"There will be snacks..."

Hey kids,

Very strange week, with odd ups and downs.

Started off with that damnable car trouble, which, all told, ended up costing me three times more than what my first car cost me. So now I'm a bit cash poor. Momma's cushion is gone. The cushion that allows me to think, at any given moment, "Maybe I'll go and have a Starbucks right now... just because." Or perhaps, "I think I'll up and drive to Mammoth Lakes this weekend and use a tank of gas and not think twice about it." And, "Well, I'll just stay an extra night in a swanky hotel in San Francisco cuz I can't possibly drive home with a sprained ankle."

Yeah, in one fell swoop, both my "economic stimuli" and my late-coming tax refund are GONE... disappeared beneath the hood of my truck. I mean, I *think* a clutch, a flywheel, a slave cylinder, a drive chain and a flibberty-gibbet are located under the hood. F*ck.

On the upside, got to see Andrew Bird at the Grand Sierra on Wednesday night:



What a weird, wonderful and brilliant musician he is. I kept thinking during his whole show that you'd probably really like him, Wavy. His music is happy and funny and forlorn all at the same time. He whistles a lot, which is odd and not the least bit precious, and he plays violin.

I know we're gonna meet some day
In the crumbled financial institutions of this land
There will be tables and chairs
There'll be pony rides and dancing bears
There'll even be a band

'Cause listen, after the fall there'll be no more countries
No currencies at all
We're gonna live on our wits,
We're gonna throw away survival kits
Trade butterfly knives for Adderall

And that's not all
Whoa
There will be snacks
There will
There will be snacks
There will be
There will be snacks

-- "Tables and Chairs" Andrew Bird



Look how brown you are compared to your brother, baby. You both spend the identical amount of time in the sun, but once summer hit, you turned into a little latte-colored imp. Jakob has the darker eyes and the darker hair, and you have lighter hair and eyes, but that skin... gah. I wish I had your skin. Sorry 'bout the gratuitous nudity, baby, but that's just the way you roll about 90 percent of the time. Hippy chick.

Jakob, you've been regaling us all day on the guitar with the songs you learned playing Wii Rock Band with your grandpa while you were in Cali. And bonus... you've quit telling me and daddy and your sister how much you dislike us and how you'd rather be at grandma's house.

Anyway. The one really cool thing that happened to me this week:

(Sigh... someday, you guys will be reading this and shaking your heads and looking at each other, saying, "A 40-year-old woman. What an absolute CHEESEBALL our mother was." And you will be slightly embarrassed for me, but you will print all this out and it will be entered into evidence proving that your mother was not in her right mind when she left her hard-earned millions to Bernice, the iguana who -- it seems -- will NEVER. DIE.)

So your momma found out this week that her two favorite bands in all the world -- Cracker and Camper van Beethoven -- are coming to the nearby Truckee Amphitheater on August 31. Cool, no?

But wait. It gets better. I promise.

I know the people who book the shows for the Truckee Amphitheater, so I emailed the lady I know over there and thanked her for bringing these two bands to the area, and if she needed someone to pick the band up from the airport or to run to Quizno's to buy them sandwiches, or anything at all, just let me know. And I added a big ol' "LOL."

She writes me back and asks me if I want to design the poster for the show.

Um, yeah. I do. I've wanted nothing more in life -- EVER -- than to design a poster for these guys. Coolio.

But wait. It gets better. I promise.

Then she emails me back and asks if I want to be "hospitality hostess" at the show. Er... what's a hospitality hostess? It's the gal who goes shopping for drinks and snacks and stuff, and lays them out backstage, then hangs out and makes sure the band is comfy and well-fed and well-watered and well, whatever.

Um, yeah. I do. I've wanted nothing more in life -- EVER -- than to be Johnny Hickman's frickin' HOSPITALITY HOSTESS. I mean, is this NOT a cyber-stalker dream come true? The end result of 20 years of band worship? To artfully arrange a cheese platter for the man of your dreams?



So pack your bags, kids. Once Johnny sees just how hospitable this hostess can be, I'm sure he will throw me in the back of the tour van and demand that I never, ever leave his side.

Think about it. Love you.