Wilco Winter Residency, Day 3

Tonight I found a parking spot right on Lawrence Avenue, so not only did I avoid the $20 parking lot for the third night in a row, but this time I didn't have to pay a meter! Heck yeah. The trade-off, though, involved a bit longer of a hike to The Riv, and it was the coldest night yet.
The XRT radio personality who introduced the band also made reference to the weather. "On one of the coldest nights in Chicago, you've got one of the hottest tickets in town." I whole-heartedly agree.
The theater wasn't nearly as sauna-ish as it's been, which was a huge relief. I opted, though, to still sit in the balcony again and found an open single aisle seat next to someone who introduced herself as Amy and the guy sitting next to her as Steve. They both were able to get 5-day passes--lucky! She warned me that the guy sitting in front of me was really tall, which is why they had scooted down a seat, leaving mine available. I said that's ok because I was really tired and didn't plan on standing much anyway.
I took out The Best American Non-Required Reading 2007 and started reading. Amy asked how to book was because Steve is apparently a big Dave Eggers fan. As am I. I said I'd only read the intro so far but that was good because it was written by Sufjan Stevens. Amy's a big Sufjan fan (as am i) and said she'd seen him here before.
Before the show began I ran to the basement bathroom. By the time I got back to my seat I already had to go again. Wonderful. I silently cursed the grande cinnamon dolce latte I downed in record time earlier today. Then the lights went off and "tall man" stood right in front of me. I remained seated, though, for the first 6 or 7 songs, enjoying the music, while singing to myself and drumming along with Glenn with my imaginary drumsticks. There is something to seeing the music magically produced before your eyes, though, and for the remainder of the show I alternated between standing up and chillin' in my chair.

1) Blue-Eyed Soul
2) Remember The Mountainbed--which I had to look up with key words such as "turpentine," "pine," "eucalyptus," and "singing seeds of song"
Afterwards Jeff spoke (the earliest he's spoken in any show so far). "Andrew Bird everybody. The band gets bigger and bigger every night."

3) Bob Dylan's Beard

Tweedy said something but I missed it because of the people yelling, "DOWN IN FRONT!" and "GO DOWNSTAIRS IF YOU WANNA STAND!"
Tweedy: "Thank you guys. Are you warming up? Tonight's brutal. It's only going to get worse." He then made a comment about about people fighting for spots in front of the stage. "Fight it out," he advised.

4) Hesitating Beauty
5) That's Not The Issue--through the spaces of the people standing in front of me, I was still able to see Pat Sansone expertly play his variety of instruments as I comfortably remained seated

6) Wishful Thinking
7) You Are My Face (first repeat of the night)-When Wilco first streamed Sky Blue Sky online last year year in anticipation of their newest album release, the lyrics, "I trust no emotion/I believe in locomotion" were the ones I sang over and over in my head.

8) Side With The Seeds (repeat)
9) Shot In The Arm (3 for 3)
10) We're Just Friends
11) Kamera--I finally jumped out of my seat and started snapping photos (despite only having my mom's point-n-shoot).
"I totally forgot how to play that," Jeff apologized. "I'm sorry."
Someone shouted out, "ALL YOUR LIFE!" to which Tweedy responded, "All your life? What's that? A song of yours you want us to sing?" I love him.
Then someone else screamed, "DON'T PLAY 'THEOLOGIANS'!"
"Don't play 'Theologians'?" Jeff retorted. "Oh you're asking for it, pal."

12) Handshake Drugs (repeat)
13) How To Fight Loneliness--with the much-welcomed return of Andrew Bird, who I'd like to add/correct myself from Saturday's show recap, plays the fiddle, not the violin.

Jeff thanked him at the end of the song and said, "We're going to play a few songs off our first album." Someone on stage must have corrected him because then he said, "Aren't we? Scratch that--we're playing one off our first album you bought." Guilty laughter. "What? I thought we had some goodwill going back and forth here...I'm always shitting in the punch bowl." Then took a swan-dive into
14) Jesus, Etc. (3 for 3)

"Ok you better know these next songs like the back of your hand!" Tweedy joked. "After turning on us so quickly...I love you too!...I just assumed someone said that." Which prompted sporadic professions of love from a handful of people. Then someone requested loudly, "LOOSE FUR!" (Wilco's side-project band...I think I saw their only ever live performance at St. Ann's Warehouse in Brooklyn, NY back in 2002 or '03). "Loose Fur ain't here," Jeff replied.

15) Should've Been In Love--the crowd went wild when Tweedy slipped his harmonica holder over his head to rest on his shoulders, and every time he motioned to take it off, a collective "awww" filled the air. "If you see me walking down the street with this around my neck, now you'll know why," said Jeff.

16) Pick Up The Change--yay! I've been waiting for this one!
"Andrew has free range--he's a free-range bird," Tweedy joked. "I wish I wasn't me sometimes." Haha!

17) Theologians--love the steel blue guitar, Jeff.
"Play it again?" Jeff mocked the tool earlier who yelled an anti-request. "We're going to play that one for the rest of the show now."
He then introduced Total Prose (finally got the name), the horn section, which is apparently a joke name. "On the trombone--or the bone as they call it..." Tweedy remarked.
18) Walken (3 for 3)

"I'd like to dedicate this song to my lovely wife, Susie. I love you." (Gee, I wonder what song it's going to be...) "We're going to take a break after this song, but don't leave, we're coming back...like the dead. We're just going to pee."
He then strummed the first note of
19) I'm The Man Who Loves You (3 for 3)--and said, "This note makes me have to pee." Amen.

As soon as the song ended, I ran downstairs to pee for the second time since I'd arrived at the Riv. Damn coffee, I thought. What a time to have an overactive bladder. The line was ridiculous, so unlike Jeff I didn't get to take advantage of the "pee break." Instead I talked to Amy and Steve sitting next to me. They told me Greg Kott, the Chicago Tribune music critic, is also keeping tabs on the set lists and has a worthwhile blog to check out. Turns out Kott and I have a lot of similar opinions Wilco-wise. Click HERE for Kott's blog. Amy asked me if there were any songs I really want them to play. I said, "Box Full Of Letters." Turns out she and Steve live in Palatine, so I told her I went to Fremd High School and grew up not far from there. She went to Wheeling High School. Small world.

20) Via Chicago (repeat)--After the first verse I realized my mom's little point'n'shoot has video recording capabilities and recorded the rest of the song. This was an exciting discovery but also pissed me off as far as getting in trouble for my SLR camera, which does not have any video capabilities. Wouldn't you think having video footage would be "worse" than still pictures? Yet, every single person there with their tiny cameras and their stupid iPhones are doing the same thing. Anyway, here's the video

21) Impossible Germany (3 for 3)
22) She's A Jar--afterwards Jeff said, "Clearly I psyched myself out. I thought, I'll whistle this one [as opposed to playing the harmonica melody] and nothing came out.
23) Say You Miss Me

"You guys have been the nicest audience. You're very sweet," Jeff told us. "You're all hungover, aren't you?" Laughter. "You're holding out for Tuesday and Wednesday, I know." YEEEEEEEAH! "How'd you get tickets to all five shows?" he asked. "It was hard, I know." Oh I don't think you know just how hard it was, my friend.

24) BOX FULL OF LETTERS!!!--this is one I was holding out for, a definite favorite. "I just can't find the time/To write my mind/The way I want it to read/You'll come back again/And I'll still be your friend..." Again I remembered after the first verse that I had the video advantage, so here is the remainder of that song:

25) I'm Always In Love--I recorded the end of this song because I've always loved Jeff and John's prominent harmonies.

"I'd like to welcome back Total Prose. They've gained a member--they're the fastest growing band in America!"

26) Hate It Here (3 for 3)
27) The Late Greats (repeat)
28) Red-Eyed And Blue (repeat)--I wanted to record the wonderful whistling duet of Jeff and Andrew, but when I was video-ing "Box Full Of Letters" I saw security men eye-ing me, so I decided not to risk it. Hopefully they'll go for it again Tuesday or Wednesday.
29) I Got You (repeat)
30) Monday (repeat)--How does JT scream like that five nights in a row??

"Want to hear a lullaby?" Jeff asked. "We'll say goodnight with a lullaby..." then started singing, "Hush little baby..."
31) My Darling

They left the stage and, like Saturday, it really seemed like there wasn't going to be an encore. But again, like Saturday, no one budged. And like Saturday, "Peaches" played out the house speakers. I was singing it really loud without really paying attention to the fact that I was singing it out loud, and the guy in front of me turned around and asked who sang it. "Presidents Of The United States Of America," I told him. Get with it, dude. I totally had a mosh pit at my bat-mitzvah to their hit called "Lump."

Encore:
32) I Can't Stand It (3 for 3)
"One More?" asked Jeff. "Thanks again, guys."
33) Nothingsevergonnastandinmyway(again)--great ending song.

Amy and I exchanged phone numbers so that I could sit with them again tomorrow night, which was really nice of her to offer. I waved goodbye and walked out singing "Our House," which has played on the house speakers at the conclusion of every show so far. Outside the temperature was -17 degrees (I'm not kidding) and I literally could not feel my hands by the time I got to my car.
Total songs tonight: 33. They've played one more song than the previous show each night...so maybe by Wednesday's conclusion, we'll get a full 35! I love this band.

