Tonight I went to see Amanda Palmer play at MassArt. The show wasn't, originally, going to be open to the public, but she tweeted yesterday that it would be, so my plans for the day were changed accordingly.
New followers may not know that when I moved to Boston in September what kept me going were the five Late Night Cabaret shows I went to (night-clubesque concerts after the production of Cabaret at the American Reparatory Theater). Seeing Amanda play every two weeks or so, meeting people who felt the way I did about music, art and passion not only gave me somewhere to belong, it gave me the courage to be myself when I wasn't there--pink hair, monkey hat and all.
She's been in Australia most of this year, so I hadn't seen her play in ages, but tonight after the art students had a somewhat self-indulgent showcase (I have a lot of THOUGHTS about art, not art and learning to produce art that I shall keep to myself for now) my friend Samantha and I ended up at Amanda's feet while she played.
It was as amazing as ever, the love in the room, the acceptance of the music and the people. I rocked out, sitting there on the floor, and felt alive again like I haven't in a while. I'd spent the morning writing, and when I went through the signing line just to say hello and I love you and I missed you, and then I realized she was signing in silver, and well....
It was the laptop I propped on the stage and wrote with during breaks in The Dresden Dolls shows in November. It felt appropriate.
I walked the mile home from MassArt through creepy, quiet hospitland where I live (.7 miles on googlemaps, but a full one in the end because Simmons is STUPID and locks all the gates so you have to go around). There was a time when I wouldn't have done that. Because I wouldn't have tried.
The first show I ever stood through was Amanda's show in London two years ago. Before I wouldn't have done that. Because I didn't try.
I try now. To create. To live. So I can have days like today, creating and seeing wonderful music played.
Also, I ate mozzarella sticks. They are crack.