Fastball, Vertical Horizon, and Everclear

This is my friend Robyn. She's from the 90s, like me. 

I mean. We were both born in the 80s, but that really doesn't make a person an 80s child. We were 80s babies, but we became teenagers in the era of tattoo chokers and sunflowers and skinny eyebrows and bleached tips and over-sized plaid shirts and little, tiny, colour-tinted sunglasses. It was a time of questionable fashion choices, terrible internet connections and fantastic music. 

When I found out Vertical Horizon, Everclear, and Fastball were all coming to Regina, I asked Robyn if she remembered any of them. In response, she showed me her grade 9 yearbook: Robyn Barbour, Favourite Band: Vertical Horizon. 

So obviously, she came with me to the show last night. I wore plaid, and a choker necklace, and purple lipstick, which was already gone by the time we took our first picture. I'm terrible at wearing lipstick.

But, guys, I felt so young. I mean, I know I'm young now, but I felt so young. Extra young. When Fastball played "The Way," I was 11 again, cruising down the highway in the back of my best friend's mom's minivan, singing at the top of my lungs and feeling so happy about my new platform shoes, which I felt certain made me look just a little bit more like a Spice Girl.

But when I opened my eyes and looked at Fastball...I felt older. Extra older. Because Fastball is older. (At first, when I typed that, I thought, Should I type that? Is that rude? What if Fastball reads this? But I mean, I think Fastball knows they've gotten older.) 

They still put on a good show though.

Vertical Horizon played next, and killed it. Nostalgia City. It was a different kind of nostalgia than the Jimmy Eat World variety, though. Where Jimmy Eat World reminds me of exceptional moments from my teen/young adult years, Vertical Horizon reminds me of all the ordinary ones, because I mostly heard them on the radio during ordinary moments. Riding the school bus. Shopping for a new vacuum cleaner with my mom. Walking through the mall with my friends. 

Here are too many pictures of Vertical Horizon:

And then Everclear. So great. The guitarist gave me a pick. And then he saw me give it to a screaming, crying girl standing beside me. She screamed a swear word in my face. She was so happy. He gave me another pick. He held his guitar down in front of me so I could strum it, but it was kind of awkward because I was holding my phone and had sweaty hands and have never strummed a guitar from that angle before. And then he wanted to shake hands even though I don't like shaking hands, especially with sweaty people. He was really sweaty. But I was really sweaty too. I guess we're friends. 

Their set was really great, especially "Wonderful," which was dedicated to the memory of Chris Cornell.

And after the show, as we were leaving, we heard someone yelling at us. It was the guitarist from Vertical Horizon who had come to say hi and give Robyn a pick. He offered me a dirty earplug, but I declined, and tried not to take it as an insult. We took a picture together and discussed geography and parenthood. Then me and Robyn went home, happy about our old nostalgia and new friends. 

I miss the 90s.

The End.

News, Kind Of

Big, important moments in life are so weird, because they come right after and right before little, normal ones. Like, I remember the night I had Sullivan. It was 12 something in the morning and I woke up and, suddenly, I was in labour. I thought, how funny. I wasn't in labour, and now I really, really, really am. Just all of a sudden. I told someone afterward that I'd felt surprised to be in labour, and she said, "Well, did you expect to stay pregnant forever?" I guess I kind of did, in a way.

I had a moment like that last week—I mean, not like that. Not like being in labour. I just mean a moment that was important and surprising and surreal even though I knew in the back of my mind that it was a moment that could happen.

I was in bed; it was early in the morning. Barclay was on his way out the door for an early shift at work and Sullivan was stirring in his room. I grabbed my phone off the headboard and scrolled through my email inbox (a super effective way to wake up, bless that blue light), and saw the email. It was from a literary agent in New York who had my manuscript, and she said she loved it, and she said she wanted to talk on the phone.

And then I was airborne. Like a cartoon cat whose tail had been stepped on. Straight up in the air, hair splaying out in all directions. Eyes like dinner plates.

And there was a siren. Am ambulance? A fire truck? Police?

No, just me. I was screaming.

"BARCLAY, WAAAAAAAIT!"

I flew to him, through the air and through the walls I guess, because I don't remember turning corners or stepping on toys. I handed him my phone and said, "Does this say these words? Because I am still sleeping."

He was, as Barclay always is, so much more composed than me. He smiled, widely but calmly and sincerely, and said, "Wow. That's really great. I'm not surprised at all." Bless his heart.

I spoke with the agent the next morning, and accepted her offer of representation yesterday. So, as of then, I'm represented by the incredible Victoria Cappello at The Bent Agency. I won't blog about the submission process here, but I thought it would be fun to let you know it's happening, since the people who have read here over the years have played a big part in me writing anything at all—which sounds like a kind of cheesy and insincere thing to say but I do mean it. I'm so indebted to the weird world of blogging. I owe you, you crazy internet strangers. Thanks for everything.

Okay. So that, as they say, is that. 

