When you're going cross country for a conference, and one of your favorite bands schedules a show (a free show, no less!) two days before the conference, all of two miles from the conference location, well, you kinda have to go to the show.

Okay, no kinda about it. You have to go.

Really.

Really really.

Brooklyn Beta has workshops tomorrow, which meant that meeting and greeting and networking started tonight. While I was sad to miss it, really, favorite bands that you missed by one day at SxSW last year win.

So, after googling for directions, praying I'd walk the right way, notes scribbled in my tertiary brain, I left an hour before the show was supposed to start for a 31 minute journey. According to Google, that is. Things work out less well when, say, humans are involved.

Having adventured out earlier today, I knew which way to go for the subway station I wanted, and I also knew which street to avoid in order to minimize discomfort and safety anxiety. What I didn't know was which platform to go to at the subway.

Sometimes I wonder if people who work for public transportation like messing with tourists. Not like they'll ever see you again, right? The woman who answered my questions and sold me my ticket, pointed twice, once without prompting and once as a confirmation to my repetition of her words, to the subway entrance on the left. When I arrived on the platform she indicated, I approached a couple and asked them to confirm I was on the right platform.

I was not.

I ran up the stairs and at the top, asked another traveller where I needed to go, where was the other N platform, was I going in the right direction? He found it for me, it was to the RIGHT not the left, and I dashed over to it as he ran down the stairs to catch the train I nearly made him miss. As I ran down the stairs I realized the train was at the station, and, oh oh! I better hurry lest I miss it!

So, I ran down the stairs, dove through the doors, came to a rolling stop in a seat just as the doors shut and the train started moving.

Only to realize I had boarded the wrong train.

So, there's the N train, the one I wanted, and the R train, which sorta runs along the same way, diverges then rejoins the N train. I was on the R train, going in nominally the right direction, but not the most efficiently.

Great.

The map on the train indicated that the N would meet up at the next station (maybe), so I exited at the next station, looking at my watch. I had already used up 25 of my 60 minutes, and I hadn't even left Brooklyn yet. Yikes! After being unsure of where I needed to be, and watching the N train I was supposed to be on zoom by me, I ran up and over to the other platform, and asked a guy standing there where I needed to be. Turns out, N doesn't stop at the station, and the R is what I wanted.

Whoops.

I went back over to my original platform, waited another 10 minutes, and boarded the next R train, trying desperately to concentrate on my book, instead of worrying if I was going to make the beginning of the show or not. I've been trying to worry less about things out of my control, and reading, disappearing into a book, is a way that I can do that. Once I submerge into a book, I'm fine, getting there takes effort sometimes.

At 7:53, the train arrived at the 8th Avenue (as I was corrected by a subway employee, not Street) NYU stop, found the correct stairs (8th and Broadway NE!), dashed up them and started walking. I stopped, confirmed I was walking the right way, and started hustling to Webster Hall.

Of note, New Yorkers do not smile even when you smile while meeting their gaze.

Also of note, New York drivers love their horns.

I made it to Webster Hall with 2 minutes to spare, and was met with a most disastrous of sights: a line.

No, not one line, but two.

Two giant lines.

The first one looked like you needed tickets to go in (so that one was wrong, the show was free), so I went to the other line. It wasn't moving, and I started worrying I was in the correct line. I swear, I talked to more people tonight asking for directions and help and information than I had in the previous month. The people in front of me were in line for the Drums. Okay, wrong line. I went to the other line, and talked to a reporter who said that the other line was also for the Drums. A woman in the line confirmed the Drums show. Puzzled, I went back to the first line and asked the bouncer what was up. No, the second line was for Drums, as was the first line.

Um....

Between the two lines was a guy putting wristbands on people. I approached him and asked if he could please tell me where the heck Manic Bloom was playing. He turned around, check the posted show times, turned back and said, "Here. Downstairs."

YAY!

Wristband on, I went downstairs, to see Manic Bloom on stage, finishing up the last part of tuning. I wandered over to the bar and ordered a soda water as they paused, the filler music stopping. I grabbed my drink, noticed the bar/hall wasn't as crowded as I was expecting, and moved to the back of the middle of the room, just under the video cameras.

And then they started playing.

Okay, so, there's something about small places and loud music and odd acoustics that just says, "Ouch."

I managed about thirty seconds before I regretted not having earplugs. I can't believe I went without earplugs. I don't go to shows without earplugs (well, can't say that anymore), and, oh, I needed earplugs. Barring that, hell, shove some tissue into my ears, anything, or I'd have to leave. I went to one of the security guards at the place and asked where the bathroom was. I thought he said there wasn't a bathroom in the place, so, noticing he had earplugs in, I asked if he had any extras.

He looked at me, "Earplugs?" When I nodded, he reached over to the pile of earplugs on the counter and handed me a set.

You have to love a place that hands out earplugs at shows.

You just have to.

Drink in hand, earplugs in ears, I wandered back to my spot, and fucking enjoyed the show.

Wow.

Despite the space with everyone spread out in the hall, Manic Bloom played awesomely. To my delight, they played Running from the Scene (yes, still on my infinite repeat list), and oh boy, it was awesome live. Yay yay yay yay yay!

I was slightly sad that I and three other people seemed to be the only people that knew the songs and knew the lyrics. We seemed to be the only people moving to the music. It's like the concert you go to and you want to stand up and just jam to the songs, but everyone else's butt is glued to the seats. Ugh.

Fortunately, the mood passed, and I did not care much, because the music was awesome, and I was moving to it.