MORE PHOTOS

(p.s. Don't forget that Tuesday night's show will be broadcast on XRT-93.1 and on their website www.wxrt.com beginning at 7:30 p.m. CST)

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 2 (a.k.a. Look out/Here I Come Again/And I'm bringin' my friends)

A few hours before Day 2 of the residency, I received an e-mail from my friend Brian, who I haven't talked to regularly in ages. (I intend on posting an entry at the end of the 5 days regarding how I originally got into Wilco and part of that story involves meeting Brian through ebay after someone I had bought a ticket for declined the gift)
It read:

Dear Alyse,
I hope you had/have a blast at the Wilco shows. Do you still write the set lists in a notebook? If so, you certainly have your work cut out for you the next several nights! Well, have fun – I’m jealous! :)
Sincerely,
Brian

I found it hilarious that he remembered that detail from way back when and smiled to myself as I made sure my blue "bible" was tucked safely into my purse.

As independent I consider myself, I have to say there is something to be said about sharing three hours of your favorite band with three of your best friends. Lindsay (my fellow Wilco addict...again, once I post about all my Wilco run-ins, the best story involves when she came out to NYC to see them play Radio City and we ended up spending the whole night hanging out with them...that's just a preview), Jenny (who's first time seeing the band live took place on my birthday when we were moved to the front row...another great story that will be included in the future post), and Shawna (who had never seen Wilco live (only JT) and is now a self-proclaimed Wilco superfan)
I warned them to wear comfortable shoes in the event we didn't get seats and to wear layers to avoid sweating to death. Luckily we got there right as the doors were opening, so Lindsay and Jenny jumped out onto Lawrence Ave. and held a place in the line that went around the block, while Shawna and I found parking--once again lucked out with a metered spot on Sheridan. We met up with them just in time to enter. This time I only brought my mom's point-n-shoot camera with me, in order to avoid any drama and risk not getting four seats together. Smart move on my part. We settled into our seats and awaited the band's arrival, chatting about which songs we really wanted them to play.

Jeff Tweedy came out solo with an acoustic guitar and jumped right into the first song.
1) Someone Else's Song--which he was then joined in the middle of by the rest of Wilco
2)Hell Is Chrome

"Welcome back," Jeff said. "To some of you." I turned to Lindsay and said, "Glenn [Kotche] looks like God." He was dressed all in white, illuminated in such a way that as he banged his drums it looked like he was addressing all corners of the world with every rhythm.

3) Handshake Drugs--one of two favorites off A Ghost Is Born (the other being "Hummingbird" which they played last night). I love watching Nels Cline play his guitars, calculated spastic movements. And all in bright red pants.
4) Muzzle of Bees--Lindsay grabbed my arm excitedly. This is the song she had hoped they'd play.
5) Via Chicago--I love when they play this song live because it's like a hometown heroes anthem, and they indulge in major jam sessions, which all begin and end impeccably. This one also included multiple blinding light displays, forcing me to close my eyes for a good portion of the song, but I didn't mind because it made me picture some of my favorite lyrics: "I printed my name on the back of a leaf/And I watched it float away/The hope I had in a notebook full of white dry pages/Was all I tried to save/But the wind blew me back via Chicago/In the middle of the night/And not without fight/At the crush of veils and starlight..."

6) I Am Trying To Break Your Heart--a repeat? Well, that's fine with me. They could play this song all five nights and I wouldn't complain.
7) Hotel Arizona
8) Shot In The Arm (repeat, but again, a favorite)
9) Impossible Germany (repeat, but glad Lindsay got it hear it)

John Stiratt, one of the nicest musicians I've ever met, suddenly took center stage and sang
10) It's Just That Simple--a wonderful twangy song from Wilco's first album, A.M., that gives props to their "alt. country" genre.
The crowd went absolutely nuts at the song's conclusion, as John shyly stepped out of the limelight. Tweedy approached the mic. "I think that's [mad applause/cheering] all for you, John," he said with a smile.

11) When You Wake Up Feeling Old

"It's not like there's going to be no repeats," Jeff informed us. He read my mind, I thought. "We still have to put on a show. How many of you were here last night?" I thrust my arm into the air. "There's no way you were all here." Laughter. "At last it's not as cold-waiting in line-so no one's frostbitten?" NO! everyone yelled happily. "One more question for you--how many of you hate to raise your hands?" Smart ass.

12) Too Far Apart (repeat, good one though)

"Moving right along..." Jeff said and went right into
13) Hate It Here (repeat)

"I'd like to bring out a friend," Jeff said. "Mr. Andrew Bird." What what what?? The handsome cowboy-dressing, violin-playing, expert whistler took the stage. And to, of course, play what song?
14) Jesus, Etc.-because that song isn't heartbreaking enough, now there's a live violin. Love it.
When the beautiful song ended, Jeff said to Andrew, "Will you stay up here with us for awhile?" And he did for the next few songs.

15) Forget The Flowers-the one Jenny hoped to hear and I'm a big fan of as well.
16) Dash 7
"That doesn't happen very often," said Jeff, which took the words right out of my mouth because I'm pretty positive I've never heard that one played live. "I was seven ft-three when I wrote that song." I'm still not sure what that means.
17) Christ For President
18) Walken (repeat)

"I love you Susie," Jeff directed to his wife again before singing,
19) I'm The Man Who Loves You (repeat)

Ten-minute intermission. I stood up and stretched my legs while piling my hair atop my hair, and we talked how our pants were soaking wet from the heat. So attractive.

20) The Late Greats
21) Heavy Metal Drummer (repeat)
Jenny: I remember listening to this in your bedroom whatever year that was.
Me: You mean when you jumped on my bed and cracked John's YHF case and I made you write an apology note?

Jeff: I'd like to thank the people over here [he motioned to a section of the dance floor] for handling that situation so beautifully. We gotta take care of the drunks in the room. Not beat them up. Or get beaten up by them. As I used to do.

Andrew Bird returned to the stage.
22) Red-Eyed and Blue--Jeff and Andrew whistled in tune with each other
23)I Got You--which never fails to follow #22
"So what'd you guys do during the break," Jeff asked. "Save your spot. Cause you're neurotic? Did you bring a catheter? Did you? I'm serious. Don't give me that look," he admonished someone in the front row. "I'd like to welcome back P-Prose (?? still haven't caught the name of the horn players!)

24) A Magazine Called Sunset--I've loved this unreleased song ever since I heard it in the Wilco documentary, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart!
"Let's take a map across your pillow/And breathe the sky in through your window/I'll stay in the riddle/And watch your books cave in..."
25) Monday
26) Casino Queen
27) King Pin--in which we did the call and response
Jeff: How can I?
Audience: WOO!
Jeff: I bet if we would have played this one last night that audience would have been much better. Yeah, I said it.

After the song ended, he asked us if we could handle a few more. Duh! Silly question, Jeff. He then called out, "Andrew!" and as he waited for the Birdman to appear, he said, "He's a swell guy that Andrew Bird."
28) Passenger Side
29) Dreamer In My Dreams

"Goodnight everybody. Thank you."
30) The Lonely 1

The house lights went up and the stage hands started unplugging guitars. And the sound system started playing "Peaches" by the Presides of the U.S.A. It appeared there wasn't going to be an encore, but no one would put up with that and everyone stood their ground cheering relentlessly.
Suddenly they reappeared.
"We just liked watching Glenn coming out to fix his drums," said Tweedy. "Encore?" Again, silly question.
31) ELT (repeat)
32) HooDoo VooDoo--they began, but Jeff stopped them and said, "Something's not right. Is it me?" Everyone started pointing fingers and eventually they figured it out and played straight through, including a great dueling guitar set between Nels and Pat.

What am I going to do on Sunday? Count down the hours until Monday's show. As my friend Brian so optimistically pointed out--I'm not even halfway done!

Wilco Winter Residency, Day 1

Wilco played just under three hours tonight, 31 songs in total with only a ten minute "pee break" and hardly any pauses in performing to even speak to the packed Rivieria audience.
I found out this morning that Amy, who I was supposed to see Wilco with tonight, was beyond sick, so I spent all day trying to find someone to take her ticket. One would think it wouldn't be a hard task, but one would be wrong. I got a lot of unreturned phone calls, a lot of "it's date night" (but can you really beat a date night with Jeff Tweedy? I doubt it.), and a few "not interesteds" (ahem, mom).
Finally, my friend Jenny called her brother JJ who in turn called me (two hours before the show) to tell me that his friend Vincent was never able to get tickets and being a huge fan would love the opportunity to go.
I was overly empathetic: When I first found out Wilco planned a 5-night "Winter Residency" for Chicago only with the intention of playing every song they'd ever recorded, I vowed to attend all five shows. When it came down to actually buying the tickets, though, I wasn't quick enough to purchase one of the Wilco website pre-sale $175 5-day passes, even though I clicked the button at the stroke of 10 a.m. and proceeded to click the damn button for the following half hour. The following day I attempted the same process through ticketmaster to get a 5-day pass. Lost again. Then I tried for the pre-sale single-day tickets, giving my credit card info to anyone who was on gChat at the time. I got two (Mon. and Tues.) out of the five (thanks again to Ben and Brianna!). Then the following day, I had one last chance, gave out my credit card info again and crossed my fingers. I ended up getting Friday, Abbey got Wed., and Chad (Amy's brother) got Saturday. I was elated! Of course I got the expected jeers, but this is how I rationalized spending $250 (that's a round-number price after buying all the tickets individually, i.e. ticketmaster charges up the wazoo). I've never had a manicure nor a pedicure nor dyed my hair, which are pretty normal day-to-day, week-to-week female maintenances, when if added all up over all the years most girls have been doing that stuff probably equals WAY more than my concert tickets.
How I explained it to my mom: This is like when you got to see The Beatles twice in one day in Chicago in '68.