OH It's a Trilogy Now! Today, We Learn About Hyperbole

I put some green stuff on your plate
And you are instantly irate
You grunt just like a bull would do,
Eat this; it is good for you

Your mouth is closed shut like a door
That shall not open, evermore
It isn’t poison, mud, or poo
Eat this; it is good for you

The tiny list of things you’ll eat
Does not include veggies or meat
Now what am I supposed to do?
Eat this; it is good for you

More stubborn than a bull would be
(This is, perhaps, hyperbole)
But you won’t touch, or taste, or chew
Eat this; it is good for you

Here's A Sequel No One Asked for About Dirty Shoes in the House, in Which We Also Learn About Similes

It is spring and it is wet
And wow! How dirty your shoes get!
Don’t cover my floors in that scuzz
Please leave the ground there where it was

You track the whole earth through this place
A happy smile on your face
I says and sizz and sazz and suzz,
“Please leave the ground there where it was!”

I sweep and mop and then repeat
Ugh, leave the puddles on the street
I ask you ‘do,’ son, so please does—
Do leave the ground there where it was

I am like a bumblebee
(This is, of course, a simile)
My voice is an annoying buzz,
“Pleazzzzzzze...leave the ground there where it wazzzzz.”

Here, I Wrote a Children's Book About Putting Toys Away

A lego left there by the chair

Sends me flying through the air

With a screeching, howling roar:

"NOTHING'S PLACE IS ON THE FLOOR!"

I'm sorry that I made that sound,

This should not have been on the ground

This is what your hands are for,

NOTHING'S PLACE IS ON THE FLOOR!

When he has friends over to play

And they don't put the cars away

This is it, boys, this is war,

NOTHING'S PLACE IS ON THE FLOOR!

I do not like to step on stuff

This is it; I've had enough

I am mother, hear me roar,

"NOTHING'S PLACE IS ON THE FLOOR!"

Yes, I am a dinosaur,

(This is, of course, a metaphor)

But I will still say it once more, 

NOTHING'S 

PLACE 

IS 

ON 

THE 

FLOOR!!!

Stay tuned for the sequel: NOTHING'S PLACE IS IN THE BATHROOM, in which I am a full-on dragon.

This Post is About Jimmy Eat World

 

My mom calls me Elise sometimes (that's my sister's name). Sometimes she calls me Elaine (that's her sister's name). It's a common enough thing to look right at someone you know very well, whose name you know very well, and call them a name that doesn't belong to them. 

I'm not sure how common it is to call your husband Jimmy Eat World when his name is Barclay, but that happened once. This should give you a hint about how much I like/listen to Jimmy Eat World, which makes it the perfect way to open a post about how I finally, finally, finally got to see them live. 

Here's a picture of me and Elise right before the show (it's a funny picture, because if you look at it quickly, it looks like she's a toddler and I'm holding her on my hip). 

We got there super early, along with a small handful of other die-hard Jimmy fans (doors were at 7, show at 8, and this picture was taken at 6:15ish). We made friends with a couple from Regina and spent the whole show with them (I use the term 'friends' loosely though, because they didn't ask for our Instagram handles afterward. If someone doesn't ask you for your Instagram handle after you spend five-ish hours with them, WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Did I have bad mosh pit etiquette? Did I smell? Were my dance moves out of date? They should've been. I was there for Clarity-era Jimmy, first and foremost). Anyway. They were really nice, and very enthusiastic, which was helpful. I hate standing beside unenthusiastic people at shows.

You might think that being there so early would be a drag but it wasn't, because Jimmy Eat World's sound guy, Dennis of Ten Foot Pole, came out and played some of his band's songs for us while we waited. He had the little keener crowd sing gang vocals and it was like a pre-show sidewalk party. I now believe this should be standard practice for all concert experiences. Thank you, Dennis, and also: you did a lovely job behind the sound board last night. 

OKAY. THE MAIN EVENT. 

The show was at O'Brians in Saskatoon, which is a tiny venue—I think it holds up to maybe 1000 people—and it wasn't sold out. It's kind of incredible to be able to see one of your all-time favourite bands in a setting like that. 

They haven't had anything in the way of mainstream radio hits lately, which meant the crowd was a little older and much more, you know, invested. I've been to shows where a band has had a recent hit, and the audience is all 18-year-olds who only know that song and sing along to it obnoxiously and then talk loudly through the rest of the set or leave. The crowd last night, in contrast, was phenomenal. Everyone knew all the songs from all the albums, from Clarity to Futures to Integrity Blues. Jimmy Eat World picked their set-list accordingly—they played stuff from every era of their career, graciously catering to us precious, weepy, nostalgic people. I mean, I loved Integrity Blues, but I was s-t-o-k-e-d when they played "Lucky Denver Mint." 

It must be kind of cool to get to a place in your musical career where you basically show up to your shows to facilitate giant, sentimental sing-alongs with hundreds of people who now associate your music and lyrics with intense, personal experiences and emotions. 

It really was everything I could've hoped for. Not a lot of inane chit-chat between songs, the set list was perfect, the band seemed humble and happy to be there, and the opener (Beach Slang) was fantastic. 

Also, at one point I held up my hand and a signed pick was pressed into it from the stage. 16-year-old me would've been much more thrilled about this than 29-year-old me, but 29-year-old me decided, just for last night, to be thrilled about it on my own behalf. I mean, these are just people playing music, but whatever. This music has been the soundtrack to a lot of my life. So. I feel like I reserve the right to be a little ridiculous about it.

If you don't have something to be ridiculous about, you should get something to be ridiculous about. Being ridiculous is fun.