Monday, October 29, 2007

Happy birthday, Mrs. President...

Yeah, it's my birthday. I'm old plus eight.

My man knows what I like. And I like nerdcore. Seriously, there's something so liberating and wonderful about wearing my embarrassing closet addictions (Star Wars, video games, comic books, the Muppets, the whole I-don't-wanna-grow-up-I'm-a-Toys-R-Us-Kid forever lifestyle of my generation... not to mention rap music) right on my sleeve. And it's a relief when I am among younger people who have inexplicably learned the pop culture of my own generation, word for word. Good for you, kids. Good for you.

We went to an MC Chris show tonight at SLO Brew or whatever the hell it calls itself. Even though Pat wrote about it on his blog, I also feel the compulsion to pimp for the MC. Love him. Seriously, really, love him.

He told us a dirty story. He sang his voice into hoarseness. (Yes, he really sounds like that in real life). He bounced and danced and entertained us thoroughly. He encouraged us to sing along, and let us carry the choruses (and the one-liners). He teased us. He made fun of Nickelback. He sang bits of "Free Bird" and "Du Hast." He was amazing.

Great show. Wonderfully great show. The audience never let up on the energy, waving the rap hand, the peace sign, the glow sticks, the bird, whatever he asked us for... and singing along with every word. I thought I was an addict and a fan, but I discovered something about going to concerts for cult phenomena.... the fans are cultish. We cheered and chanted him back onto the stage after his triumphant exit after "Fett's Vette" and he came back, astonished. He blinked at us. "So... what do you want to hear?"

Based on concerts I have seen: if you get the chance to see Ween or MC Chris, go do it. I've seen a lot of wonderful concerts, but when you go to a show, go to be entertained. Take your sense of humor. Take your sense of adventure. Leave your superego at home, and just go play. It's so worth it.

Well done, MC Chris.

Well done, honey. What a great present.

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