So walk tall or baby don't walk at all

On Thursday, April 26th, I stood in The Varsity with my camera. It was Stook! and Chris Koza opening for JoAnna James. I took over five hundred pictures that night.



I danced around, twisted around, bent on my knees to try to get the shot I wanted. Capture Stook!'s infectious joy, Koza's understated sense of cool that melts away at moments. Katie, an old work friend, sat behind me as I ran around. She clutched onto her seat. Steve and Jim stood beside me at different points in the show. It was a wonderful night of music all around and it ended with JoAnna soulful pipes reeling with angst and pain and beauty and joy. At one point, Jim was cheering for JoAnna and I look up at him and say "this night is magic." He grabs my shoulders and kisses my head. I take more pictures. Martin walks by, a musician, head of her record label Eclectone Records, and he is choked up. Tears are welling up in his eye.

"I'm so proud of our girl," he says to Jim, "now I have to sing."



The show ended and I said goodbye. In a daze, I stood at the back of the Varsity for a moment. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want it to end. One of my favorite parts about traveling for Bruce Springsteen shows and staying in hotels near the arena is that the 3.5 hour party that happened on stage most certainly continues in the lobby, in the bar, in the rooms of the hotel. One night, in Chicago for Devils & Dust, someone was banging away on the piano and everyone, 20, 30, 40, 50 some odd people, were singing along to Thunder Road.

I wanted the party to somehow continue. But then I was overwhelmed with this sensation of needing to run outside, be outside away from everyone. I walked through the doors, mofoed Stook! and walked on to the parking lot.



Tears welled up in my eyes. I got closer to Brucie the Honda. And they started to pour. I opened my car doors and sat inside and I wept. Pulling away in a cloud with tears streaming down my face, listening to JoAnna's "Back of my Mind" EP, driving around the block that surrounds The Varsity because I couldn't leave it just yet. So happy, sort of distraught, cathartic. At that moment, I was entirely sure I had made the right decision to stay in Minneapolis and not move to New York. For now. For awhile. For I don't know how long any more. This is right. I called Laura and talked to her about art. This is my home, a place that inspires me, challenges me and brings out my current best. I knew that wholly as Back of my Mind
blared from my player.

This past Tuesday, my computer was stolen. Several people told me they understood my pain cause, you know, if there were a fire in your house, you would grab your photo albums first. My house, my art, burnt on the inside. The frame is what is left.



On Thursday, I bent behind the counter at work and started to cry for the zillionth time this week. I was overwhelmed again for the zillionth time this week. My finances were really fucked up. The Department Store hadn't paid me for Indiana vacation time I had requested, my rent check was going to bounce and I didn't know how to take care of that. But I did. I fixed it. And it knocked me down again in trying to fix it. But I had just talked to my mom and she had given me some extraordinary news. Without my asking, for my birthday, my mom and dad were going to buy me a new Mac laptop. I am not too proud right now to accept this gift that I can currently in no way pay for myself. They are just public school teachers. But they have given me a gift that I will use everyday, not just because internet is my crack but because that is the home to my pictures.



And I know sometimes I don't know how to ask for help when I need it, from my family and friends. I've lived so much of my life working towards a sense of ecstatic self, a sense of independence. I know how to take care of myself, to live by myself, to completely immerse myself in this life. My life. To use an overused cliche, I pride myself on being able to stand on my own two feet. But sometimes I can't stand up. I can't walk. I fall. And so many people are there to help me, to hold my hand, to talk to me, to let me ramble about Bruce Springsteen or tell my ridiculous stories, to accept me.



The people in my life have supported me endlessly this week. After my computer jacking and last post, I woke up to several texts, myspace comments and messages, voice mails. They've continued this entire week. I was offered a hand hold, an ear, a shoulder, constant condolences, old computers, a new computer, hard drive space to download my photos, Adobe, a bouquet of lilacs, a loan, pictures from Spain that my family had taken, burnt CDs of pictures I had taken that I had given to others. Even a freaking employee at the Apple Store that I chat with on an almost daily basis gave me a dorky but incredibly endearing hug when I told him why I was trying to figure out how to download my songs from my ipod back to a new computer. Not one person judged me for reacting so strongly. Everyone understood. I was seriously overwhelmed by how awesome so many people acted towards me. I know the best people in the world!

