: Trip #3, Concert #5

Does the word "pal" have a different meaning based on age of the user? Where they were born & raised? Man to woman? He's called me that a couple times now. I'm trying so hard to NOT read more into it, reminding myself he's a Girl Dad, and I'm probably just another young woman for him to fret over, offering me a place to crash when roads are bad, lest he worry for my safety. But I'm not young - there can't be more than 10 years between us. Sure he played CBGB before i could drive, but who says he was old enough to drive either?

He talks of 2016, when his life and marriage fell apart amidst the shared sorrow of losing Bowie (and Rickman, and many more), and he had to keep it together for his daughter, peeling back the first of many layers. I always picture her as a young child. 2016 would make her a teen - 15 or 16, if my math is right. It's one thing to be strong for a toddler, a single-digits aged kid who will believe what you tell them, the Why It Must Be This Way, and the small lies that ease the Big Truth. It's another entirely to stare down an almost-adult and lead with denial because the mere prospect of existing in the truth is just too painful to bear. I don't know the circumstances. He is not one to open up even about easy things. Slowly, though, the layers are loosening. Some photos show him with a left-hand-third-finger adornment. It wasn't that long ago, and yet it was a lifetime ago.

Do i continue to throw myself and my money at him to buy his favor? Will it convince him to let me tell his story? Am i ready for all that entails, or is this just another manic fever dream that will break in the harsh light of my Ohio life? In NC, anything seems possible. Back here, "home," I'm less certain.

Eventually, it came: the request for my phone number, the follow up to a promise in an earlier message. a file sent, but not usable. iPhone to Android incompatibility, we decided, and I try an app to beat the file into compliance. No dice. Still eager to send me something, but insisting it's no big deal, "may email it sometime" comes across the chat and my inbox pings before i can digest the words. another layer revealed, in mp3 format.

I'm not used to being the one whose approval is sought. The follow-up. Follow-through? lobbing compliments like automatic fire, hoping quantity will blind him to the quality, deeply lacking, his Other of (Un)certain Significance able to out-articulate me in her sleep, razor-sharp wit cutting me down to size.

A firehose full of my sincerest thanks follows as well. For sharing. For trusting. For taking me at my word when I say I won't share with anyone until he gives the OK. The power I hold, but will not wield. I am on unfamiliar ground and sinking fast.

Always wanting to do right, the suggestion of NDAs pop up, but then dies on my tongue (fingertips?), worried I'm taking it all wrong. But if he does concede to me as biographer, NDAs will be inevitable. good thing I know an attorney in NC.

Today, an unanticipated message on a different platform: the upcoming show announcement as posted by the venue. no note, just his sharp visage in high contrast and a link to the post. I can't stop smiling at the thoughtfulness. my giddy reply confirms ticket bought and hotel booked, along with the unasked for details of where I'll be the night before. Rambling. A thousand words, easy, for the one picture. I'm collecting concerts like Pokemon now.

I've got the basic Wikipedia format typed out, and am filling in what little bits I can - band names, albums - and realize how little I truly know. Google won't tell me what I truly desire. Notes from chats with him and others, plus little gems and photos from Facebook clutter the document. I have until Valentine's Day to mold this into something that will make him proud, to encourage the full revelation of what's inside.

One week ago I got to cross a biggie on my mental checklist: MEET MARK KANO AND HEAR HIM PERFORM IN PERSON.

Ok, technically those could be two different things, but really, I've been able to meet everyone I've seen perform, so we'll count it as one.

The Venue: The Corner is this community space on the NC State campus. It's a pretty cool setup, but not the most accessible. There is an incline to get into the place, and it's all grass and such, so footing can be sketchy. A couple of the shipping containers have seating in them for dining, and That Station had probably 50ish folding chairs set up, while others brought camp chairs.

Mark and Mike at soundcheck, via Facebook

I've seen Mike a couple times before, and while I didn't tell him I was coming, as soon as he saw me across the grounds, he recognized me and brought Mark over to meet me. if that isn't an ego boost, I don't know what is! I'm sure it helped that I had on my bright green Dunleath Porchfest tee. We said hello, and Mike introduced me to Mark, and gave him the quick-and-dirty on my road-tripping and when/where we met. Mark was suitably impressed, and then immediately apologized for his voice - he'd been sick that week, and was struggling with some of the notes. They were, in fact, adjusting their set list to accommodate Mark's limitations, and he hoped I wouldn't be too disappointed.

The program was called Artist Notes, and they get the artists to play music and talk about their careers. They opened with Flat Tire, one of Atheneaum's hits, and played a nice mix of band and solo stuff while they talked about how they met (Mike was at the show where Mark and Nic Brown crashed John Gillespie's set), the differences between having a major record label and releasing stuff independently, what advice they'd give their kids, and what the future has in store.

