Despite my LONG workday, which I won't blog about, other than to say it can be incredibly fun sometimes and give a shoutout to my bees, J all but insisted I accompany him and his folk-music friends to see Christine Lavin last night in some godless church in Garden City.
While the pinko liberal spelt-eating set might see this as the ultimate evening, it was not quite that for me. Months back, we saw Christine perform in another space, and by the end of the evening, I wanted to chew off my own hand and howl. Oh, her Taco Bell Canon is rather adorable. And in a weird way, I admire her comfort with who she is.
But otherwise, God, no. J, on the other hand, loves her. He swore she was off that night, and begged me to try her again. And after a shouting match while I was driving in an ice storm on the LIE and weeping giant crocodile tears at the wheel, I just fell over and sold my soul and made myself go.
Never mind that I was exhausted, antisocial, and brimming with cramps. Never mind that I still had to go home and work after the concert. Or that I was ravenous and fighting off a scratchy throat. Oh, no. There I was in the land of Birkenstocks and hemp. Hell, I even made an effort: I wore my newest tie-dye.
And how did the non-God reward me? By having Christine put on virtually the same inane show she did last year. She even giggled the same way at her own jokes. Hey, I'm all for having fun on the stage. But gosh, it was self-indulgent.
Not that the audience agreed with me. They cheered and clapped and loved her every note. Me? I'm just not that into it. Maybe it was the Card-Carrying BleedingHeart Liberal song that set me over the edge. You think?
The good news is, I made J promise that if I didn't like it, I never have to see her again. And so that's how I dragged myself through the second half...fervently praying that I would live long enough to turn to him and collect on that promise. That, and hoping she'd clunk someone on the head with her batons.