On Friday, I danced at Zenon, then drank with some friends at the 331 Club as JoAnna James played again. I talked to her for the first time. She hugged me. She loved my photos of her show, she had said in her myspace message, and wanted to buy me a drink. She said that they made her choke up because they reminded her of how great that night was at The Varsity on that Thursday night, how special it was to her. She had forwarded them onto her family and friends. Her mom told me how happy they made her, how often she has looked at them. And I'm just glad to be able to give something back to an artist, artists, who have given me so much. As friends, part of my Minneapolis family, people I dance with, cry to and laugh around.

Stook!'s record is called A Soundtrack to my Minneapolis.


This afternoon, I pulled up to work and there were enormous black clouds billowing around the lot of the employee entrance...my first thought was...HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT...THE DEPARTMENT STORE IS BURNING TO THE GROUND...MY WISH HAS COME TRUE!!!!!

Alas, it is in tact, but it was like a holiday with all the drama circulating. A car had actually exploded, blowing out the windows and hood of not only the fire ball itself but a few cars around it. Luckily, no one was hurt. As much as I (the anti-confrontational girl from a funny farm in Missouri) want to punch about a dozen people that work there, I don't really want them to burn to the cement ground.

Anyway, on Monday, my Anna/Little Lamb leaves for the summer. So it was her goodbye party tonight. I peeled away from The Department Store in a cloud of smoke and arrived at the house. I saw Anna in one window and Genna in another window. They live in the same building down in Seward. I spend more time in that house than I do in my own.

I stood outside and yelled Litttttttttttle LAAAAAAAAAAAAMBIE! Genna tells me she sees me. Then, Anna peeks her head and tells me to wait. I stood there, first in the grass then in Genna's living room, enjoying a smoke (of what...Mom...if you are reading this...by enjoying a smoke...you know I don't mean cigs...cause I'll never ever smoke one of those again...by enjoying a smoke, I mean reading passages from Wuthering Heights.) Genna told me they were finishing the surprise. Genna peeks her head out and whispers something across to the other apartment. They're ready.



I walk to Laura's door. Anna has been staying there too as she had no place to stay for a month before her summer in southern Minnesota doing Shakespeare (Willy Willy Boom Billy...an utterly pointless statement to write but I keep saying over and over again in my head because it's FUN!) I heard Thunder Road playing and I, of course, loved that and got really excited. The door opened, I saw people, mine and Anna's friends, sitting or standing all around.

Anna points down, "Happy Birthday, Jonesie!"

I see the Born to Run record spinning on the turn-table.

"Awwww...I love Born to Run...I could definitely use another copy of this album...because the only one I have is framed on my wall right now. Wait, I think I actually have another under my desk. But that's still a cute gift!" I thought.

"Yeah. I love Born to Run!" I said.

"It's all yours, Jonesie!" Anna said.



My stomach dropped.

"The record player?" I muttered.

"YEAH!" she said.

"HOOOOOOOLY SHIT! IT'S MINE!??!?! THIS IS AWESOME!!!! MY HEART IS BEATING IN MY THROAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALGLHJSJGLH:A:kgh:jheouwlkj:lak:ly:tuoeowpyaajAKDJHLFSKAJDFHLKJSA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I screamed.

Everyone was smiling and I almost started to cry. Seriously. Y'know...for the zillionth time this week.



I haven't had a record player since I was a little girl. My sister and I used to spend the weekends reenacting the Annie musical, lip syncing and dancing with full costume and props. I was always little orphan Annie, naturally. But I'm convinced it's because really my sister just loved to play the drunk Miss Hannigan. Naturally. And this was all to the Annie record my mom had. And, by the way, god bless my parents for sitting through a bazillion cheap karaoke productions of Annie.



I don't know why I never bought a turn table. It just hadn't happened. UNTIL NOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOO!

The only records I own are almost all of Bruce Springsteen's albums (including one Dancing in the Dark single where he's completely gaying it up on the cover in this amazing dance pose,) one Southside Johnny album & that Annie album from my childhood. I completely regret giving all my parents old records to this deejay I had dated because I thought I would never actually use them. DJ, can I have them back, please?


Sidenote: not a picture of the deejay...but I like that he's looking at me in this shot...cause the deejay definitely looked at me with this sorta creepy, sorta intense stare. Reason number zillion the thing with the deejay ended.

A few of my friends pooled their hard earned cafe cash, planned and searched and investigated for a long time, and bought me this totally kick ass turn table. This is by far one of the greatest presents I have ever received!!!!!!!!!