The benefit of attending concerts alone is you're more likely to luck out with finding a leftover, but awesome seat. Which I did. Middle of the first row of the center section in the balcony. Perfect for picture taking, I thought, not at all envious of the jam-packed dance floor down below. Nothing about that looked appealing (despite the photo close-ups I could have taken)...despite the below-freezing weather outside, the theater was like a sweaty sauna, even before the show began. I took off my jacket and my sweater, shoved them under my seat, then rolled up the sleeves of my other shirt. As I sat there deleting old pictures off my memory card, the people next to me asked how I got past security with my camera. "It was surprisingly easy," I told them. "Usually I get in trouble everywhere I go with this thing, but the woman downstairs saw it and didn't say anything, so I'm just going with it."

Marty Lennartz from XRT did a quick intro, joking about people having "check lists." Oh if you only knew, Marty. He informed the audience that the radio station will be broadcasting Tuesday's show in its entirety beginning at 7:30 p.m. CST. So if anyone's interested, here's XRT's The Eclectic Company (whose current episode also features Jeff Tweedy as the guest) website: WXRT

Here's the night's 31-song set-list (I've been OCD about this since the first time I saw Dylan in August of 2000...I have this little blue notebook that among other jottings, poems and notes, has every Wilco and Dylan set-list from Sept. '04 to present):

1) ELT--It took me a long time to realize that "ELT" stands for "Every little thing," the repetitive words in the chorus (I mean back when I began listening to the band, it didn't just occur to me tonight)
2) Shot In the Arm--"We fell in love in the key C, we walked along down by the sea, I followed you down the neck to D, and we fell again into the sea, you've changed" was my ringtone in college (and not one I paid for, I found a function on my phone back then to record sound, and that's what I chose)
3) Side With The Seeds--hands down my favorite song on Sky Blue Sky when the album first debuted last spring..."But you and I will be undefeated/By agreeing to disagree"
4) You Are My Face--became a favorite on SBS
Jeff waved, but still no words.
5) I Am Trying To Break Your Heart--I could probably write a book about this song...Who knows how many times I listened to this through the giant headphones covering my ears as I wandered aimlessly around New York during college...

6) Pot Kettle Black
7) At Least That's What You Said

Of course I ended up sitting in front of the resident drunks, so every five minutes the waitress stood right in front of me either taking orders or delivering drinks. This caused many-a-spitballs to land on my forearm and many-a-drinks to spill on my coat. At least you can't smoke anymore, I thought, gratefully.
Jeff finally spoke!
How you doin'? Audience: Woooo!
Are you guys ok? Audience: YES!
Did you get frostbitten? Audience: YES!
All of you? Audience: YES!
Will you give us a million dollars? Audience: some YESes, some laughter
You guys just seem really agreeable? Audience: YES!
This is ridiculous. Are you below average intelligence? Audience: YES and BOO!
That was a mix, he said with a tone of surprise, and everyone laughed.

8) What's The World Got In Store--which they started to play and then Jeff stopped them, saying, "Hold on. We need to hear that," referring to the sound levels of Pat Sansone's banjo.
After they finished, he said, "That's a nice little ditty...We're going to play all recorded Wilco--not tonight--over five nights. And as an added bonus we'll throw in some Mermaid Avenue (two albums of Woody Guthrie songs performed by Wilco and Billy Bragg), B-Sides and unreleased material." Subsequently followed by enthusiastic cheering.
9) When The Roses Bloom Again

Jeff: I'd like to thank Nobody for opening for us. I find them quite tasteful.

10) Airline To Heaven
11) Ashes Of American Flags

Major whiffs of Mary Jane.

12) Either Way

Jeff: You guys are good singers. Keep. it up.

13) Jesus, Etc.--ironic that he sings "don't cry" and this is the only song that makes me want to

"Did you guys see us at the Grammys?" Jeff asked the crowd. "Did you see us on the red carpet? Did you see us get interviewed by Kermit the Frog? Damn. That was the best moment of my life...except for marrying you and having our kids, Sweetheart," he directed the comment to his wife Susie somewhere in the audience. "Foo Fighters?!" he questioned incredulously. A collective "BOOOOO!" arose from the crowd. "Or as my 8-year-old son calls them--the Poo Fighters." Hilarious.

14) Too Far Apart--"This is my American Idol audition," Tweedy joked towards the end of the song and proceeded to sing "Can't get any closer to you" in a high, breathy voice.

15) I Can't Stand It--3-piece horn section took the stage
16) Sunken Treasure--love the line, "music is my savior"
17) Spiders (Kidsmoke)--with a space-age intro both in sound and light

Halfway through, the inevitable happened. I got a little giddy with my camera during the crazy light show and gave away my otherwise inconspicuous photo ops, and sure enough two "security" men approached the guard rail in front of me. At first I thought he was going to yell at me for putting my feet up on the bar, but nope, it was my camera once again. He told me I shouldn't be taking pictures like I should know that. "Well the security people saw my camera when I came in and didn't say anything," I defended my actions. "Well they were hired by accident," he replied, loudly as Wilco was still jamming down below. "Fine, I won't take anymore," I said, trying to avoid what I anticipated he'd say next--that he was going to confiscate my camera. But unlike my Dylan fiasco, I thankfully did not get my camera taken away nor ejected from the show. The song ended and Jeff told us, "We've got a lot more to do tonight--take 5, take 10."
During the break, the people sitting next to me asked if "that" was about my camera. Then the guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder to ask about the run-in and we discussed how it's impossible to bring an SLR camera to shows anymore. "It's totally unfair," I complained. "I'm going to do the same exact thing with my pictures (post them on flickr) as all the people flashing their little point-n-shoots. And I don't even use my flash!" He told me he actually went so far as to e-mail Wilco's management, and they wrote back saying the band does, in fact, welcome photography (and audio recording) at their shows. I told him he should print that e-mail and bring it with him to the remaining four shows.

18) Misunderstood--Glenn Kotche began drumming with no warning, the lights went down, and we were immediately drawn back in.

19) Far Far Away--people cheered when he sang "CTA" why? The CTA blows!

20) Why Would You Wanna Live--"You don't hear that one every day," Jeff commented at its conclusion.
21) Impossible Germany--ugh. I hate missing photogenic moments! Like Jeff and Pat playing side by side or Nels Cline going crazy on his guitar. My camera is burning a hole under my seat.
22) Sky Blue Sky
23) Please Be Patient With Me

People are so obviously smoking pot, and I'm in trouble for snapping photos. That makes a whole lot of NO sense!
"Somebody's been yelling out for this one all night," Jeff informed us. "Are you guys still having a good time?" (YEEEEEAH!) I think the lull is over-as in lullaby."
24) Cars Can't Escape--had to look that one up after the show

"How many of you are coming to all five nights?" Jeff addressed his fans. "Well tonight is almost over I'm afraid."

25) Hummingbird--JT held out the microphone during the chorus for the audience to sing along: 'Remember to remember me/Standing still in your past/Floating fast like a hummingbird' then jogged in place on the giant area rug covering the stage

Standing Ovation. Guy behind me kept yelling "Bullshit! Bull.Shit! Bullshit!"
Of course they returned for an encore. "We just had to conference," Jeff comforted those who actually thought they wouldn't come back. "We only have a little bit of time left. We have to make the most of it."
26) Hate It Here--honestly the lyrics in this song do nothing for me and I think it's Tweedy's weakest song lyrically speaking, but I can't totally dismiss it because the musical breakdown in the middle is great.

"I'd like to bring back out..." Tweedy introduced the horn players individually.

27) Walken--changed lyric to "Walkin home to be with you"

"This is for you Susie," he directed towards his wife.
28) I'm The Man Who Loves You

"Thank you guys."

29) Heavy Metal Drummer--whenever I've heard them play this live, Tweedy sings the rated-R version, "She lifted up her shirt at the battle of the bands/She twirled his sticks/She helped him to his van." Although I've always paid the most attention to drummers during live shows (which probably stems from wanting to play the drums since I was ten years old), you can't help but watch and be completely enamored with Glenn Kotche, who was drenched by that point, during this song.
30) Candy Floss
31) Outta Mind Outta Site

"That's it. See you tomorrow night. Thank you."
I left feeling very satisfied, no longer disappointed that I was flying solo. I walked back to my car, past a shriveled prostitute leaving a building. A man followed her out and said to me as I passed, "Hey baby-you doing alright tonight?" "Yes, I am, thank you," I replied. Then stopped to take a few pictures of an alley, all the while whistling a medley of Wilco songs, feeling my lips freeze in this Chicago winter night. And loving it. Can't wait for tomorrow.

