My Favorite

In an attempt to get myself out of my 9-5 rut, I joined a website called ecopywriters.com. I haven't decided yet if it's legit, but their application asked for 250 words on your favorite activity. Since this blog will probably feature primarily reviews of shows I've seen (note: this is your fair warning), I thought it might be a good place to start:

It always seems to be a Thursday. Sometimes it's a Friday or Monday, or the rare Sunday here and there. But if it's Thursday, you're more than bound to find me there. Half-dried beer sticking to the soles of my shoes, squinting against the bright stage lights, purse thumping gently on my hip as I sway back and forth to the beat. Another day, another show, another hour of my favorite thing. A concert.

Where doesn't matter, though I have my favorites--The Vic, Schubas, Subterranean. I prefer the intimacy and the local feeling of the smaller venues, but I won't snub my nose at a bigger place if it means I get that to have that moment. I crave the lightness, the ineffable sense of pureness, when the band and you are one. Just for a moment.

It's not real, I know. Those players can't see the happy glow of my face as I jump, clap, smile, and sing along. I like to think they know, though, that it's happening, that I'm out there, that the words resonate in my soul while the notes reverberate in my pulse, that part of the reason they do it at all is for that connection, with me, with everyone.

Moments like that don't always happen. My own tiredness, loud patrons, or a disappointing performance can get in the way. It's okay though, because it can be about other things, I can feel glad I supported a band trying to make it, or glad I spent time with a friend, or simply glad I went out after work instead of lounging around my apartment eating cookies.

But I'll continue to hope, and to expect, Thursday and every day, for the next time it will come, when I'll skip home humming the last refrain, sure that the world exists for music and nothing else at all.