So this hell week has such a brilliant ending. Because shit goes down and, as trite as it sounds, I have constantly been overcome in the past five days by the support I have received. Because of everything. When my mom called me to tell me about the birthday gift they would be giving me, she also told me my grandpa, who is 87 years old and not in the best of health, wants to send me a little check to help me out after my loss. And that set me off again. Mom then told me she loved me, she knew this work, what I spend time seeing and doing, is important to me. And thus important to her. I have seen over and over again, in every possible way, how amazing the people in my life are. So thank you everyone!

And the fact that another of my pictures made The Photo of the Week at www.howwastheshow.com has made me continuously happy throughout this flipped out week. This discovery was last Monday. It is a picture of JoAnna James. From that show I left in those good tears.

PHOTO OF THE WEEK FOR 5/6/2007!!!


It was from the last set I was able to download and upload before everything was stolen. It is a set I am extraordinarily proud of. It's the set that has accompanied this ramble. On a different note, it's strange but I'm really afraid of falling out of love with photography, maybe getting burnt out and not caring about it like I do right now. I go to shows. I see the picture in front of me. Will that change? Will I lose interest in this like I did with theatre? God I hope not. It's hard for me because I feel like I have to take a first picture all over again. And once I do that, then it really will be real that they are pretty much all gone. But I'm going to because seeing those shots this week and not taking the photo was worse. Because, like I said, I love being able to give back to the people that hold me up.

Wow, cheesy. But true. CHEESY BUT TRUE! Just like Jonesie...MWAHAHA!

Anyway...a special THANK YOU to Anna, Laura, Genna, George, Kevin & Ben...the friends behind the turn table!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need this. The music is everywhere for me. And now it will have the beautiful, hollow, crackling sound accompanying it.

I'm so good right now. Tired because I stayed up until seven in the morning to write and look at all the photos I have on flickr. I'm so ready to spend my grandpa's gift on some coffee and new records! I'm so ready to take my first new photo!

Seriously, WHO WANTS TO GO RECORD SHOPPING??? YAAAAAAAAAAAY!

My Saturday Night Alone

Saturday night, the weather was shit, cold and misty. Damp and dank. Dark and ominous. You know...just like the crotch of la mere de Buttplug. I ran home from a crabby day at work, ripped off my Department Store black and laid around in my underwear until Badonks and I decided just to get Mexican at the authentic, hole in the wall up the street. I put jeans on and changed into my favorite faux Western blue shirt, faux peppermint earrings and bright orange traffic controller rain jacket. We stepped outside, linked arms underneath the purple duck umbrella and walked up Hispanic row. I got fajitas. She got enchiladas. And, for once, it wasn't me who almost shat my pants on the walk home.

I grabbed my camera and got back into my car. I was alone. Driving downtown, getting quasi lost downtown, calling Badonks to get unlost downtown and parking in the cheap lot next to my venue downtown.


I chatted with a few people that I recognized from the Hoot, my orange jacket draped over my camera bag against my side. I hung towards the back during Stook!'s set, separate, against a column and let the little fajita shrimpies swim in my intestines. I love these tunes and look forward to Stook! opening for JoAnna James on April 26th, when the little shrimpies will be nothing but porcelain memories.



I ran out of the Fine Line as soon as Stook! had finished so I could book it to The Varsity. It was still damp out but I was calm. At peace. Even after some jackoff started trying to talk to me about working in the Wells Fargo building and its breathtaking view. Don't talk to me, jackoff. I am alone by choice tonight. And I'm having a night of rare independent peace.



I walked into the lot and have a SWEETMOTHERFUCKER! moment after I realized my car is not in the lot. Then I had a DUMBMOTHERFUCKER! moment when I realized I was standing in the wrong lot. I found my Honda, in tact, and get the hell out of downtown, naturally getting lost on my way to The Varsity for the Eclectone Records Showcase.

I found it eventually, like I always do, and walked into the venue. It was a little more empty than I had thought it would be but there was this relaxed vibe permeating the air. Everyone was mingling, standing with their drinks or draped over one of the mattresses or comfy chairs. The Mad Ripple started as I entered the theater and I plopped into a black rotating chair on the floor, turning slightly back and forth throughout the entire set. They were Hoot songs he sang. They are familiar to me.

Before Martin Devaney, I wandered around a bit, walking upstairs to stare out the windows by the bathroom. The night sky was now clear as I looked over Dinkytown.

I walked back down the stairs and my twirly chair was still open. I sat.



