Title: Got me a ticket on an aeroplane
Hearing: Sarah MacLachlan, Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
The droning of a 737 jet
Seeing: The back of someone's head in front of me
Tasting: Nasty United Airlines snackies
Reading: Stealing Jesus: How Fundamentalism Betrays Christianity, Bruce Bawer
Natalie Maines and Honey Mustard:
Let me just preface this by saying that Natalie Maines has the finest ass and hips that this dyke has ever, ever seen. Damn, y'all. There ought to be a law against her grinding it for God and everyone to see. I personally broke a cold sweat every ten minutes. Truly.
In case you hadn't picked up on it, the Dixie Chicks concert was unbelievable. I've been to a few concerts in my day, and this has to be the best show I've ever seen. The Pepsi Center got the roof raised Thursday night. (As an aside, what's up with all the lesbians at this show? I haven't seen that many dykes in one place since the Indigo Girls were in town last month. We were sitting in a cluster of them -- there were three couples in one place, which was fun when the dykes behind us started dancing with each other.) Patty Griffin opened for the Chicks, which was an odd choice, but a good one. The Chicks apparently think very highly of Patty's songwriting. After hearing her play, I do too. I don't think there was much appreciation for her style among the country music fans at the show -- except for the lesbian couple sitting behind me and Cynthia, who screamed after every song. Heh.
In between Patty's act and the Chicks' appearance, a couple of fools from MusicCountry.com were throwing around footballs and giving away T-shirts and such. One of the dorks was Nathan from Real World: Seattle. I haven't had a chance to read the Seattle reviews on Mighty Big TV yet, so I'll withold my snarky comments until I have more of a basis to make fun of the guy.
There was also a huge inflated fly buzzing ponderously around the rafters of the Pepsi Center. It was very surreal. It made a couple of rounds while people craned their necks at it, and then drifted down behind the stage for a landing with monstrous dignity. Cynthia and I saw it a few minutes later getting deflated on the slope of the stadium seating; it looked like it was humping the seats.
The best part of the pre-Chicks show was when they dropped a huge circular curtain down from atop the stage, so the cloth was surrounding the entire stage. It was made up to look like a pair of blue jeans, complete with belt loops and back pockets. When the Chicks came on stage, the crew pulled the zipper down on the jeans. I knew I was in trouble then. Hee hee. The curtain collapsed and the stage lights came up, with a spot on Martie fiddling the opening bars to "Ready to Run". Emilie made her appearance next, and then Natalie took center stage. That girl can work a crowd. I must give her credit. She brought the energy level in that place -- and the noise -- up in intensity until the roar was deafening and everyone was on their feet, stomping and clapping.
My sole complaint with the show was the dorks sitting around us and the dyke cluster. I had the misfortune to be seated next to some white boy nerd and his girlfriend, neither of whom budged a muscle the entire time, except to stand and sit with the crowd if they couldn't see the stage. They didn't yell, they didn't cheer or clap, they didn't sing, and they certainly didn't dance. The assholes sat like two lumps on a log, stone-faced the entire time. My question was, "Why the hell did you come here? Sit at home and listen to the album next time." Christ.
They weren't alone, though: behind us were two middle-aged ladies who looked like they were pissed their plastic surgery didn't live up to its promises. I've never seen two more pinched, sour-looking individuals in my life. When the cute dyke couple behind us started dancing with each other (they'd both been whooping and hollering and generally having a grand time all night), the middle-aged ladies got even more sour and nasty-looking. I was tempted to ask if they'd never seen girls dance before, but I was too busy dancing like a crazed weasel myself to "Sin Wagon" to worry about them. It was damn near impossible not to clap and stomp along with the Chicks, but those four joyless people managed it. I am so glad I'm not too dignified to dance, or too serious to sing and clap and partake in the joy of three girls having a great time up on stage.
Oh Yeah, the Plane Thing:
I'm flying to Memphis tonight, as you may recall, to visit the kinfolk. The flight was delayed two hours while they got an aircraft in from Sacramento. Cynthia, Ian and I cooled our heels in the airport and made faces at another passenger's grandchildren to amuse ourselves. Ian's getting my car for the weekend, which is convenient enough that I'll have a ride back from DIA on Wednesday.
Cynthia was unenthusiastic about my going away for four days. She's happy I'm getting to see my family, but she's understandably worried about the inevitable encounter with my parents regarding my impending divorce. And of course, she just got to Denver, and I'm going away. We're going to miss each other terribly. I feel like a newlywed or something. Ian and I got past that stage a couple of years ago; I suppose this will pass as well.
Ian's hand and wrist is healing up nicely, by the way. The stitches grew out and he has some healthy-looking pink skin growing over the gash. It may not even scar.
Keep Your Fingers Crossed:
My lovely and talented real estate agent, Chuck, may have scored bigtime: We have a lady putting down a contract on the townhouse. It's contigent on her selling her pad in Parker, but in that part of town real estate is getting snapped up at a ridiculous rate, so I'm not going to worry too much about that for a while yet. It's a 21-day contract, after which point it reverts to a 48-hour first right of refusal. She's offering a bit less than I think the place is worth, but at this point I just want the damn thing sold off. So keep your candles lit that her place sells and she can buy our place so I don't have to pay the mortgage on it any more.
-- marcie.