The most interesting thing about live music is the reaction of those that have come to witness it. It’s some obscure artist to you, but clearly the trailer park dude with the short pants and chops knows the words. He wants a signed copy of her CD. It won’t be worth anything one day, but one day doesn’t have to come. Someday is now, and it’s worth everything to him, or at least $10. It means he can leave with something she was that close to once, something that she touched. Proof she’d been there, in black ink, on a white page, like a fingerprint. He wants more, but he’ll settle, just like all her songs say.

He sings along to show he knows all the words—to her heart, her soul, her Lilith Fair life. He knows, but how can he convince her he’s everything she wants—he has studied her down to the cadences, the comas, the hard resets. He knows. He has been through her architecture. He has soul, depth, it all. If only she’d consider him. ‘Cause he’s the good guy, the guy that would give her Every. Single. Thing. Her heart thought it wanted. Her songs would no longer be about unrequited love. He’d change her music when he changed her life.

But she won’t choose him. Because he has facial hair, the bad kind, and a Timex. Love sucks that way.



  1. So… Guys in clubs who only care about their shirt and their watch= Bad.

    Guys with chops who don't care ENOUGH about their watch= Not much better???

    "But wait… It's got Indiglo!!"

  2. Interesting.

    Should we take the fan with the bad kind of facial hair as a metaphor for your various fans who will never be in your eyes/heart wwhat you are in theirs?

    If so, then what are the deal breakers for you (other than the wrong kind of facial hair, of course)? Poor spelling or word choice? The wrong kind of manners? Domestic beer in a can?

    Inquiring minds . . . .

  3. A couple of things. First, I agree that at some performances (usually those that aren't stimulating musically) the audience can be as if not more thought provoking than the performer. John Cage wrote piece(4'33") where the audience expects the performer to play, but the "pianist" just sits in front of the piano with a stopwatch an occasionally turns a page of the "music" sitting in front of him. It's all about what the audience does in reaction to the performance and the realization of the weird world that exists somewhere between the audience and the performer. Second, you can't help but pity the ass who is so helplessly, cluelessly in love with someone who is clearly out of their league. She's well paid to suffer such fools.

  4. I wish I understood the upper and middle class's hang-up about trailer parks.

  5. I think there has to be a little more self respect there too on the guy's part. No woman wants a wimp at the end of the day. Yes, they want someone considerate and nice, and all the rest, but not someone falling all over themselves.

    I think the performer needs to get over her hangups if she's really that superficial. I don't know many artists that would be so materialistic, but there are all sort of people out there.

  6. Now the funny part of all these reactions and what was originally written is that you couldn't be further from the truth. BUT nevertheless very interesting to read how people interpret things with their own predeterminations or subconscious lives bleeding into another person's reality.

    Innnteeeresstingg and well-written.

  7. Polly – this is polly,

    Everyone has a hang up about trailer parks – the rich are fascinated, the poor hate living in them, the formerly poor never want to end up living in one again. Because they suck! Have you ever lived in a trailer? It's gross!

  8. I have had the the pleasure of living in two trailer parks during my meager adolescence. I must say, how in the FUCK could anyone not look down on a trailer park? They are run down, mullitt filled, white trash, cockroach ridden, drug dealing, inbread, mice filled, rusted out pieces of everyone else's "not a cold day in hell" standards. I agree with PPP, (this time). The "nice" ones have double wides! WHOOPPIFRICKINDEE. The best they can get is craptacular. Your (and I put this sarcastically) "house", still has:

    -a hitch attached
    -axles with wheeles underneath
    -made of tin, MAYBE alumunim
    -do I really know to go further????

    Yeah, I know I misspelled alot of things, but if you care about that, you need a therapist.

  9. forget about that nothing personal shit. I am tired of being nice. No one asked. I don't care. Take your trailer park, polly, and enjoy your WALMART experiance.

  10. Wes,

    Stephanie sort of writes a lot of these to be subject to interpretation. I would imagine if she wrote more details we wouldn't be left guessing and our comments would be more on point, but then you wouldn't have as much fun thinking we're silly and interesting.

  11. So Wes,

    From your (perhaps a touch condescending?) Post, I gather you are happy for the attention of your groupies, in whatever form it may take (panties thrown from the audience . . . propositions from strangers . . . outright stalking . . .)?

    Some others of us who are or have been performers prefer our adulation to be tinged with a more mature sense of self and a definite sense of boundaries.

  12. Yeah, I forgot to say, the tires are on the trailer, not the cars. The cars are on cynder blocks.

  13. Not being angry like everyone else is…jut want to say i love pianos esp when im already wasted

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