Martin Devaney's folksy music was heartbreaking. My independent little heart broke, especially as he sang Flowers on the Doorstep. And still rocks out a bit. It's a strong little heart. A few times, Martin REALLY reminded me of Bruce during his acoustic tour. The shrimpies did a dance of joy. Jim sat down next to me, looked up, saw me and he sort of shouted my name. We talked for a bit. I asked him about Martin's age. He said "maybe 27 or 28. He's just a baby." I thought about how this 27 or 28 year old breaks 25 year old hearts and owns his own record label. Stellar resume.



Another break. I climbed back up to the bathroom, just to run around a bit, and looked at myself in the mirror for a second. I never get sick of checking out the piercing. I love my navy bandana and red striped earrings. This time I walked slowly down the stairs, checking the concert posters that line the wall, almost tripping because I was staring at Regina Spektor's picture. I nade it down okay and found chair closer to the stage. JoAnna James sings next.

Aching, yearning tunes. Another broken heart. This white girl nailed the blues. There is hope for all of us. ( Y'know...except me.)



I did't leave my seat this time. Steve walked up to me. I stood. We chatted about my new lens. I am thrilled that I can even contribute to this conversation. God bless this lens. God bless. We chatted about getting lost downtown. I mentally thanked the Hoot for introducing me to these people.

Mark Stockert stood on the smaller stage set up opposite of the main stage. He was trashed. I was nervous. Regardless, he was composed. And then one of those live music experiences happened that can never be replicated or even described adequately enough.

Mark set down his guitar against a speaker and stood on the edge of the stage.



He started half singing, half wailing this phrase: "light me up and knock me down."



Then, I heard a guitar from the opposite side of the Varsity. Then, a voice from another end. Then, another voice, another end.



I looked into the middle of the Varsity and Martin was there and started singing along, too. Someone joined him. It was dark and I couldn't really tell who it was. Someone else joined the duo. They were together in a small clump, arms raised. Mark & Martin, with their arms raised, were commanding the audience to sing along.



The sound of instruments and voices were everywhere, layered one then the other then the other then everyone. It surrounded us, a wall of sound building up all around. The Varsity seemed vast at that moment.



He started and ended his short set with this. I sat my camera against my leg and just shot it. Alone, but entirely happy, singing along to a song that I had no idea what the words were. It was my version. Everyone was singing their version. I realized later what Mark was chanting was actually from a sign that hung behind him against the wall of The Varsity Theater.



Jim came up to me afterwards, amazed at the song. He introduced me to Mark. Mark was even more wasted, but this time he had a huge grin across his face. As he sort of wobbled back and forth, he told me he couldn't believe that had happened. I asked him if it was planned. He said "Sort of. But not really." It didn't matter. At that moment, I didn't want to dig too deep into that experience, I just wanted to revel in it a moment longer. Mark told me he wanted another drink. I told him he deserved it.

It probably meant something different to each attendee of that show, everything from Jim's ecstasy to nothing but a poster sing-a-long. I, alone that Friday night, won't forget that sensation of turning around in my chair, preening my neck to see where all that sound was coming from, what all that sound was, how far it would keep going, would it wail on forever?

I needed to rock.

Chris Perricelli of Little Man walked by and I thought "Man, he's short" and then, months after seeing pictures and reading articles, I had an extraordinary epiphany: "Ohhhhh...that's why his band is called Little Man." Nice, Jonesie. Real nice.

Someone yelled out "You're not little. YOU'RE BIG!" and I couldn't decide if that was annoying or endearing.



Little Man ripped it apart.



Rocked and leapt and sang and shredded



It felt like Little Man was looking directly at me. He did.



I was so intrigued by this fierce rocker.



That annoying/endearing guy from beginning was right.



Little Man is very very big.



I saw Stook! from across the way, flashed the mofo sign and he came over, through the dancing audience.



Stook! and I watched Jim Walsh worship at Little Man's feet.



Stook! and I watched/laughed as two seiz-tastic, older women "dance."



I shook back and forth, barely moving my feet but having my own mini seiz-tastic dance.



I snapped picture...



...after picture...



...after picture...



Little Man ended his set. We cheered. The audience was sort of thin but we had just experienced a night of tight, polished, wonderful music. Everyone was beaming. I stood still for a moment and then hugged Jim and Stook! good-bye.

As I passed the merch table, I bought two albums (Martin Devaney & Little Man.) I walked out of The Varsity, past all those drunk douchebags against the walls of The Library, clutching my new music in my fist. As soon as I got into my car, I stared at the albums, deciding on Martin for the car ride home. I needed something chill to sing me to sleep at 2am.

I was never really alone to begin with.



Over and over and over again.