I have to say that I'm a bit disappointed. Nothing over the top occurred in Seattle.  There was a brief standoff involving me and Eric and a really bad small time 80's hair band called 'Rail' …but I prevailed.

"It will be GREAT! They'll play all the GREAT HITS FROM OUR ERA!! COME ON!" he was almost begging. Something I normally like in a man. This was too horrible though. 

"There are no Great Hits from our era…unless you count the Sandanistas and my first divorce…The Clapper…pee wee herman…. fruit rollups…which you don't."  He calls them 'fruit leather' and claims they are jammed with red dye number 13 and corn syrup.  GOD. 

Eric and I don't often agree on music.  I can't tell his bands apart and my music makes him pine for the garage.  Sometimes we can find some sort of reluctant common ground through pity or the desire to use something against one another, as in the historical case of the Nine Inch Nails Tour 2007, I went and later that year we got a new dog; and my 8 hour Tom Waits/JJ Cale/ Cat Power/John Prine Super Road Trip Ipod Mix.  I sing tunelessly along until he cries real tears, then we listen to NPR.

We landed in Seattle at 8:30 on friday night and the band was scheduled to start playing in the South Seattle Warehouse district at 10:00. Eric had delusions of us catching a bus downtown and walking through meth allies to get to where I would certainly not get my yummie exotic food or my crazy artsy martini.  I would be served PBR in a warm glass and we would stand stone cold sober on the dance floor of a mostly empty former cannery while neverbeens play Styx cover songs.  Eric was giddy with the idea of a t-shirt in his size and whether the base player would be bald yet.

"That guy was losing his hair in 9th grade…PLEASE? You'll HAVE FUN!"

No. Half the band works at Home Depot to make ends meet. The other half lives with their mothers. That's not the sort of ground from which genius germinates.   I mean, I'm a fan of mothers, and certainly ladders and the paint isle…but there is nothing sadder than seeing men my age sing Come Sail Away! using amplifiers that don't go to 11, in a venue that doesn't either.  The bitterness of the years telling on their wrinkled tattoes (Is it a ship? A woman's torso? The lines have collapsed into pre-skin cancer and age spots…its a tiger?…a snake grasping a dollar sign? It's the medical sign for 'I have Diabetes'…) and rockport footware.  That's not fun, it is quite another f-word. 

We agreed to do things my way since the rest of the weekend was about His Family.  We ate carribean food and drank really improbable mixes until after midnight (Pactific Time!) in a small cozy place one block from the garden cottage where we were staying; Cienna's house. Cienna and Preston ate/drank with us. It was really nice. 

Saturday was the big nephew high school Jazz concert.  My husband's family is big on music. The nephew is a very gifted jazz guitarist and performed very well to more of an audience than I'm sure Rail could drum up ….

Eric's mom is now convinced that Eric's brother is quitting his well paying tech job to become his son's manager.  This will end in ruin.  Homelessness, unattractive facial hair…heroin addiction.  
Perhaps eventually a job at Home Depot.   (I suggested that!) We ate seafood at a nice chain near the water. Eric and I took the bus back to Seattle and walked around until late, drinking at his old downtown bars and some of my newer ones. 

It was a good weekend. I'm glad to be home.  Back to my own devices. 

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