So I got to meet Amanda Palmer last night.
Which was the only good part about the concert, which featured all of fifteen minutes of Dresden Dolls and a whole bunch of a very lame band called Panic! At the Disco (exclamation mark included) who were very loud, with very rude fans with a median age of about 15, and who sucked. Perhaps they should have spent less time turning up the bass to inhuman levels and building a paper-mache windmill and worked on, you know, writing songs. DD was awesome as usual, Palmer is sounding very strong, but only sang about 6 songs. It was like a one night stand, and not the good kind. The kind where somebody rolls off of you and starts snoring before you’re even out of the gate.
So I paid the $15 to get to meet her without waiting for 4 hours, in the form of buying the new CD. I already had a pirated copy, so I felt good about actually purchasing the thing.
First of all, she is beautiful–and you can’t really tell about the big blue eyes from the stage. She’s bright and personable and not mean–unlike the event staff who ushered me along the minute it became clear she and I were actually having a conversation, not just signing and moving along. Brian is also too hot for words and nice as anything, and though it was boiling hot and humid, and we were all gothily sweating in our black clothes, at least I got to feel like I had some kind of connection to people whose music has been with me for awhile now. I think we all want that, connection to the makers of art. Concerts are so odd–your life intersects with this person who is just a person, and for you it is so memorable, you’ll talk about it for weeks–for them it is just another show, and they won’t remember you for half a second after you’ve gone. But there is intersection, and awareness of it is important.
Weirder than all that, however, is that while waiting in line, we struck up a conversation with a very pretty girl, as we are all occasionally wont to do, and after mocking the Panic! folks, I mentioned to grailquestion and godlyperspectiv that it’s starting to feel weird that we can’t just meet whomever we have become fans of. We’ve met so many of our heroes through conventions in the past year, it feels like we should be able to just call Colin Meloy or Amanda Palmer up, like we can call SJ Tucker or Jeff Vandermeer. Thinking the pretty girl might be confused, I mentioned that I was a writer and that we’d been meeting a lot of other writers recently. She pointed right at me and said:
“Are you yuki_onna?”
Now, that’s never happened to me before, though I gather that it happens to scathedobsidian all the time. I think I might actually have done a double take. This girl we just happened to be standing in line with was cornelldancer, someone I have been LJ friends with for a not-insignificant time–all the way back to Japan, if I’m not mistaken. That said, I had no idea she lived in Cleveland–my brain logged “cornell” as “she lives in upstate New York.” We laughed, we cried, we joked about how this happens to scathedobsidian all the time. I hope we can get together before I leave the big C.
The small world strikes again, and the intarweb intersects with real life. And we intersect ever so briefly with another heroine.