Dear Show Attendees:

If you pay $25 to see a band play live, you should listen and watch.  To the many of you at last's nights Explosions in the Sky show, here are some pointers for how to listen better:

To the four couples surrounding me who spent 90 minutes in lip-lock:  Colfax has a plethora of inexpensive motels, which-by the nature of their definition-offer you the appropriate space for your activities.  You could pay potentially $25 flat if you find a true motel and save yourself the $25 you forked over for your significant other.  Make use of them.  Or purchase a Groupon Getaway; I hear they rule.

To the man attempting to become the boyfriend of five women:  Pick a target, and stay focused.  You appear moronic to the rest of the crowd.  And next time you try to seduce a woman, maybe try a subject other than jelly beans.  Try art, music, television, books, travel, nature, but not jelly beans for fifteen minutes.  Here's a free tip to end my piece for you:  attend a show of a band you actually enjoy, so you don't need to complain about your eardrum's post-rock-mordem.  This way, you will shut up and have something to talk about for at least thirty minutes afterward.

To the wild dancers:  It's post-rock not disco.  Dance, dance, dance away, but keep your appendages out of my face and ass, k, thanks!

To the tall people:  When you see a hole in front of two women under 5' 6'', and you are circa 5' 9'', don't weave your way in.  And when the 5' 5'' girl confronts you, don't say you're sorry and produce a puppy-dog face... then stay planted to the ground.  Dammit tall people!

And, finally, to Mr. McGrabby:  If a song-which happens to be my absolute favorite-is called, "Your Hand In Mine," plays and I sway a bit, it is not an open invitation to hold my hand or work your way up to my breasts.  And if I push you away more than once (specifically three times), that's a good indicator that you should stop before I lose it entirely and scream, "WHAT THE F***?  STOP TOUCHING ME, DUDE!"  Yes, I will be like Moses and part the sea of harassment for the auditory pleasure of the crowd.  And after a failed attempt to hit on me, you should move your body further than six inches from mine, particularly so I don't overhear you hitting on the woman next to me.

If, collectively, we follow these basic rules of common, social interaction, we will have a pleasant experience together, with or without marijuana.  I believe in your ability to succeed but welcome your questions if you find yourself in a state of ambiguity.

Cheers!  And... Texas Forever!

-Ash

Basement Band

When I was a high school sophomore and had few-to-no friends, I tried to start a basement band.  (In Wisconsin it's too cold to play in the garage most months out of the year, so jam bands originate in basements.)  We met at the church youth group, so our music was mostly Jesus-y and consisted of four chords.  The traditional worship stuff.  Yep, we were cool.  We called ourselves "Paradox" and planned to record a demo to send to people and make it big.  We made a logo, too.  And yep, we recorded a song on a Mac.  Oh yeah, and I was the guitarist/vocalist.  Indie rock and roll?  Or not.

(This was my baby... a bright, blue Washburn.  I sold it to my brother to buy a snowboard.)

My neighbor downstairs plays piano and writes his own music.  His songs are about everything and anything, and he favors the minor keys.  He loves to belt lost-love ballads also.  I bet he started in his basement, too.

I write all this today, because I wish I was the neighbor annoying my building with my own songs and boisterously-loud melodies.  My mom was right; I should've stuck with those piano lessons.  And I'm planning, secretly, to steal my grandpa's banjo when I go home this summer... that'll be a trip.

"I've got a thousand love songs.  Far too many, they've just got away.  I've done a thousand things wrong.  Far too many for me to name.  But I'm not too far gone to fall headlong, into the arms that love me." 

Today is a much better Monday than I anticipated.  Over the Rhine pre-released their new album, and I'm listening to it while drinking a new blend of coffee.  I was trying to avoid instant gratification, but OTR doesn't apply.  Mmm.

For the love of sultry music, Christmastime, and anticipation of yoga class.