It was about an hour total, and when they were done, Mark turned to Mike and said "I think we've got a couple more in us, what would you like to hear?" and the request-fest began. They played Comfort, Haircut, and the Collapsis song Wonderland, which I didn't recognize because I haven't really listened to that particular album.

After the show, I meandered my way up to the stage, and first talked to the DJ. I suspect he'd have talked to me more, but he was also chasing his 3yr old. Got to spend some time talking to Mike, and when I mentioned gifting someone the Collected Stories of Amy Hempel, his face lit up. He's got a copy of Tumble Home on his desk at work. so we talked a bunch about her and books in general, and it was so cool to make that sort of connection. I eventually got to say goodbye to Mark, who gave me a quick hug and thanked me for making the trek. As we started heading to our cars, I mentioned that John Gillespie speaks highly of him, and Mark, in turn, started raving about what a fantastic songwriter and human that John is, and NC Musicians' Lovefest added another chapter.

I didn't get pictures with either of the guys, and that's OK. It's really not my vibe, to get selfies and autographs and such. I'd much prefer chatting and nerding out over whatever it is we have in common, and make that personal connection. I got a couple pics of them from afar, took video of some of the songs. that, and the memories, are all I really need.

The year of road trips continues, with two back-to-back trips to Buffalo so far this month, and a third coming up this weekend.

The first two trips were to deliver Dan to Buffalo so he could participate in the Erie Canal Ride, and then the following week to fetch him and bring him home.

Did I need to do it? no.
Did I want to do it? sure.
I got to spend some time with his family, including a big family dinner the night before the ride (in which custody of Violet was transferred to her Uncle Doug the Science Dude), and again the next day at his twin nephews' surprise birthday party. The following weekend I got to be the hero by providing Paula's Donuts for the assembled crew, and then arrived on time to collect Dan from the [correct] pickup point.

this coming weekend, we're heading up for his parents' 60th wedding anniversary dinner celebration. I think most of the grandkids will be there, with only Dylan missing out, as he's in Atlanta. and by grandkids, I mean the now-all-adults younger generation. And with this being the 60th anniversary, that means Dan turns 60 next year. how???

He asked me about this a month or two ago, the first time I've been invited to a family thing. I thought it was something mentioned in passing on their weekly phone call. Nope. His mom hand-wrote invitation and mailed them, and while the envelope was addressed to him only (fitting, as I don't live there), the note inside was addressed to us both, as if we were a couple. Judy was quite miffed when she realized he'd never showed me the invite! So the last time I was over there, I made him show me. He got all flustered over it. for some reason that amuses me.

Anyone who knows me will know that I'm not the good energy, love-and-light kind of woo girl. If that's your thing, great, but I'm far too skeptical and snarky for that. But then I met John. ( Read more... )

Potholes and daffodils were in full bloom in TN last weekend as I made my way home from Asheville. The daffodils look more like stealth plantings, rather than the beautifully curated highway fields of NC; it was almost pathetic to see a small clump of yellow and green in this giant swath of brown dead grass between asphalt. I'm also starting to recognize the state I'm in by its highways. Eastern NC is flat, but twisty-turny as it follows a river; KY is very up-and-down hilly, with some twists and turns; TN is a good mix of of the two, and not too much of either, but definitely more of both than Ohio. WV, which I will take on again Wednesday night, is more of a full-contact sport, and I have to remember that the second I cross the Ohio River in WV I need to slow the eff down because holy crap we're not in straight-flat Ohio anymore. VA starts to stretch out the aggressiveness of WV a bit, and bless them for their slow truck lanes on those long uphills. I could really do without that one descent on the way home, downhill and then into a left turn with nothing but dead drop off to the right. freaks me out every single time. I recognize it coming, now, and I can't decide if I should be proud that I know these landmarks in this 1000 mile round trip?

Turns out that (1) it's far more efficient to return the way I came and (2) the trip is downright pleasant when the world isn't on fire and I'm counting seconds until showtime. who knew? First leg of the trip down was rainy, and rain + night = unpleasant driving, but getting on the road earlier, and being closer to spring meant I had far more daylight than my last trip straight south. I need to remember that the world is AGGRESSIVELY THREE DIMENTIONAL once you cross the Ohio River, and make good use of Google Street View when booking hotels. I nearly choked when I saw the ascent required to get to Friday night's accommodations, and then took this photo just before leaving.

Asheville, as I was quickly reminded, is also aggressively three-dimensional. I try to study maps before I go, to get a vague lay of the land, major roads, etc, but the way things twist and turn and follow the topography, I'm hopelessly lost within seconds. Street parking in a hilly neighborhood was not my idea of a good time, to hiring a Lyft to the show was worth the money. I made my way to downtown, and because it was upper 60s and sunny, everyone and their dog was out and about and it was just too people-y for me. As much as I wanted to see the area around Citizen Vinyl in daylight, I also really wanted a nap. and food. I found my hotel, and then hit up Bojangles for Battle of the Biscuits, Part 3. At 2:45 I got checked into my hotel, unloaded, and collapsed onto the bed. I required 7 of the 8 pillow just to get comfy. Why do these fancypants pillows deflate so easily?