The set was only about 40 minutes long, starting slightly after 8 and finishing at 8:45. When they were done, I dashed over to the table in hopes of talking to the band. David was at the table, talking to a couple people, so I waited for him to be done.

I bounced.

And waited.

Did I mention the bouncing?

Yeah.

I bounced until he was done with the one guy, but then he started talking to another guy, and a couple more people came up, and that was it. I walked around them all and arms wide, pretty much SQUEE'd at David. He must have been ready for it, because he laughed and said, "Kitt, right?"

Yes, indeed.

Totally awesome.

We talked for as long as I could manage to monopolize David's time, and bonded over PHP. I met Andy, the bassist (*swoon* and a reminder that I need to pull out my bass already and start practicing again), and asked about the possibility of lunch tomorrow. They have a full day planned (very exciting, appointments and interviews and the like), but maybe! As they are staying the night outside the city, their times for travelling back into the city are uncertain.

David suggested I stay and listen to the next band, but really, I came to see Manic Bloom, and on that high decided to head back to my hotel. There's a chance we'll meet up tomorrow, maybe, maybe not. If I miss them tomorrow, I'll have to meet up at their Muncie show.

Shucky darn.

The journey back to the hotel was far far more efficient. I managed the correct train (yay!) and the fastest way back to the hotel (yay!). I managed to read for a little bit before the urge to people watch became too strong.

I thought it odd that none of these people seemed interested in their surroundings. Hey, they're on a train going over a bridge that's 100 years old - that's really cool! They're on a train with all these other people with interesting lives - that's really cool! There's a crazy guy ranting about how doing drugs will get you kicked out of camp (but drinking alcohol won't) - that's really, okay, not so cool, but still it's interesting.

I don't know, I feel some people are too jaded about the wonders of their own lives.

At this moment, though, I'm in full wonderment. I mean, HOW COOL that I travelled 4750 kilometers to see the creators of my favorite song, AND THEY KNEW WHO I WAS.

Yeah.

Bouncing!

One of the things I find interesting about travelling is how much I absorb without realizing that I'm absorbing it.

When we exited customs in Sydney, I was struck by how familiar the airport felt. Sure, I had been here before, but I hadn't really paid much attention on my way through.

Or, at least I didn't think I had.

I had.

Jonathan and I arrived in Sydney, he somewhat well-rested, I somewhat not-so-well rested. I managed about four hours of airplane sleep, tipped over onto his shoulder. For the record, he has comfortable shoulders. And sleeps like a rock on planes.

What is it with guys I travel with that they can sleep so well on planes?

We landed in New Zealand early enough in the morning to be painful, bypassing doom, which isn't so painful, wandered through the airport, stood in a line, went through a security check, up a flight a stairs, and into a waiting room which was right above where we entered into the terminal. I was amused by all of the walking we did, commenting that we walked an awful long way to move 20 feet vertically.

Still.

Hello, New Zealand!

My excitement for my first time touching ground in New Zealand, even if we were merely passing through, was dashed, however, when I realized I lost my phone.

I remembered putting it in one of the zippered pockets in my backpack, but did not recall zipping it. I also remembered pulling other items out of that pocket, without recalling the phone was still in the pocket.

I started pulling everything out of my bag. Jonathan looked at me oddly, then asked what was going on. When I explained I had lost my phone, he suggested it was just in my bag somewhere. I handed him my bag to look, and went to the counter to ask the woman manning the station if she could ask the people on the plane to check for my phone.

The plane had been emptied and pushed back from the gate, moved into a storage area. She would have to send someone out to the plane to check for my phone. I asked that she do so, described my phone, left my contact information, explained that I was willing to pay postage for my phone back. She said she'd do what she could.

I sat back down next to Jonathan, and started to mope. Great. I wasn't stressed enough yet about my talk tomorrow (yikes! tomorrow). No, I needed to start this trip off on the completely wrong foot of no sleep and losing my phone. Great. Just great.

A short while later, we boarded the plane that would take us two timezones back in three hours, for a net one hour flight, and drop us in Australia. We were on the plane for all of maybe ten minutes when the woman from the gate came up to us. "I had the crew search the plane and the seats around where you were sitting. They didn't find the phone."

Shit.

I made some comment about someone else probably picked it up. I thanked her, and descended into more moping an a lot of gloom. I had pictures on the phone that I hadn't backed up. I had text messages that I wanted to keep. I had records and things on that phone. And someone else had it.

We took off, and at some point in the flight, I reached to get something out of my backpack.

To my surprise, my phone was in my backpack.

In my backpack, in the zippered pouch where I had put in.

Happy happy joy joy!

Though neither I nor Jonathan could find it, it had settled down into a fold in the pocket. I'm completely unsure how I missed it, though I feel a little better knowing that he had missed it, too.

And with that, yay! This will be a great trip.

Nine years is a long time, and yet, a very short time.

I know where I was when I heard about the World Trade Center Towers' destruction. I know that I called the police four hours before to call about something so trivial as someone unknown stealing recyclables from our trashcan. I know that nine years seems so long ago, and yet so recent.

I also know that the people who are calling out for the cancellation of a mosque's plans to be build near the World Trade Center, and insensitive, unAmerican, assholes for their short-sided, ignorant views.

I know that it's incredible unAmerican how fucking retarded said assholes are being, and how much I wish they could see beyond their kneejerk, irrational, unresearched, disgusting reactions.

Yeah, I'm not biased.

I skipped 9/11 this year. Crossed the dateline going from 9/10 straight to 9/12 by a clever changing of the clock on my phone.

It was 9/11 long enough for me to write this post.

Given how intolerant some people are, I think that was plenty long enough.

Next year will be the big one.

For now, bypass doom.