Here's the whole album of the evening: Wilco Photos

just call me queen of odd jobs

Tonight I finished part one (of two) of being a Willy Wonka protége. I got paid $80 to taste test dark chocolate. In the past I've rated the flavors of Alfredo sauces and canned root beer floats for the same marketing company. Basically, they put you in a room with about 19 other people, where everyone sits at a designated spot at a long table facing the wall. Bland-looking foam-board dividers create makeshift cubicles, rendering it "impossible" to let your neighbor's opinions affect your own. Do people cheat on taste tests? I wondered, as I stared at the dusty blinds covering the window.
How the survey proceeds:
1) Take a sip of water
2) Eat a piece of an [unsalted] Saltine cracker
3) Take another sip of water, being sure you swallow all the cracker remnants
4) Taste as much of the product (in this case, dark chocolate square) as you need to in order to answer all of the questions on the provided survey to the best of your ability.

Easy enough, right? All you need are taste buds to participate. I whipped through the first square (and ate the whole thing) in record time. I wanted to slam my hand down and yell, "DONE!" like an over-eager seven-year-old. But this job is not as glamorous as it sounds. Not when the remaining twelve pieces of chocolate tasted horrible and not when the guy sitting next to me over-audibly smacked his lips together so many times that I wanted to scream and request relocation. Aaaand not when I had to unbutton my jeans once in the privacy of my car in order to drive home comfortably. Anything for 80 bucks, I thought. As my car fishtailed its way through slippery streets and immense fog, I smiled thinking about all the weirdo jobs I've done since I graduated college almost three years ago...
#1 would have to be my six-month stint as a dental assistant...yeah, I got to wear scrubs...but my job involved scrubbing the blood off used tools, sucking the spit/blood out of people's mouths during procedures, and listening to my only other co-worker whine about her abusive gangbanger boyfriend (who would call and demand to speak to her and I'd coldly say she wasn't available and hang up on him...probably not smart considering his recent release from jail for locking someone in a van and lighting it on fire...)...and all for a measly $8.50/hr (and on top of it, the dentist was one of my mom's high school boyfriends)...if there's any way to make a recent college grad feel like her degree was totally worthless, this would be it...but after the first six months post-graduation being unemployed and totally broke after being a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding...I couldn't really turn down the offer.

#2 I got paid $75 to have inconspicuous chunks of my hair cut off for an "ethnic hair survey" at the L'oreal research headquarters on the South Side of Chicago. I was the only Caucasian present and I wondered if maybe "Jew Fro" counted as "ethnic." For the next eight months or so I would occasionally feel a small patch of spiky hairs, a gentle reminder, once again, of what lengths people will go to to keep their proverbial head above water.

#3 I worked for a photographer in his West Loop condo for about a year. Although I did catalog and archive his enormous negative collection spanning the past decade, I only ended up assisting him on ONE actual shoot. Here's a list of the myriad tasks I completed for a lovely, I shit you not, $8/hr.
* organized bookshelves (and wondered why I couldn't bring myself to organize my own life)
* stood in as a model for a Time Out Chicago photo shoot because his model didn't show up...i was just there to assist...and ended up on a full-page of the magazine a few weeks later...the shoot took about an hour, so I made $8...America's Next Top Model here I come!

* spent hours upon hours which turned into days after days importing his entire CD collection into iTunes (don't worry, I brought my own laptop along and got a significant amount of free music out of the project)
* he begged me to be his nephew's bar-mitzvah videographer, despite me vehemently insisting that I am horrible at using a video camera...he offered me $150, so I said fine...and got to spend four hours on the dance floor amidst rowdy pre-teenagers grinding on each other...i did drink a few glasses of wine, though, (after I proved to the bartender I wasn't a punk 12-year-old in heels) and got down with them during Kanye's "Golddigger."
* Then there was the time he paid me (i don't remember how much) to write a best-man speech for him to read at HIS best friend's wedding, a guy who lived in San Francisco, who I'd never met. And it amazingly wasn't a flop, despite my obvious concerns. (Does this count for a writing credit on a resume?)
Suddenly, the aforementioned photographer dropped off the face of the Earth...for a whole year...then one day last summer, out of the blue, he called. I'm thinking, maybe he finally recognizes my photographic abilities and wants me to help on an actual shoot. I should have known better. My girlfriend (what? you have a girlfriend?) is looking for someone to transfer her contacts from her Rolodex to her Sidekick and vice versa. Part of me wanted to act all self-righteous and accuse him of only calling when he needed someone to complete his mindless side projects. And she'll pay you, he added. Ah, those magic words. I wouldn't say I'm motivated by money, but I can't really pass up the opportunity in these unsure days to make a few extra $$. Plus, his girlfriend was the assistant for some super-rich family who LIVED on the 65th floor of the Four Seasons Hotel, so I got to see views of Chicago and Lake Michigan that I otherwise never would have have privy to. (Did you know HUGE spiders can live that high up and live in large quantities outside the windows?). Also, the second day I went there I saw Rev. Al Sharpton entering the hotel.
Also, thanks to this photographer, I received a phone call last June (after he'd been m.i.a. for a significant amount of time but before he called me himself about the above job) from a woman who asked if I'd be available for two days to help her carry large, heavy portfolio books around downtown Chicago to different high-end agencies. She was based in New York City but was branching out for the sake of the photographers she represented. So-and-so recommended you, she said. Ha! I thought. He would. Oh I know the perfect girl for you, he must have said. She's done everything I've asked her to do. And for pennies. But once again, I took the job.
I still can't get over how "New York" the whole experience was; that this woman just called up a stranger (me) and expected she could come to the Midwest and pay someone to carry her books? Hil-arious. But I ate it up. Everything's an experience, I thought, and agreed to meet her in the Loop the following day. I figured she'd be a good contact in the industry (although she never returned my "it was so nice to meet you" e-mail after our nice time together) and like the Four Seasons, I got a free ticket into many agencies I will probably never step foot in again.

(Yep. On Halloween of '06 I got paid to take a 12-year-old trick-or-treating while simultaneously walking the family's two German Shepherds. Jealous?)

And last, but certainly not least, my job the past year and a half definitely qualifies as an "odd" job, despite the fact that it's been my primary source of income since August '06. I could write a book about being a 13-year-old's personal chauffeur/dog walker&transporter to canine artificial insemination/grocery shopper/errand runner/snake charmer/70-year-old's roommate, though, so for now I'm going to sign off.
Unless someone wants to pay me (I'm cheap) to continue....

(P.S. As I'm writing this my mom informed me that she just got home from a Prius survey, which she wasn't even chosen for, but still received the $150! Like mother, like daughter...)

r.i.p. heath

If I am at my computer, I know the instant I get an email courtesy of the gmail notifier on my task bar. I audibly gasped when I opened and read the CNN alert that said, "Actor Heath Ledger, 28, has died." I glanced over at the gchat column ("AIM for grownups") and a friend of mine already had "HEATH LEDGER DEAD" as her status. And then the messages popped up on the bottom my screen: "Did you hear?" "OMG!" Within minutes it seemed the whole world became aware of this untimely death.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't really think twice about a celebrity's death (although I did almost cry when I heard Chris Farley died several years ago), but for some reason the passing of Heath, who is named for Heathcliff in one of my favorite novels, Wuthering Heights, is haunting me.
He wasn't fellow Aussie, Russel Crowe, who is consistently portrayed as a Hollywood "bad boy," throwing phones at desk clerks and such, nor was he the typical young Hollywood coke addict...he was the young father of two-year-old Matilda, and you never heard about him unless it was praising his work.
He was excellent in Brokeback Mountain ("During the [S.A.G.] awards show [this week], religious protesters gathered across the street from the Shrine Auditorium, carrying signs that read “Heath’s in Hell”, a reference to his sensitive portrayal of a repressed gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain."--GET A LIFE MORONS! How insensitive could you possibly be at this time of mourning?!), and I most recently saw him in I'm Not There, a wonderfully imaginative film "about" Bob Dylan, in which Ledger has a comparatively lengthy amount of screen time. Again, wonderful performance.
When I first saw him on the big screen as Patrick Verona in 10 Things I Hate About You ('99), I remember thinking, now that's the kind of guy I want to marry. He had the most beautifully contagious smile I'd ever seen and that ingenious mix of sincerity and don't-give-a-shit attitude.

I played Kate in the original version of 10 things, Shakespeare's Taming Of The Shrew, in 8th grade English class. During a scene where "Petruchio" (played by childhood friend/former crush, P.J.) was supposed to kiss me, Aaron, the tattooed, Nine-Inch-Nails t-shirt-wearing, slacker of our class yelled out, "Slip him the tongue!" Turning some shade of mortified, I glared at Aaron, relieved when our teacher excused us from kissing in front of the class and pissed because secretly I wanted Aaron to be Petruchio.

