ampersand

A conversation that occured not thirty minutes ago:

"Um ... Hi," I say, nervously
"Hi!" he says back, enthusiastically. I'm not sure if it's actual excitement, or if he's just not sure how to react.
I try my hardest to speak. It's a little easier than last time, however I don't really have a plan, since the spiel is kinda redundant now.
"So, ah welcome to Australia," I say, as I fumble nervously in my bag.
"Thanks," he says.
"Do you mind signing this?" I ask, as I hand over my vinyl - this time, the Conjure Me 7 inch from '91, when they were still on Sub-Pop. It's old. The vinyl is pink. Neither point comes up at all.
"What's your name?"
"Mark," somehow manages to escape my mouth.
"Mark with a 'c' or 'k'?" He asks. I know how to answer this one now. I've been practising.
"K," I say confidently, "And the show last night was awesome, by the way"
"Thanks," he says.

Now it's go out on a limb time. I figure I've got nothing to lose, except maybe he'll think I'm some strange stalker guy and get some sort of injunction or restraining order put out on me. I can't help but feel ok with this though.

"I'm not sure if you remember," I say "but we actually met last year before a show."
"Where?" he asks
"Ah, Copenhagen," I say
"Yes!" He says, enthusisatically. "You haven't changed your shirt."
My mind is a little blown. And I feel a little stupid. Yes, I'm wearing the same shirt. "I well.. I mean, it's been washed and everything. It's clean!"
"Have you got tickets for tonight," he asks.
"Oh, yeah," I say excited.
"Ok, cool. Cause I could've put your name on the door if you hadn't."
Again, this is kindness well above and beyond any fan-boy -slash- obsession relationship. I'm really not sure what to say.
"That's so nice of you. But yeah, I pretty much bought them the day they went on sale. But thanks."

He puts a little circle on the map of Cincinatti featured on the record sleve. "That's where I'm from," he says. I check. Hamilton. Add that to fan-boy knowledge base.

We shake hands. I say thank you and wish him a good show. I also feel a little rude, as behind him stands Bobby Macintyre - drummer extraordinaire - and he's just standing looking a little left out. I wish him a good show too, and go to walk off. Awkwardly, we're all walking in the same direction, but I'm too distracted to notice.

I wolf down the rest of my Macdonalds and call some people as I walk around aimlessly looking for an internet cafe. Shortly after, a familar face walks past me.

"Excuse me, were you at the show last night?"
"Oh, yeah. Hi," she says. We were standing down the front together for most of the show. She got handed a set-list and I didn't.
"So are you going tonight?" I ask
"Yeah," she says, unenthusiastically. This is getting awkward, but I'm excited and I don't really care.
I show her my signed vinyl. She feigns interest. We say goodbye. I feel stupid.

Ain't nuthin' gonna bring me down.

The longer story, which involves mostly sitting around an airport, will be posted on my return. It's far less exciting than the above, so be prepared.

Also, I wrote something that isn't about me. Well, it's mostly not about me. You can read it here. To be honest, I don't think I'm very good at reviews. Either that, or I should've picked a better show to start with. For a good two hours last night all I could write was "It was good. I didn't pee myself." Luckily it cleans up a little better than that.

Feedback would be welcome.

Now, if you'll excuse me I've got some drinking to do.