...and there will be nights where there is no profundity to be
discovered, no poetry to cull from the absurd. There will be a night of
straight ahead "this sucks". I lost money. I can't do this anymore or
else I'll have to go back to having a day job and I won't do it I won't do it I
won't do it...
And so -- after the night in the awesome club of very few people
and the post-show drive of insecure inner-ramblings only to discover a greater
truth and meaning in the Awkward -- and so -- after that night, comes the next
night. Which, if this were a Tale or a Movie starring that newly popular and
ubiquitous wide-eyed blonde 20 something who looks like the daughter of the
high forheaded blonde from that late beloved but truly annoying show "30
Something" -- and not the true tale (or, in my case, probably a movie
starring Snark Queens Janeane Garafalo or Lily Taylor as me) of the night that
followed, if this were that Fairytale night, I'd end up at Town Hall in NYC or
The Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, backed by a band that included Buddy Miller
on guitar, Emmylou and Patty Griffin on backup vocals and it would have been sold
out and filmed for a PBS Special or for Austin City Limits.
But this is the real tale. Where it was just not worth the
drive. And if you know me, I have never said that. I've thought it. But never
said it. Not an appropriate venue for me. Of the crowd (and there was a crowd
but they were either loudly talking, seemingly used to background musicians, or
they were outside scoping each other out), 2 guys were listening very kindly.
Which was nice. But there was a crowd that included the booker. Who was barely
listening. I'm sure tons of folks love playing this place and god bless them.
It doesn't make the place a bad place. Its just inappropriate for me and what I
do. There's no lining here that's silver. Its just the wrong piece of fabric.
And, as my therapist says, learning boundaries isn't just about
our personal relationships, its about our work and our definition of ourselves.
However: I didn't need an $11 gig to teach me a boundary. I knew
the boundary. I just ignored it.
So I'm sorry hacky-sack-trustafarian-rockclimbing-hemp-wearing-proust-reading-not-quite-a-mountain-town-student-hippies.
I know you love your hang. Have at it. I think I'll head to Decatur. But thank
you to the nice man who sat there at the empty table and bought me a beer and bought
my CD. And thank you to the man who sat at the bar listening. And thank you to
the blonde guy who came in late and sat next to the man at the bar and loudly
said, "Hey, she's really good" in a way that was clear he was
surprised, and he seemed to like my yodel.
See, now, in the end, this night doesn't really bug me. I'm back
at the motel happily watching reruns of "The Housewives of New York
City" because crap like that makes me really happy about my own life. But
I think I wanted to write this because someone needs to stand up against this
and for -- not me, but the girl or the guy who's playing tomorrow night. You
might not like their music and that's cool. But if there's live music in a room
and there's a tip jar, how about a few bucks for them? And hey, owner, how
about setting an example?
Shhhhhhhhhhh
Or just get a jukebox. And fill it with Jack Johnson.
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