As a sophomore in high school we studied TOTS once again, which coincided with the release of 10 Things, so Mr. Anderson offered extra credit to anyone who saw the modern-day remake.
In the movie Heath's character falls for Kat (Julia Stiles), who reads Sylvia Plath, pines for acceptance to Sarah Lawrence, drives the coolest car (by my old-school standards), attempts to boycott the prom and gets drunk at her first ever high school party and dances atop a table, while her trendier, cooler, boy-attracting little sister looks on, half revolted and half relieved to have a sister who's partially "normal."
At the time I drove a beat-up '89 Sentra with the following bumper sticker: "If dance were any easier, it would be called football" (which did not sit well with our beloved sports team), planned on going as far away from suburban Illinois as possible when college came around, bought my first book of poetry--incidentally "Ariel" by Sylvia Plath, and seemed to be ever-mystified by the Dennis Rodmans of the world.

Tonight, in memory of Heath, I rented Candy a relatively new release about two lovers who happen to also be heroin addicts. It was so disturbing, I had to follow it up with 10 Things before going to sleep. Interestingly enough, there's a similar scene in both movies where there's a close-up of Heath's character trying to wake up a girl from a drug (Candy) or alcohol (10 Things)-induced "coma." One disturbing, one relatively light-hearted. Both made sad, as I couldn't help picturing the poor housekeeper who probably did the same thing to him--in real life.

But this is how I want to remember him:

Thanks, Heath, for all your work. I wish there could have been more to see. Looking forward to Batman...
Rest in peace.

i hereby banish hummers for all eternity

Being a driver as my stated occupation for the past year and a half I've become much more of a "city driver." I used to get made fun of for driving "like a grandma" and being overly cautious and slow. (I never told anyone that this partly had to do with one of my friends gruesomely dying in a car crash two weeks after I got my license...and a week following her death I was a passenger in a car when my best friend who was driving got in an accident...luckily we were all ok. But that was enough car trauma for December of '98.)
But now I'm swift behind the wheel. My job is exhausting because not only do I worry about obeying all the traffic laws, but I am responsible for a 13-year-old kid most of the time I'm behind the wheel and therefore have to keep an extra careful eye out for the enormous amounts of idiots on the road.
I'm happy to say that up until my stint as a "personal driver" the only thing I've ever gotten pulled over for was tinted windows (twice. once of which i had to go to court) and for "drunk driving" when I was 20 and had never had alcohol in my life, when clearly the cop had nothing better to do than follow me around town. And accident free no less.

Here's the problem, especially in urban settings: People do not respond to horns. Max's mom speculates that this is due to so many people using their horns at unnecessary junctures, so peoples' ears are just immune to recognizing a legit horn when they hear one.
I.E. You're about to reverse your utility van into my car while I'm stopped at a stop light! (which is what happened to me last year)...or I.E. Your ginormous HUMMER is about to MERGE into my drivers seat!

This is what happened. I noticed the driver suddenly decide she needed to be in my lane as I merged onto the Dan Ryan from I55 on the way home from picking Max up from school--headed right towards the driver's seat of our small Volvo. Thanks to my acquired driving skills, I was quick to react, pressing the pedal to the metal and my hand to the horn and speeding up enough so she only managed to hit the back corner instead of flattening my sorry ass. She then proceeded to drive around me, wherein I assumed she was leaving the scene of the accident, as I had already pulled over. I immediately began following her, verbally expressing my disbelief. I noticed as she switched lanes, that she was in fact motioning for me to follow her down the Canalport exit. I couldn't see before because she was seated about five feet above my vantage point. Once off the expressway she pulled into an alley and I'm thinking, oh shit she's gonna shoot us.

Instead she took a lap around her huge-ass vehicle, where she obviously found no damage because she's driving a machine, then walked around mine.
"Well. What do you want to do?" she asks me. No "I'm so sorry" or even a "My bad" thrown in my direction. Just impatient eyes batting purple eyeliner in my direction.
"Call the cops," I replied, even-toned.
"They're not going to come because our cars can drive and we're not injured."
You don't deserve to call that thing a car, I thought."Hm, yeah I guess you're right. That's what happened when some guy hit me last year."
"So we should just exchange information then."
"Fine," I said.
As I shuffled through the glove compartment for the insurance information, I saw her already waiting for me. "This is unbelievable," I said to Max.
"She's a dumbass," he said.
"Well she hasn't even apologized, so I agree with you."
With my driver's license, insurance card, and car registration info in hand, I approached her next to the chunk of gold on wheels.
"What are you writing down?" she asked me.
I saw she already had already written her name, phone number and driver's license number on a torn piece of a yellow envelope flap. "My name, address, phone number, driver's license number and insurance info..."
"Oh you're putting your license too? Fine."
I started copying everything down on the back of a piece of paper which already had directions written on the other side (I hope not to anywhere important...).
"Could you write a little faster?" she asked two seconds later. "I have somewhere to be."
"You just hit my car!" I half-shrieked, bewildered by this woman's nonchalance.
"I understand that, but this doesn't have to take all day."
What nerve! I thought and rolled my eyes. Here I am not even freaking out or screaming at her like a lot of people probably would were they in my shoes, and she has the audacity to tell me to write faster?!
I handed her the piece of paper, and then she told me that the "car" actually isn't hers and she's on her way to work, so she'll call me later tonight or tomorrow morning.
Sensing that there was something fishy going on, seeing as she never actually showed me her drivers license nor had any insurance info on her, regardless of whether it was her vehicle or not, I said, "I don't mean to be a total bitch, but would you mind if I called this number you wrote down to make sure it's correct?"
"Sure, go ahead. That's a good idea," she insisted.
She climbed up into her driver's seat and answered after a ring. I saw her holding the phone in her side mirror and her "hello" in my ear. Before I backed out of the alley, Max suddenly started yelling, "Write down her license plate number! Quick!"
"Oh good call!" I wrote down the seven numbers and then reversed onto the road, allowing the Hummer to back out behind me.

I called Max's mom and left her a message about the accident, my heart pounding in my chest. Even though the collision was not my fault, it's still not the easiest thing to relay to a mom who is paying me to safely and responsibly transport her child. I drove with Max straight to the police station on Larabee and Division because that's where I had to go last year when I got hit. As soon as I started the relaying the accident and said, "I was driving west on 90..." the Chicago cop interrupted and said, "If it happened on the highway, we can't help you. You have to contact the state police." He wrote down their phone number at the top of the Hummer info.
Max and I had both complained about headaches before the accident occurred, and now we had to leave the station both rejected and dejected. Before leaving the parking lot I called the state patrol, who informed me that the state police only go to certain stations and the one closest to our home in Wicker Park would be 5151 N. Milwaukee. "But don't go now," he said. "It's rush hour, so it'll be hard to find someone available."

After dinner I headed to the recommended police station, which ended up being all the way in Jefferson Park. And the woman there told me the same goddamn thing. As soon as I mentioned "I90/94" she said, "Oh we can't help you here."
"Well that's funny because I was specifically told to come to this location." Apparently I misunderstood the patrolman earlier and thought he meant the addresses he gave me were "state police stations" but really they're just Chicago police stations where state patrol will actually stop by.
She picked up a phone and called the state trooper line, then hung up and said, "If you want to wait here, a state patrol can be here in at least an hour."
"No. No I don't. I want to go to bed."
"Well since there were no injuries, you can report the accident over the phone at this number between 7 and 9 tomorrow morning."
"I wish someone would have told me that FIVE hours ago!" I said.
She apologized and said she didn't want to come across as the bad guy, to which I apologized and said, "I know it's not your fault...it's just been a long day. Thanks for your help."

The following morning I called the provided number and after going through a bunch of automated menus, spoke with a human who took down my name and number and gruffly informed me that someone would contact me after 9 a.m.
Around 10:30 I got a phone call from State Trooper W., (I'll stick with initials here) who I liked right from the start because she sounded like Wanda from Curb Your Enthusiasm. I gave her the full report. She then proceeded to call me back at least four more times. First to tell me both the driver's license number and license plate number I provided her were registered to an Anna W., not a Leslie W. (same last name). Then she called to inform me that L.W.'s voicemail says it's Deanna, which is neither name we thought we were dealing with, so Trooper W. left her a message threatening possible arrest. Then she called back just to inquire whether I had three-way calling on my phone so we could potentially call her together and she would "take over." I didn't, so we hung up and a few minutes later she called back to inform me that instead she "went ahead and blocked the number."
"She answered and I said, 'Leslie!' and she said, 'Yeah!' So I said, 'Oh good it's you. This is State Trooper W.' So anyway, I think I scared her, but that's a good thing, and since you've totally overextended yourself in trying to get this resolved even though it's not your responsibility to do so, I want to make sure I help you get to the bottom of this."
"Well, thank you. I really appreciate everything you're doing," I said. And I meant it.
Trooper W.'s best call, though, was the following:
"Miss Liebovich. I'm sorry to be bothering you again, but I just wanted to double check something with you."
"No problem at all. What can I do for you?"
"Well I just ran Leslie through the system, and it says here she also has a Hummer registered to her name. You didn't say the license plate you saw was 'BOOBS 82,' correct?"
I almost spit out my hot tea. This is turning out to be possible inspiration for a horrible rap music video, I thought.
"No," I said, trying to restrain from laughing. "I think I would have remembered that. It was..." and I listed off the 7 numbers.
"Ok cause incidentally the name you gave me also owns a Hummer with the license plate 'BOOBS 82.'"
My friend Zach asked if she was born in '82, but she's almost 50, so no. My friend Giana e-mailed me and said, "I wonder if the 82 has significance or it was just that 1-81 were already taken." And my cousin, Barb, said, "I bet that's when she got 'em [boobs] done!" Perfect.

