I have learned that one should never try to "say something" when she meets someone famous whom she respects. Never ever.
I stood in line clutching my copy of "Killing Yourself to Live". Chuck Klosterman had just been interviewed by Mary Lucia and Tapes n' Tapes had played several different songs. Chuck was hilarious, arrogant and awesome. I thought about my earlier experience meeting Amy Sedaris and how I had been so idol struck, I couldn't speak. I swore the same situation wouldn't happen with Chuck. So I thought about what I would say. I thought about paragraphs in his books that affected me the most. And there is one that really REALLY resonated with me. I have this habit, with any music related book, of looking at the glossary to see what has been written about Bruce Springsteen. Because he's the man. Alas, Chuck hadn't thought so...
A chapter from "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" that refers to Billy Joel as an underrated artist because he was so anti-cool:
"But it's the constraints of that very relationship that give Billy Joel his subterranean fabulousity, and it's why he's unassumingly superior to all his mainstream seventies peers who got far more credit (James Taylor, Carole King, BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN, etc.)" (Pg 44)
Referring to the popularity of "Born to Run" (and Bruce as the epitome of cool) during the 1970's:
"But what nobody seemed to notice is that this song has some of the most ridiculous lyrics ever recorded. Half the time, SPRINGSTEEN writes like someone typing a PG-13 letter for Penthouse Forum: The lines "Just wrap your legs round these velvet rims / And strap your hands across my engines" is as funny as anything Tenacious D ever recorded, except BRUCE is trying to be deep." (Pg 46)
Chuck goes on to rip Bruce (and his fans, for that matter) a new one. I don't have the heart to continue to type this out. Or the heart to really debate it. Because for me, Born to Run is the greatest song of the last 50 years.
It's a testament to Chuck and his writing that I, that Bruce girl, could continue reading.
Aaaaaaaaaanway...I remembered that passage while standing in line at The Fitzgerald and thought "that's it. I'll bring that up. That will be funny. I'll ask him a good question about how anti-cool I am. Yeah, a good question. That won't be lame."
Oh how wrong I was.
I stepped onto the stage, handed Chuck the book, and had (basically) the following conversation.
Chuck (opening the book and signing): "Thanks Alexa"
Me: "Yeah. Thanks so much. uhh. Hey...if I fell in love with Bruce Springsteen in 2000, does that make me anti cool?"
Chuck: "What do you mean?"
Me (mildly panicking and completely rambling): "You know how you write how Billy Joel is cool because he's so anti-cool and Bruce Springsteen was the epitome of cool which makes him less so. Well i'm about 20 years late. So then i'm anti cool."
Chuck: "No way. Why would that make you uncool? Look at you. You're wearing a cut shirt. You're hip. You're a hipster."
Me (full on panic): no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO!
I then grabbed my book and ran off stage.
Oh god. No. I felt like I was reliving that scene from my highschool production of "Boys Next Door" in which I played a mentally handicapped girl whose only line was "no no no NO NO NO NO NO NO!"
I'M NOT A MOTHERFUCKING HIPSTER! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have a complex with this because it's not the first time someone has called me a hipster. Seriously, I'm so awkward and loud and uncool. And not in that ironic way.
(Evidence: My Friday Night Self Portrait Session that included 80's Monkey Loving)
But I do love ripped t-shirts and leggings and leg warmers and eye liner and Bright Eyes and all that shit. Still, I'm not a motherfucking hipster. MOTHERFUCK!
Sigh. Oh well. At least I have a signed copy of "Killing Yourself to Live." I still very much love you Chuck. Though, to you, I am that semi-retarded adamently opposing hipster.
I'm over it. Until next time, that is.
Chuck Klosterman with Tapes 'n Tapes at The Fitzgeral Theatre in St. Paul
Afterwards, Chipmunk drove us to the Cabooze to meet up with everyone. Unfortunately, we has missed Dance Band opening. Omaur Bliss was fun for the first two songs of their set. The rest were just boring and seemed like endless repeats of those first two songs (though they provided some stellar photograhpy opportunities.) So we drove to Seward Luce, naturally.
SATURDAY
a day that left me with a new piercing**
a day that played "the storm of the century"
a night that snowed a foot
a night of spaghetti and several bloody marys
a night of midnight sledding and hot cocoa
a night of strange pants and hugging my Chipmunk and Little Lamb on the hill
a night in a strange master bedroom
a night that feels like it never happened
a next morning that had five of us in one bed together
with all our clothes on, mind you
one less familiar than others
all laughing and screaming staring out the master bed window
at the results of the snowed in blizzard "storm of the century"
for those twelve hours we were a family
SUNDAY
Hungover with ginger beer, grilled cheese, a funny lesbian and a golden statuette.
**It's called the conch.
When Mama inevitably sees the piercing, if Mama acts shocked and/or disappointed, I'm just gonna tell Mama "at least it wasn't a tattoo."
While trying to remember the name of the specific piercing this Monday evening, the first word that popped into my head was chode. So very very wrong. And maybe just a little right. YOWZA!
PS While editing this entry, I am listening to my early copy of Jesse Malin's soon to be released "Glitter in the Gutter." My heart stopped when I heard Bruce's eiptome-of-cool voice. I had forgotten that he was a guest on the album. 'Twas a splendid surprise!
