Yesterday afternoon I got to see a band that I've been a fan of for nearly a decade (close enough!) perform the entirety of one of my top five albums of all time. I almost didn't go, but I also knew that I would be sad in my soul if I played the loser card and stayed home.
The me of eight years ago, when I was really into The Posies, would have flipped at being directly in front of Ken Stringfellow. The me of eight years ago would have freaked out when he jumped off the stage and then climbed over the barrier next to me, to lead a handful of us like the Pied Piper over to where he and Jon Auer sold their merch, kneeling on the concrete. The me of eight years ago would barely have been able to look at them long enough to buy the vinyl of Nice Cheekbones and a Ph.D., much less say that I was glad I'd finally gotten to see them. Because the me of eight years ago would never have driven to Chicago to see a show alone, at all. Period.
Strangely enough, I never would have realized they were playing Taste of Randolph if Empires hadn't posted about performing at an after-event, because then I went "What is this Taste of Randolph thing?" and looked it up.
That was only on Tuesday. Sometimes the best things are the ones you find out about at the last minute.