I've spoken to Leslie twice. Once in between Trooper W.'s updates, when she (Leslie) said she'd call be by 3:00. And again at 7:45 when I called her and said, "I thought I was going to hear from you by three." She said she'd been stuck in traffic and would call me in 20 minutes. Forty-five minutes later she called and [finally!] transcribed her insurance info, stating that all the previous info she'd given me was her sister's. And still no "sorry."
So now I'm just waiting for All-State to call me for my dissertation about the accident, so I can consequently get the deductible I need to get the massive dent out of the Volvo. Until then, I guess it's like people--for every scar, there is a story.

I maintain what I said in my posting about the dog insemination, when a Hummer almost demolished myself, Max and the two dogs, one recently impregnated--If you want to show-off that you're that disgustingly wealthy, why don't you just sew some hundreds together and wear a money suit--not drive a war machine like a fucking maniac!
All I can say is if one's going to get hit by Hummer, this at least resulted in the best possible scenario.

waiting out the storm

Ok, so I still watch Desperate Housewives. Sue me. Lynette's whole family survived the relentless tornado (tornadoes typically touch down for mere seconds in a single space, but this one continued like a godforsaken hurricane for about 43 minutes), which was a relief. Victor died by getting a stabbed in the back by white picket fence (oh the irony), and Carlos is now blind. Also, a lot of the housewives are sans homes right now.
Although it's not yet tornado season here in the Midwest, I sure thought there might be one today. The past four days have been unseasonably warm--I'm talking 65 degrees when it should be -65 degrees. Accompanying the warm weather, pouring rain and lightning storms. On my drive home from Max's school this morning I saw the Chicago skyline like I've never seen it before. Invisible...all except for a middle portion of the Sears Tower. The skyscraper, both above and below this circle of breaking fog, was hidden behind the thick clouds, so as rendering the visible chunk of tower a levitating wonder. (I about kicked myself for, once again, failing to have my camera on me at ALL times!)
By 3:00 returning from school once again, the skyline had returned but with a background of strange-looking clouds, ranging from the darkest gray to a faint greenish tinge. I pointed out the green to Max and had flashbacks of all those tornado warnings growing up, which all began with a similar coloring.

So here is an anecdote I wrote a few years ago about one such day...
(originally published in issue 2 of Make This Magazine)

I was eight or nine years old. That Saturday my mom had to work, so my dad, to keep us occupied, decided it was time to teach my younger sister, Sheri, how to ride a two-wheeler. I stayed home. I was proving—to who, I’m not sure—that I was old enough to be alone. The two of them departed from our suburban cul-de-sac and headed for the deserted church parking lot at the edge of our neighborhood. The same parking lot where he let go of the back of my banana seat two-wheeler and sent me squealing as a six-year-old into weaving patterns among the faded and cracked white lines of spaces. And ten years later where he took me on the first snowfall to teach me how to do “donuts” in his car, somehow trying to instruct safety to a new-driver-to-Chicago-winters.

It was nice out that day, although July could be vicious, and I was unsure as to what the capricious weather might bring our way. Everything was still. As pathetic looking as the single tree by our mailbox looked, I knew it was capable of making some noise with the few leaves it housed. Nothing. I rode my bike around the circle a few times, a few of the revolutions one-handed. Even if Sheri succeeded in losing her training wheels, she would never attempt such a daring feat.

Round and round and round she goes…where she stops…nobody knows!

A low droning noise sounded in the distance. Its volume increased instantly. Could there really be a tornado touching down in Hoffman Estates, Illinois? Up until then I thought all those tornado-drills we participated in every spring at school were just useless precautions. I don’t have a math book to hold over my head out here, I thought. In fact, the entire sky (which had morphed into a sickly green ominous ceiling) could come falling down on me and my bike any second, or a whirling cloud could whisk me away to the land of Oz or an untimely death. And if that happened, a textbook--math or meteorology--was not going to be of any help.

Auntie Em! Auntie Em! Dad! Sheri!

I pictured them finding my lifeless body atop our roof in someone else’s backyard, which of course would have been ripped off the house the exact time gravity reversed and I got pulled into a spinning cloud of household objects and ordinary air gone mad.
Why weren’t they back yet? The rain started. A hesitant drizzle at first and then the green monster began spitting water out like it was choking on all four oceans. Terrified of being alone I ran to the edge of the circle hoping to see the familiar Honda headlights coming around the corner. Again, nothing. I pivoted and as I headed for the shelter of our car-less garage, I made it halfway when our next door neighbor, Paula, appeared at her front screen door. Her voice penetrated through the rain. “Alyse, honey, why don’t you come inside here and wait with us.” I had never been in their house prior to this. Only knew that the two boys, Mike, a year older, and Chris, a year younger used to threaten to beat me up or smash my pumpkins on Halloween and that I was best friends with their enormous dog, Morgan.

Their kitchen was nicer than mine. They had an island counter--the kind without overhead cabinets to bump my head on--which they let me sit atop like a princess. And they had a bay window; the kind you could sit in and read a book, although I doubted any of them took advantage of it in that way.

“Who wants some whip cream?” Paula asked. Was she kidding? I brushed a piece of wet hair out of my face. She was closing the refrigerator door, a squirt can of RediWhip in her hand. The two boys opened their mouths instinctively like two baby birds waiting for worms. I watched in awe as she pushed the red plastic tip with her finger and filled their mouths with the chilled delicacy. Never had I seen an adult so eager to spoil a child’s appetite before dinner. And without utensils!

Chris put one hand to each side of his face like he was going to deflate his expanded cheeks by aiming the edible ammunition at me. “Don’t you dare!” I squealed and lifted one of my dangling legs straight out in front me, threatening to kick him in the face. After all, I did have the height advantage. Mike giggled. I shot him a look that said he was next should he try anything. This counter sure gave me power.
“Your turn,” their mom said to me. “Just a little please,” I said, fearing that I would choke if I had as much as the boys and that my mom would be upset if I didn’t want any dinner. Everyone was all smiles, and I had forgotten about my mission to get in a basement. I didn’t stay much longer after someone announced that there was a car in my garage. I hopped off my throne and walked home through our adjoining yards with a new appreciation for nature’s wrath, eager to share with Sheri how big kids cope during a storm.

i couldn't have worded it better myself

Alyse --

[noun]: A person who laughs at anything (even this entry)

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

what some people remember, others don't

(The following is a transcription of a phone conversation I had in early 2002 with my dad.)

“Hey Lyse, did you hear there was another Amtrak crash? That’s twice in two weeks.”
[sidenote: strangely enough, there was just an Amtrak crash right outside of Chicago yesterday.]
“That’s terrific Dad,” I say this sarcastically as I’m supposed to be taking a 20-hour train ride from Penn Station to Union Station—school to home—next week.
It’s Thursday night and I’m completing the role of a good daughter making my weekly call to Hoffman Estates, Illinois to inform my parents and younger sister of what’s been going on in my second semester at New York University.
“Well, Lyse, you know I wouldn’t be worried about it if I were you. This was just a fluke. Trains only crash every twenty years or so.”
“Yeah except we almost got killed by one last year.”
He sounds astonished—“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember after the Elton John and Billy Joel concert when we came within inches of being smashed by an oncoming train?” I ask in disbelief that he could possibly have forgotten this near-death experience.
“Oh no that never really happened—I imagined the train.”
“Um…what? No you didn’t”
“Yeah I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yeah I did.”
“Are you kidding me with this? Dad, how could I have just made that up?”
“Well what do you remember happening?”
I relayed my memory to him, careful to include as many details that I could see vividly as I watched the event replay in my head. It was a school night a few days before my senior prom. The concert was great, but I was exhausted, so when we got to the van afterwards I immediately laid across the back row of seats. My last conscious thought was that Mom always told me not to lay like that in case we got in an accident because “it’s a dangerous position to be in” and “the seat belt is working improperly.” But at the time I also made a conscious decision for the first time to ignore her warnings since sleeping was my ultimate priority. The next things I remember are really bright lights and a loud horn-like noise. I’m always disoriented when I first arrive back at an awake state of mind. Maybe it was the bright lights or what I thought was possibly a siren, but when my eyelashes first opened I thought an ambulance was driving perpendicular to the road. But then the train plowed past us, just as the van had crossed the tracks--tracks that we didn’t even know were there.
"It was like a scene out of Ghost, Dad! I swear it looked like that train literally passed through the back end of the van!"
I wanted to scream but I felt paralyzed and, not to sound dramatic, prepared to die. But there was no impact—no compressed vehicle, no flying body parts, nothing.
"You pulled over to the side of the road for a few minutes because you had a temporary emotional breakdown, choking on your words, saying 'I ALMOST JUST KILLED MY WHOLE FAMILY OH MY GOD!' And I think you kept saying how sorry you were, sorry that you almost killed us (even though it wasn’t your fault) because there were no barricades and no railroad crossing signs."
And then we all rode in silence the rest of the way home.
“Hmm.” He tries to take it all in. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“Well I remember seeing the train after we crossed in front of it but I felt ok once I looked in the rearview mirror and realized that train was stopped there.”
“It was not stopped! If it was stopped, why’d they have the light on and why would someone lay on the horn? And most of all—why would you have freaked out about ‘almost killing your whole family?’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well you did. Why don’t you ask the other two because at least one of us is wrong.”
“As a matter of fact the little one just walked in the door.”
“Where was she?”
“Ballet! Where else would she be on a Thursday night from 8:30-9:30?”

