Chris, you almost got a contextual message from me tonight. I thought it would be funny if you received it where you are, seeing as I would be writing it three hours in the future. It was going to read: I am staring down Jim James. He's all wrapped up in a bottle of Jim Newman's wine.
You are probably the only person, at least whom I know, that would find that remotely humorous. If I wasn't so caught up in the moment, I probably would've crafted a more clever way of combining the two Jim's. But yeah, I saw My Morning Jacket and Wilco tonight outdoors and it was great. Like I said, I stopped myself from writing or calling anyone because I have this vivid memory of some Sunday night when I was between eight and ten. I was getting ready for bed when my father received a phone call from his old college roommate Mark Williams, who was seeing Bruce Springsteen play at the Meadowlands and hoping to share his opening song with Dad. Thinking back, this had to have been in the early age of cell phones. Oh how it must've been uncomfortable to carry in a pair of jeans. Mark is a pretty crazy character, too. When I was younger he would crash at our house on trips to DC from his home in New Hampshire. One morning I remember we watched Bingo on cable.
The whole thing just made me think of how it's really not too hip to call people from concerts. But that was almost me. No matter how amazing it was when MMJ played the slowest song of all-time for six minutes until it crescendoed into the prettiest/heaviest head-nodder this side of a grain silo. Or when I thought Aaron Lachant would really want to hear "Kingpin" because it reminded me of welcoming 2005 with him on a 70 degree night in New York City. I restrained myself and I'm proud.
You are probably the only person, at least whom I know, that would find that remotely humorous. If I wasn't so caught up in the moment, I probably would've crafted a more clever way of combining the two Jim's. But yeah, I saw My Morning Jacket and Wilco tonight outdoors and it was great. Like I said, I stopped myself from writing or calling anyone because I have this vivid memory of some Sunday night when I was between eight and ten. I was getting ready for bed when my father received a phone call from his old college roommate Mark Williams, who was seeing Bruce Springsteen play at the Meadowlands and hoping to share his opening song with Dad. Thinking back, this had to have been in the early age of cell phones. Oh how it must've been uncomfortable to carry in a pair of jeans. Mark is a pretty crazy character, too. When I was younger he would crash at our house on trips to DC from his home in New Hampshire. One morning I remember we watched Bingo on cable.
The whole thing just made me think of how it's really not too hip to call people from concerts. But that was almost me. No matter how amazing it was when MMJ played the slowest song of all-time for six minutes until it crescendoed into the prettiest/heaviest head-nodder this side of a grain silo. Or when I thought Aaron Lachant would really want to hear "Kingpin" because it reminded me of welcoming 2005 with him on a 70 degree night in New York City. I restrained myself and I'm proud.
1 Comments:
I'm glad you had a good time Bill. You were right, I did find that humorous and I am probably the only one that would. You are doing well about posting. Every time I think about it, I forget two seconds later or see if you have posted recently and you have, I like that though, its comforting. But, hey, soon I will see you man. I think I am coming to Philadelphia in the next week with Lauren. I'm pretty sure you are on the itinerary. Until then...straight laced and boots strapped.
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