I went to see Cracker last night. A new year's rockin' eve, of sorts. Above is a camera-phone photo of the stage after the show, and a deserted Victorian Square in downtown Sparks about 20 minutes before midnight.
Now that I've actually been to a show at the Nugget, I'll probably make a habit of it. See, now that I'm off the Paxil and Xanax, unfamiliar things tend to make me an anxious wreck. Driving into town last night, I was all breathy, thinking about getting off at the correct freeway exit, where I was supposed to park, where the will-call desk would be, if the outfit that I chose wasn't slimming enough.
But -- I made it, on time, incident-free. Picked up my ticket at will-call, walked around a bit to say that I had, then found one of the only empty barstools in the casino on which to wait for the show and to commence drinking.
Ah... drinking. I haven't done it in ages, and it seems there were a lot of dried-up alcohol cells in my body that needed wetting, as it took quite a few drinks to get me slightly drunk last night.
Two Jim Beam and Diets later, it was time to find my seat in the showroom. My assigned seating was ridiculous. I was practically sitting on the stage, right in front of Victor the bass player. Normally, I tend to stake out the other side of the stage, in front of Johnny, but this time it wasn't up to me. That's fine. I love Victor. Someday, I will slip him my resume, and he will hire me on at the Bay Guardian.
Victor Krummenacher, with Frank Funaro in back on drums
Half an hour till showtime. Enough for two more Beam and Diets, because -- yay! -- there are waitresses running around. The couple that was seated with me at my table were a bit mousy and quiet. You could tell they didn't do this sort of thing very often. They each ordered a rum and coke (do adults really order rum and cokes? Bleh!) and nursed them throughout the evening. When our waitress was lagging, I got twitchy and wanted to jump in between them and down their drinks for them in one gulp.
Anyway, this is supposed to be about NYE with Cracker, not my latent alcoholism.
Cracker took the stage at 9, and, well -- not to sound all ghey and shit -- but my heart soared. Front row at Cracker is just one of my favorite places to be in all the world. Yeah, I'm pushing 40, but I get so giddy and teenager-ish when confronted with these guys, who have made the music that has been most important to me for most of my adult life.
Johnny Hickman (my spiritual fiance) and David Lowery
They did make me feel a bit long in the tooth last night, though. Johnny sipped from a bottle of spring water all evening, while David periodically had to put on reading glasses and squint at his onstage Mac laptop. Gah. I remember Johnny years ago knocking back bottle after bottle of Beck's Dark and David angrily chucking beers at a rowdy crowd.
During the show, I had to start ordering doubles, because I was starting to sober up between drinks. Sad. I'm sure Mousy Couple were going to talk bad about me during the drive home in their white Lexus, to their split-level in tony Caughlin Ranch.
They played a nice mix of songs, some that I hadn't heard live in quite a while. Two encores, "Get Off This" and "Matchstick Men," the latter of which always incites me to heights of untold ecstacy. Yeah.
My binge drinking did come back and bite me in the ass. I quit drinking at what I thought was about halfway thru the show, which is what I normally do at shows, to give myself time to sober up for the drive home. But -- the show ended a bit earlier than I thought it would. For some reason, I thought they'd play up till midnight. Not even close.
So I wound up walking up and down Victorian Square for an hour, sobering up. I called your daddy, and he was very kind and understanding, told me to take as long as I needed, that you kids were doing fine, and that the three of you were watching Dick Clark on tv.
I finally felt good to go at about 15 minutes to midnight, which I thought would be a mighty fine time to leave if I wanted to beat the crush. The streets and freeway were practically deserted, and any of the anxiety I had felt all week about driving around on a NYE was gone. At precisely midnight, I was pleasantly surprised by a little fireworks show at Steamboat Springs resort as I passed by on the freeway. I played "Sweethearts" by Camper van Beethoven on the stereo -- first song of 2007 -- and felt terribly grown-up thinking that this was probably the very first December 31, 12 midnight, that I had ever spent not watching a clock and anxiously awaiting some special "something" to happen. I knew that my "something special" was waiting for me at home, all huddled together on the couch and watching Ryan Seacrest and Fergie do their thing.
So, a grand total of eight hours away from home, the most since baby Wavy was born, and nobody died or lost a limb. I think I got this Momma Kel/Rock & Roll Kel thing down pat. Love you lots, and happiest of new years to you both.
PS: Daddy doesn't know it yet, but I bought tickets yesterday to Del McCoury at the Nugget on March 24. "Happy Birthday To Me" indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment