SHARING THE SHOWS
My brother Jeremy and I both have The Simpsons embedded into our respective personalities. Since I moved away from New York, we’ve bonded by texting dialogue exchanges from that show to each other. Here’s one starting a caricature of Bill Cosby (I know, I know).
I’ve been on somewhat of a jazz kick ever since I rewatched Whiplash on Netflix. Such a dynamic performance from J.K. Simmons, and that music! So I’ve given listens to the likes of Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and the like. If you haven’t watched the flick, I highly recommend. When my friend Tonja sent me the text offering me a free ticket to Nicholas Payton at Blues Alley, I was ecstatic. And there was some synchronicity there as well (yay, Police!). In a class discussion of Crip Camp (I also recommend), a student talked about a friend of his who had a disability; thanks to the support he received, he’s been able to thrive as an accomplished pianist and even played at Blues Alley. I grabbed that opportunity! I would describe the DC Metro as good, but not great. One thing that keeps it out of the latter category is that it doesn’t go through Georgetown. It’s such a popular neighborhood that it feels stupid that the Metro wouldn’t stop there. I did walk to a nearby bus stop to catch the 33. And, of course, I had to text Drew with our usual “Waiting for the Bus” joke. I met up with Tanja and her friend/roommate Alicia, who were literally in front of the club door. I had to get some pictures of this brick, bohemian-like building before going inside. While we waited for the early show to attend, we had a deep discussion about singlehood. I just can’t talk about my work without hearing different perspectives on the topic. Alicia had an awesome insight that the population of singles living alone is higher in socialist countries and might even be cheaper (another reason to move out of the US should our political climate continue to redden). We were seated near the stage. It’s super-hip inside, if tiny (our tables were bunched together). The conversation shifted to even deeper topics, like Pizza: New York vs. Chicago vs. Detroit (ummmmm, New York, duhhhh, it folds!). And Philly cheesesteaks: provolone vs. Cheez Whiz vs. American (I’ve tried them all; I prefer American). And I’ll have to add a Wawa cheesesteak to my dining list! Before the show started, the emcee stated the rules, “Photos are cool. Videos are not. Keep conversations to a minimum.” I would have loved for that chatty couple at last week’s Eggy show to have heard that, so I was quite appreciative. I hadn’t heard of Nicholas Payton before Tanja’s text, so I wouldn’t have been able to identify any of his songs. But the crowd did sing “Jazz is a four-letter word.” And Payton identified a Wayne Shorter song called “Fall.” What a show! And I’ve never seen anyone simultaneously play keyboards and trumpet. This crowd was more sophisticated than the crunchy, patchouli- and marijuana-infused concertgoers with whom I interact. Lots of sweaters and Thinkeresque poses at Blues Alley. While Eggy counted as my March show, I made a new rule: it doesn’t count if I’m invited with a free ticket. And if it’s with a Childfree by Choice ally, I can consider that in service to that larger movement. Tanja and I met at a Childfree dinner I organized, and I’ll give a shout-out to her for her upcoming move to Germany to become a translator. We can do this stuff as Childfree folks! I also needed some music therapy - stat. In my big news, I went under contract for a home (more in a future post; at this point, I don’t want to jinx it by discussing too much of the details). Homebuying is stressful and has had me on a rollercoaster of emotions; fortunately, I have an amazing realtor, Jason Koitz, who’s helped me navigate that journey. But to be able to enjoy some music was a nice breather. And the lack of chatter was a nice plus. Take note, jamheads!
