Months ago, my husband, SLB*, and I bought ourselves tickets to the Death Cab for Cutie show last night. We then both forgot to put it on our calendars, and so we didn't take the tickets or the show into account when scheduling our older daughter, Olivia's, big tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy/ear-tubes replacement tune-up. Because she's recovering and neither of us feel comfortable leaving her with a babysitter while she's so fragile, I volunteered to stay home with Olivia while SLB took our good friend as his date to the Death Cab show.
I made the decision to stay home with equanimity. After all, Death Cab for me is something that I associate with SLB, and I would be sad to attend alone or with someone else. Death Cab for him is, simply put, one of his favorite bands. So, while he undoubtedly missed me (How could he not? I mean, seriously.), he still enjoyed himself with his B-list date, whereas I'd have been bummed there without him. It was simple choice and an obvious and unemotional self-exclusion.
At least, it was until I saw who the opening band is.
TACOCAT! Or, rather, to highlight the palindrome, TacocaT! Say it with me; it's so satisfying. TacocaTacocaTacocaT. If only they were like Bettlejuice and would appear to do a quick in-home set when you type their band name three times into your blog post, but, alas, ours is not a world of magic and dreams.
It IS, however, a world of feminist surf rock that both makes me shake my substantial groove thang while engaging in everyday rebellion. While missing out on Sunday's headliner is a bummer worthy of one weighty sigh, missing out on TacocaT's poppy melodies and dirty guitars demands real grieving (at least until I can make their December 13th show - Merry Christmas to me!).
So, friends, join me in seeing what we're missing. Let's shake it together for me, for Olivia, for Tacocat!
Squattin' on cotton? Got one in the chamber? Communists in the summer house? Then sing with me!
Had some sack of shit holler at you and remind you that, to some, you're just a walking piece of ass? Then yell with me when the chorus comes!
Encroaching winter gray and Capitol Hill (Seattle, duh) gentrification got you down? Grab your coconut goblets and silly string because we're road trippin'!
Bridge to Hawaii
Aaaaahhhhh. I feel better already. Not as good as I will once my kid is healthy and I'm in a crowded club dancing live, but better. Thanks, Smarties. You're great dance partners.
*I will not now, nor will I ever, tell you what SLB stands for. But the best guess in the comments below wins a prize!**
**Just kidding! I don't have any prizes. Suckerrrrrrrrs.