For a few minutes I listen to the conversation between my dad and sister. I picture her in her dance attire, her hair messily rubber-banded to the top of her head, gracing my dad with the look of utter bewilderment and defensiveness she always uses whenever he greets her with a question before she even gets a chance to kick off her shoes, before she can even drop her armload onto the foyer doormat, before she’s instructed, ‘Hey! Shut the door! What’d you grow up in a barn?’ My dad stands shirtless with thirty-year-old gym shorts on, sweating, drinking a tall glass of previously refrigerated water. He has just finished his bi-weekly, twenty-four minute hardcore Lifecycle exercise. He holds the kitchen phone between his left ear and his shoulder so he has one hand free to gesture with. The phone cord is almost pulled straight, stretched to its maximum distance. The plastic coating silently rips somewhere and a few wires show their colors.

“Oh Sher,..” He draws out the “er” (pronounced “air”) so it almost sounds like two syllables.
“Oh Da-ad…” Sheri mimics him, a habit she adopted from watching her older sister all those years she lived at home.
In the most casual voice he asks her, “I was wondering…Do you happen to remember anything out of the ordinary that occurred that night of the John/Joel concert last year?”
“You mean when we like almost got hit by a train?”
“See?” I say into the mouthpiece.
“So you remember that too, huh?” he asks her.
“How could I forget that?” she responds. “I remember seeing a bright light and thinking it was God because there could be no possible way I wasn’t dead.”
I start laughing.
“Don’t you remember pulling off the road cause you were too scared to keep driving?” she continues.
“If you say so. That’s what Lysie said too.”
“That’s cause that’s what happened,” she says to his confused face from her place standing on the rug and I say into the phone at the same time. We have a knack for doing that.
“Yo!” Synchronized sentences always cause this exclamation from him. “Well I guess I’ll have to ask Mommy now—here talk to your sister.” I see him stick his fully extended arm out to her in one sudden, strong motion. He sees the open door. The air-conditioning isn’t running yet since it’s almost a month till Memorial Day, but for other unknown reasons this is wrong. “Hey! Shut the door! What’d you grow up in a barn?” Then he’s in the background.
“Oh Bon…” He draws out the “on.”
“Hello?” Sheri says to me in a somewhat ‘this talking long distance thing is an inconvenience’ tone of voice.
“How was dance?” I ask cheerfully just to piss her off cause we both know the answer—it’s the same answer we both give to everything.
She sighs. “Good.”

My dad locates my mom not too far away, probably in the family room on the couch crocheting a baby blanket for a co-worker’s daughter’s new arrival while the ten o’clock news anchor on NBC 5 nightly news looks at the camera straight on, looks straight into our family room and questions if maybe the upcoming month of May will bring an end to the “war on terrorism.”

I don’t say anything else to my sister, as I want to hear our parents go over the sequence a third time.
In the same nonchalant voice, but with an almost unnoticeable twinge of desperation, he asks my mom, “Do you happen to remember anything out of the ordinary that occurred the night of the Elton/Billy concert last year?”
“You mean when we almost got hit by a train?” She recalls the same sequence he’s just heard twice.
“Huh.” My dad surrenders. “Well if all three of you say it happened it must have happened…huh…unbelievable…”
Sheri and I chat for a few minutes (after laughing when our mom said almost the same sentences we said to him), reminiscing about that infamous night, verifying that we didn’t imagine the whole thing.
“I can’t believe he doesn’t remember that,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “It was like the scariest night of my life!”
“He probably has selective memory,” I add. “He doesn’t want to remember ‘almost killing his family’ so his brain has chosen to block the memory of what happened and create a new, safer one.”

I know at least I, at this present moment, am reliving the word, “Danger.” It sends a shiver through my body that I can’t quite compute as a specific feeling—energy, paranoia, adrenaline, horror—some kind of psychotic mix. Living dangerously is quite exhilarating when you can live to tell about it. After all, we escaped death; we took a rain check on God’s light; we weren’t brave, just lucky, just squeezing through the danger zone with power-locked doors and eight eyes staring.

Suddenly there is piano music.

My sister moves closer to the culprit—my dad—sitting on the bench, his back straight as a railroad track beside the window in the living room, facing the player piano. But I can tell by the sound that he is producing the music with his own fingers, not with a machine-propelled scroll. I have instant flashbacks of my grandparents’ old house when they owned the same piano and my eyes were the same height as the keys and I’d watch my grandma dance around to the same song, before gleefully joining in the fun by shrieking and spinning around in my own corner of the room.

“I don’t know what the heck possessed him to play that song all the sudden,” Sheri says to me.
I had forgotten she was there for a few moments.
“Yeah…well it’s 'The Entertainer,' one of the only six or so songs he’s had memorized since age eight.” I pause. “He’s probably just trying to prove to himself that he can still remember something.”

it's still rock 'n' roll to me!

When my mom asked if I wanted see Billy Joel, my response was something along the lines of, "Hell yes!" Billy's been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember. In fifth grade English class, Mrs. Frankel had us create our own version of The Jolly Postman, an interactive book of correspondence between fairy tale characters. Already heavily influenced by the music world at age 11, I centered my theme around musicians, one of the recipients being Mr. Joel.





When I found out he was playing the Sears Center in my hometown of Hoffman Estates, IL, I was less than thrilled. I swore I would never go back there after my experience at the Dylan concert last year (read account here: dylan) But I put my differences aside, braved an ice storm (i.e. a normally 25-minute drive turned into a 2+ hour drive) out to the suburbs and accompanied my mom in row H on the floor of the arena.

The show was scheduled to begin at 8:00. Around 8:15 or so the lights went dark and suddenly Billy appeared at the piano surrounded by his fellow band members. He went right into "Angry Young Man." There was a screen hanging on either side of the stage, so everyone could see the musician in action. I have never seen anyone's fingers move like that! I felt like I was suddenly privy to a magician's secret. From the first few notes, I was hooked. I had seen him live one other time my senior of high school during his Dueling Pianos tour with Sir Elton John--still to date one of the best concerts I've ever attended. But we saw them at Allstate (then, Rosemont Horizon) where we sat in the worst seats possible and there were no screens to aide our view of the iconic men and their magic. Oh, and my whole family almost died on the drive home (you can read about that here)

For his second song, he faded into "My Life" by playing a few measures of "Jingle Bells." I thought, "Oh come on, Billy! Hanukkah starts in three days!" I immediately forgot, though, as soon as "My Life" began and jumped to my feet singing along at the top of my lungs--"Go ahead with your own life, leave me alooooone". My mom joined me and I told her, "This is what happens when you get floor seats--they turn into standing seats," as everyone rose to their feet and the only way to see anything was to rise ourselves and stand our tippy toes.

"Hey Chicago!" Billy said, with an exaggerated Shi-cah-go accent. "I'm Billy's dad. Billy couldn't make it tonight...he's probably out drinking somewhere. Thanks for coming out on a night like this. I know you in "Shi-cah-go" are used to this weather. People over here," he motioned behind himself, "are only getting the back of me. Just remember--it's not how bald you get, it's how much head you get." "Hi to those in Milwaukee," he directed towards the only people paying less than $97 for tickets all the way in back on the highest balcony. "Thanks for buying those seats. I need all the money I can get--for my car insurance."
"If you can get this job, I highly recommend it," he shared and then sprayed both his throat and armpits with some concoction he said Madonna made famous, before a rousing rendition of "The Entertainer." Afterwards he introduced his keyboardist, Dave Rosenthal, from New Jersey. Dave played two keyboards at once, one hand on each. Pret-ty impressive if you ask me.
Billy left the 5th song up to the applause of the audience.
1) Summer Highland Falls
2) She's Right On Time ("a Christmas song," he added)
or
3) Vienna

I hadn't heard of any of the choices, but I've always wanted to go to Vienna, so I cheered along with the majority. Number three won. I ended up really liking the song; it's beautiful and the lyrics reminded me of one of my favorite movies: Before Sunrise. "When will you realize...Vienna waits for you..."

"Choo choo" the train whistle sounded, prefacing "Allentown."
He introduced guitarist, Tommy Burns, from Long Island, then said, "That's all for the special effects--this isn't a Justin Timberlake concert." And thank goodness for that. (Ok, fine, I like JT, but nowhere near as much as this guy)
Next up: "Zanzibar"featuring Carl Fisher (also from L.I.) on the trumpet and frugal horn. Then slowing it down a bit with "New York State of Mind," I sat down and got nostalgic about the good times I spent living in NYC, Brooklyn-based sax player, Mark Rivera, bringing me back to those carefree college years wandering the streets NY, inspired and in love.