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So you know how sometimes you’re all psyched up to see a band and there’s an opener and the opener’s even better than the main act? Well, I do. I know that very well. New Year’s Eve 2022 was the first time I had gone out on New Year’s since before lockdown. I had ridden an Amtrak from DC to Philadelphia to see moe. with Shana. A group named Eggy opened for them, and I remember being more enthralled with Eggy, whom I’d never heard before. So when I heard they were coming down to DC, I had to make them my March show. I had to rally for this one. The night before had been a late one; I’d gone up to Baltimore to meet with my friends Kevin and Alicia to attend a discussion on Rhaina Cohen’s The Other Significant Others: Reimagining Life with Friendship at the Center, which posits the argument that friendship be given the same status as romance, an argument I wholeheartedly agree with. The talk and company were both amazing, but Thursday was rough. I did manage to give a dynamic lesson to my students, but the rest of the day consisted of recuperation and repeating the mantra, “Gotta rally” so I could psyche up for the show. After pounding a Diet Coke and getting to the venue, I was back in action. A quick chat with a dude named Ryan from Bethesda got me fully charged, and he assured me the Disco Biscuits, a band I had seen a few times when I was younger but just can’t get into now, had improved. I did jog to a recent show of theirs, so I suppose I can open my mind up. Much like with New Potato Caboose and Circles Around the Sun, I don’t know Eggy’s repertoire. But they do a lot of classic rock covers ranging from Pink Floyd to Kiss to ELTON JOHN (I see “Benny and the Jets” in a new light). This evening, they did “Hush,” my favorite Deep Purple cut. And their jams were amazing. On my way out, a dude grabbed me and said, “Bro, I gotta tell you you were my spirit animal tonight!” I was so touched I had the perfectly cogent reply of “Oh, wow, ummm, thanks man.” Looking back, I should’ve gotten his name, but I was hustling to make my two-line Metro trip. Oh well, next time. That was the best compliment I’ve ever received at a show. So what made me his spirit animal for the night? Well, I danced with intensity. And dancing can be a powerful tool to push “talkers” away. After one Phish show, during that long walk down Madison Square Garden’s staircase, a woman with whom I talked handed me a card that said, “Please stop talking” and encouraged me to give it to people who insist of having conversations at the show. Talkers annoy me. A couple behind me just kept going back-and-forth. I didn’t have the card to hand them, so I figured if I can dance intensely, I mean, like “in their faces” intensely, they’d move. I did accidentally, lightly bump into the dude who spilled a drop of his beer on me, but hey, that’s a small price to pay. And they did move. “Gotta dance ‘em out,” was the advice I received from a concertgoer on how to get people out of your space at a small, general admission venue. A New York attitude for sure. Seriously, people, do your yapping on the patio. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Anywho, I made a point of cooking up some scrambled eggs post-show. I mean, I was seeing a band called Eggy. It wouldn’t make sense NOT to have some eggs afterwards, right? So now that I’ve graced you with food porn, here are some more pics from the Atlantis’s rooftop. As Ben said, “It’s like going back to 1985.” I would’ve loved to patronize the old 9:30 Club. And that missing parking meter is incredible. “Some drunk must’ve hit it after a show,” I heard someone say. Sounds about right.
And that’s why I Metro to shows. I love DC! I grew up in the 1990s, otherwise known as the golden era of The Simpsons. Every Thursday night at 7:59 (and then, eventually, Sunday), I’d rush to the television, eager to catch the latest antics of “dumbass Homer.” And, of course, other characters would do their thing. Bart would cause mischief. Lisa would be involved in some sort of cause, whether it be speaking out against a sexist rhetoric-spouting doll or trying to convert everyone to her newfound vegetarianism. And Marge would grumble, “Mmmmmmm…”
But this bit’s shaped a good chunk of my personality. I first saw it at the age of fifteen and pretty much laughed for the same length of time Mr. Burns did. I’ve found laughter to be a healthy therapeutic tool. As I began my career as a professor, I learned that a sizable portion of my job involved helping students manage the stress that came from the projects I assigned. Ironically, said projects, in combination with all their other work, created stress for them that needed to be managed. And I’d have to work to keep their stress from becoming mine. As an empath, I am prone to taking on others’ issues. I’d also became a fan of the Southern rock-style jam band Widespread Panic after having seen them at Richmond, Virginia’s iconic Altria Theater, and a few months later, at Raleigh, North Carolina’s Walnut Creek Pavilion. At one point, I connected that student panic was widespread throughout campus. So there would be Widespread Panic on campus. I posted this joke on Facebook and made I was laughing for ten minutes at said joke, much like Mr. Burns. Eventually, I did this four times per semester: 1) the Add/Drop period at the beginning of the semester; 2) Midterm Week; 3) the week leading up to the last day students could withdraw from classes with a “W” as opposed to an “F”; and 4) Finals Week. It got a lot of “laughing” reactions, as well as a small fanbase of people who looked forward to my Burnsesque antics. For example, why did the mushroom go to the party? Because he was a fungi! Hahahahhahaha…hahahhahahahah (10 minutes later) hahahahhahahahah…hahahahhahahahah (picks self up from floor, wipes tear from eye). So the point of this little ditty is to share ways I cope with stress. It’s important to have interests outside of one’s work, no matter how much you love it. And in academe, we tend to live and breathe our work (myself included). However, my love of The Simpsons and Widespread Panic helps keep me balanced. Once in a while, I’ll pop one of my DVDs in and laugh myself silly. And I’ll have a Widespread Panic show playing on my laptop while I’m writing reports, researching, or planning lessons. So how do you laugh for ten minutes? Well, it’s easy. But you don’t have to. You don’t even have to like Widespread Panic (although I don’t understand why you wouldn’t; I mean how could you not love their version of “Cream Puff War?”). But do find that thing that keeps you from taking work, and life, too seriously. |
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April 2024
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