you don’t own me anymore

10 May

Wednesday at work was a pretty awful one. My calendar was full of all my favorites: the data trading partners who like to shout,not listen, and not read the test reports we give them even a year later, the annual “remind the lawyer about last year’s conversation that answered all his questions about this acquisition in process” meeting, and setting expecations with people who volunteered me for things that aren’t technically possible while I was out dying of the flu.

Recognizing this (and not having won the member ticket drawing from wnrn), I went ahead and set myself a little reward – I grabbed a couple of last minute tickets to Brandi Carlile show at Maymont that evening, so my lovely wife and I could have a date night.

Having set this little reward for myself, I wrapped the day having set some expectations, talked the lawyer down, and maybe made some folks listen and understand a bit better. I had a nice conversation with some former co-workers while delivering some equipment I had idling in my building to somebody who could make better use of it, and also picked up my bike from the shop, properly tuned for the season, and with a new bottom bracket installed, effectively removing that annoying click.

I felt better when I left work than when I arrived.

After an always great meal at Carytown Burgers and Fries, we settled in on the lawn, having taken part in the expected local “find parking, then work your way through the ticket line so you can buy tickets to exchange for beer and wine” ritual (they had a nice Stone Brewing IPA on tap), and waited for the show, surrounded by a very diverse, and way more polite than usual RVA concert crowd.

And two minutes into the opening act’s set (which started fifteen minutes ahead of schedule), Colleen and I fell in love with The Secret Sisters, a great folk/americana duo you need to check out immediately (I will be buying all the records in short order). I also learned some neat performance tricks about acoustic guitar dynamics and clever stage banter. Seriously, check them out – why not start with the video for “He’s Fine”?

In between sets, I saw two giggling, sweaty people come out of a port-o-john together, sporting a certain glow. I did not use that particular piece of equipment, but admired these folks for their dogged persistence.

Brandi Carlile was awesome as expected – I’d never seen her live before, but regularly dipping my feet into the pool of alt-country, folk, and americana, I knew exactly what I was getting into. Great stuff, mostly material from her latest record By The Way I Forgive You. A really nice time.

That was my evening, going to a live show on a Wednesday night isn’t my usual thing, but then, anymore, going to a live show where I’m not on the bill somewhere hasn’t been my style for a while. It was nice. Paid for it a bit on Thursday morning (remember, I get up around 5am to start my work day early). That said, I might do it again in a couple of weeks, as St. Vincent is coming to town, and Annie Clark put out one of my favorite records last year, Masseduction, and will probably be worth the heavy eyes the next morning.

I am contemplating.

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