While resting prior to the show, i heard my phone go off a couple times, and I checked it -- my cousin Terri was also in Asheville, and did I have plans for breakfast? holy crap! I don't think we could've planned this if we tried! OK, she's actually my second cousin, as her grandfather and my father are [half] brothers 22 years apart. We are pretty sure the last time we saw each other was at my brother's HS graduation party. I know we've tried to connect a few times when she's been back in Ohio, but now that her mom isn't here, she really doesn't make it back. it was fantastic to see her and catch up, and to meet her husband, and hang with someone so much like me. she may not be a Bogner by blood, but by golly, she's definitely one of us. maybe all the good-crazy is from Grandma's side?

I spent more time than I'll ever admit being extremely juvenile about not getting to talk to Darren. It's ridiculous, I know, but my brain has decided we are equally invested in each other somehow, and him not having time for me set my little squirrel brain all a-tizzy. Now that I've had time to reflect on it, I realize what a ridiculous brat I'm being, especially given he was doing two shows, two nights in a row. It looks like he's quite possibly touring with CCL as their drummer which means yay paycheck for him, but who knows when I'll see him play his own stuff again. Those shows overlap with when I'll be back in the Triangle in April, so I know I won't see him at Flyleaf. Maybe I'll see him at WFLR, or the Eno House this Thursday?

Phases of a Road Trip:
1. Anticipation 1.0 - "Yay! We get to take a trip! Oh, the possibilities!"
2. Preparation - "How far can we realistically drive after work? How much is too much for a hotel relative to comfort and safety?"
3. Realization - "oof. This is getting expensive. How many vacation days will this use?"
4. Organization - "OK, I'll be gone two nights, how many tshirts do I need to bring? And which one will I wear to the show?"
5. Anticipation 2.0 - "Yay! We're leaving on our trip!"
6. Realization 2.0 - "This weather sucks. How have I only gone 5 miles in 45 minutes? I forgot how much I hate driving at night/in the rain/in unfamiliar areas"
7. Resignation - "well, we've come this far, and everything is paid for. Might as well keep going."
8. Exhaustion - "whose stupid idea was it to drive this far after work? 5.5 hours in the car was too much."
9. Realization 3.0 - "hey! We're more than halfway there! And Tudor's Biscuit World is right across the street! Score!"
10. Imagination - "Zach lives in Hillsborough, I wonder if he'll be at the show? And maybe Darren? They're both mutuall friends of Nic Brown ... could happen? Wouldn't that be cool to see one or both of them?!"
11. Procrastination - "it's 3:21pm, I should really get back on the road to my airbnb so I can have a much-needed lie-down before the show."

I can't just call this concert travel this year, since two of the events already booked are book-related (har har).

First up is Mike Garrigan opening for Nikki Meets the Hibachi at the Eno Artists Den in Hillsborough, NC. Found an airbnb near the venue, too! Currently on my second listen-through of Semigloss Albatross, and I'm kicking myself for not diving deeper into his stuff earlier. I'll be buying & downloading that album shortly. It's all melancholy piano/vocals and I am just blown away by the emotion in the simplicity.

[And no, I will not be going to Darren's show on Jan 19th in Carrboro. Something about it doesn't sit right (college town, limited parking, not thrilled with the headliner), and let's face it, I'm a bit salty that I can't find ticket info online. The venue's site has nothing, the headliner's got not much, and Darren's site hasn't been updated in over a month (the 10/17 Greensboro show is still listed. Dude, you NEED me!). Hoping like hell he's got other shows planned. I'm sure he will. He better!]

Events #2 & #3 are both for the release of Tom Maxwell's A Really Strange and Wonderful Time, his book about the Chapel Hill music scene 1989-1999. First I'll be going to the event at Flyleaf Books, and then two weeks later I'll be attending the event at the Wake Forest Listening Room. That's actually the first thing I booked! Pretty much as soon as it was announced back in November I got my ticket, because by golly I do NOT want to miss this! And having met Mike, the owner of WFLR, I wanted to check the place out now that he's been able to reopen it.

The Flyleaf event is also the day after Darren's birthday. Not going to pester him, but I'll be in his neighborhood and love to buy him a drink or something, but he doesn't respond to messages, so *shrug*. Trying to decide if/how to let Zach know I'll be in his town at the end of the month, but again, I don't want to be That Girl, the overly-excited groupie that won't leave them alone. I'm driving halfway down after work, staying in WV/VA, and staying the one night in NC, so it's not like I can spend another day in town - I don't have the money for a 3rd night. I'm pushing it as it is. But it'd be great to see one or both of them outside of the pre/post show busyness. I'd really like to resume my conversation with Darren on writing, and with Zach on how on earth he got from WI to NC.