"Chicago's a good town," Billy said, everyone cheered, and I snapped out of the past and thought--yeah, you're right. "If you're somewhere like Alcatuna, the band looks at me like 'Alcatuna sucks.' But Chicago's a good town."
Nice intro to "My Kind of Town," which ended up being a tease, as he claimed he didn't know any of Sinatra's lyrics past the first verse. My mom thinks he was fibbing. He introduced "Root Beer Rag" by saying that it's difficult to get all the notes right but, "What you'll hear is an authentic rock'n'roll screw up." Again I became transfixed with the wild but calculated moves of his fingers. My mom leaned over and shared similar sentiments, "I just can't get over his fingers!"I will also mention here that, despite my mom having an injured leg, she was up dancing the entire two hours. And I wonder where I get it from...
He introduced his drummer from NYC, Chuck Burgi, after "Movin' Out."

I have mixed feelings about what happened next. I'll let Billy introduce the new song himself (turn up the volume, the recording's not very loud).

He then introduced his "younger voice," Cass Dillon to sing his not-yet-released song, "Christmas In Fallujah."
Watch and cringe. Or sing along if you prefer because the lyrics were close-captioned on the big screen.

Ok, Billy, obviously I appreciated the anti-war message and that the proceeds from itunes sales are going to an organization called Homes For Our Troops, which builds homes for severely wounded veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan. In fact, I think "They say Osama's in the mountains/deep in a cave near Pakistan/But there's a sea of blood in Baghdad/a sea of oil in the sand" points out the stupidity behind this drawn-out war. And I think the presence of the the uniformed military personnel chanting "Hu Ha" (or is it "Oo Ra"?) interspersed with the singers singing "Hallelujah" was pretty powerful.
I understand the pride you must feel hearing someone else perform your lyrics and I appreciate that you decided to debut them in my hometown, but do you really, really need someone who looks and sounds like the lead singer of Creed, one of the worst bands on the planet, to butcher what you've created?

There may have been a collective sigh of relief when Dillon left the stage and Billy reclaimed the spotlight with the lighthearted "Keeping the Faith."
He then left the piano and stood center-stage behind a microphone stand and belted out the beginning of "Stand By Me," one of my favorite songs by good ol' Ben E. King. Cameras flashed from all directions, which reminded me of my grudge against this place. I hate when I don't have my camera.
"I didn't write that one," Billy admitted after the first verse. "But I wish I had."
He then returned to the piano and sang "An Innocent Man," interpretive dancing and intermittently snapping his fingers while seated on the piano bench when his hands were free. I snapped along with him and learned that my mom can't snap her fingers. (Later, in the parking lot I also learned she can't whistle.) I didn't catch the bassist's name, but I did hear that he's Australian, which is pretty cool.
"Uno.Dos.Unodostresquatro," a Spanish countdown to "Don't Ask Me Why." Good one.
At its completion, I noticed we were already at song #15, so I turned to my mom and said, "He better sing 'It's Still Rock'n'Roll To me'." Then he played the opposite--"She's Always a Woman To Me." I laughed out loud as I watched the swaying, swooning middle-aged women on the big screen, mouthing the words along with the man of the hour.
The next song-"River of Dreams"-used to play through my mind before I fell asleep at night when I was younger. Made me think of "Where The Wild Things Are." I had forgotten that this number belonged to his repertoire, so it was a nice, upbeat surprise.
He introduced the final member of the band, Crystal, from good ol' Gary, Indiana. "On percussion, vocals, harmonica, sax and everything else on stage..."
I'm not sure if this would be considered a trait of a trained ear or a music addict, but I frequently have the ability to detect a song by the first note or two. "We didn't start the fire!" I cheered. My mom looked at me and said, "You're way better at that than I am." I sang along to the few lyrics I knew. My mom questioned how Joel remembered all the words to that song, and I said, "Well if I can memorize the lyrics to any song I've ever heard, don't you think he'd be able remember his own?"

Based on the sound quality, I kept expecting to see the young rocker from the cover of Glass Houses up on stage and then there's a gray-haired 58-year-old wearing a backwards Chicago Cubs red baseball cap singing "Big Shot," strumming his guitar at a mic stand.

(John Records Landecker, checking out my "oldies jeans" at "bring-your-dog-and-get-free-ice-cream" day at the local DQ, summer '01)

There are some older musicians who still try and act like it's their Glory Days, but not Billy. He's the real thing. There's the badass I came to see! I thought, as he played a teasing intro to my favorite, "It's Still Rock'n'Roll To Me" and used the mic stand both as a baton and to air-guitar.
That song has been an ongoing anthem in my life. First of all, they're the first song lyrics I remember deliberately memorizing. Second of all, it's the song that made me want to be a drummer at age 10. And thirdly, I felt like Billy and I were on the same unapologetic wavelength.

What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing? I had an eclectic wardrobe in my teenager years (including "a bright orange pair of pants", which has toned down over the years, but I still have crazy-clothes tendencies.

What's the matter with the car I'm driving? In high school I drove a 1989 two-door Nissan Sentra (affectionately named Red Ninja) with slashed seats and a radio/tape deck that would only play if you banged the side of it with your fist. A good majority of the school drove fancy sports cars or luxury mobiles. I got a kick out of blasting this song in the parking lot, pissing off the glorified Vikings with my proudly displayed bumper sticker that read, "If dance were any easier, it would be called football."

What's the matter with the crowd I'm seeing? Don't you know that they're out of touch/Should I try to be a straight-A student? If you are than you think too much. Growing up I was always a part of guinea pig programs and classrooms full of the "smart kids." In later years when math and science didn't come so naturally to me anymore, I found solace in Billy's lyrics and probably rebelled by quoting him to my parents.

And, of course: "Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound, funny, but it's still rock'n'roll to me." Self-explanatory.

(me and the oldies van at "bring-your-dog-and-get-free-ice-cream" day at the local DQ, summer '01)

He finished out the set with my other favorite, "You May Be Right." In college I made callers sit through the chorus if they reached my cellular voicemail soapbox--I'm gonna do what I wanna do and love who I wanna love (don't worry, I didn't actually say that...I let Billy speak for me).

You may be right
I may be crazy
But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for
"Thank you, Chicago!" Billy said with a wave before the stage went dark. The concept of the encore has always been humorous to me. Obviously the artist is going to return, yet we all stand around cheering our brains out like he might actually leave if we don't strain our vocal chords. Nevertheless, I joined in because it's hard not to get caught up in such a brilliant performance. People started waving their glowing cell phones in the air. I heard the guy behind me say to his friend, "Yeah, cause that's the new lighter." Gross.

Billy played a quick Christmas song intro before transitioning into "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant," a song that made me laugh, reminding me of my friend Cooper singing karaoke at Piece [a pizza, bar, live music joint in my Wicker Park neighborhood].
"Thank you, Chicago!" he said again.
Then a quick "Joy to the World" (not 3 Dog Night, Christmas) intro before "Only the Good Die Young." My mom and I danced next to each other, I wearing my grandmother's shoes, I noted. Three generations (in theory) dancing to a song about defying the confines of church and religion..."They say there's a heaven for those who will wait/Some say it's better but I say it ain't/I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints/the sinners are much more fun..."

As he was playing "Silent Night," I saw him pick up his harmonica. That's right, Billy. You can't leave without playing "Piano Man" or it'll make front-page news: "Piano Man strays from 'Piano Man.'"
"It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday..." Ow! Ow! Crazy cheering for Saturday reference--we can relate to that because it is, in fact, Saturday!
This song reminds me of two things, aside from singing along to it in the car with my parents.
1) I remember bringing my harmonica to my art class senior year of high school and figuring out how to play those parts of the song.
and
2) Dancing, and I mean full-out ballet moves at three weddings, leaping around and weaving in and out of slow-moving couples, not letting my single-status keep me from enjoying the dance floor, where I am truly in my element.

For the final chorus, he let the audience sing without him. And we actually didn't sound half-bad.
"Thank you, Chicago! Goodnight. Happy holidays. Don't take any shit from anybody."

As we were filing out of our row, my mom said, "Oh! We should invite him over for a drink, we live so close!"
"A drink??" My mom does not drink. Although, when I questioned her, she informed me that she had two bloody marys at my dad's office party last night.
"Well--Diet Coke," she said with a laugh.

Outside in the frigid parking lot, I danced my way to the car, ignoring the black ice beneath my feet. It took us over 20 minutes just to get out and onto Route 59, so I turned on the ipod and played Billy Joel songs, which he did not sing. And for good measure, an encore of my favorite: "It's Still Rock 'n' Roll To Me" and drummed the steering wheel in time with the beats. I commented that Billy is one of those musicians who actually sounds better live than he does recorded, which is rare and much appreciated.
We went through the drive-thru of McDonald's and each got a small Coke. Myself, regular and hers, Diet. Cheers to you, Mr. Joel--we love you just the way you are.