CROCODILE TEARS
I think I'm going to vomit.
This may come off completed overdramatic, but I'm sincerely sad about some news that I got tonight. I just got home from work a half hour ago, opened my email and saw one from my friend Chad (God of this blog) about the Crocodile Cafe closing. What??? I felt the bile rise. I clicked on the link and sat with my jaw hanging as I read about my favorite music venue in Seattle, closing its doors with no notice this week.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/pop/343960_crocodile18.html
Instantly, my mind raced for what friend back home would answer their phone at work with the three-hour time difference. Tony! I'll call Tony! He will understand my pain! I call and leave him a voicemail. He calls right back.
"TONY!!! The Croc is gone! The Croc is gone!"
Now, this may sound like no big whoop, but this is a huge deal to me. I know it will be a big deal to many of my friends back home as well. This was the hub of the Seattle music scene for many, many years (at least one of the ones that stayed). This was where my love of music progressed and where I was exposed to so many new bands. It was where I saw a lot of big name acts before they became big names. I turned 21 in the early era of grunge and was blessed to see some amazing shows there that I will never forget. For anyone whose life was ensconced in music in Seattle, you understand.
The club opened in 1991, and was one of the first places I went when I turned 21 two years later. The first show I remember seeing there was Beck. It was before he got big and some coworkers and I went to see him. I'd heard his music through my coworker's husband and was blown away by it. The crowd was tiny, the room dark, the stage empty minus a chair. There we stood watching a young Beck, hair mocking Kurt Cobain in his face, sing while he strummed his guitar. It was an amazing show. Everyone stood mesmerized. Then he played his last song (Loser). He brought out a tape player and played the song and just danced around the stage lip-synching. We were ticked at this and left. I look back at it and laugh, but we were quite irritated to have such a stunning show, only to end it with a pre-Britney Spears maneuver.
Over the next thirteen years it was where I KNEW I would always feel something intense. The amazing shows (and an amazing sound guy) always brought something out in me, whether it be extreme happiness from the lilting music, as I danced in my place and sang along at the top of my lungs with my friends; or aggression as we moshed in front of the stage in the grunge days; or just sheer beauty and sadness, as your soul felt connected to the haunting voice up on stage. It always made you...feel. There was NEVER a really bad show. Okay, so maybe a few. I guess I should say there was never a bad night. Even if you weren't into the music, you'd go hide out in the bar at the back of the club and laugh with your friends over drinks.
The best nights were when you accidentally stumbled upon an opening band, or I finally "checked out this new band" that Tony, Jason or Brendan would recommend to me. I can't even begin to list all the amazing shows I experienced in the 13 years I got out of that place before permanently leaving Seattle. Even through the six months I was gone in ‘96 and the three years I was away in the early '00's, it was one of the few music venues that hadn't either been turned into condos (Rkcndy) or changed ownership and names numerous times (The Mo). It was the one constant for great music.
I feel like a huge chunk of my adult life was spent at the Crocodile. It was where new friendships sometimes started, current friendships grew, and flirtations...even love blossomed. So many birthdays and milestones were celebrated here. Sorrowful nights were spent slumped over a beer, crying, only to be livened up once the show started and the music made you forget the pain. This was where we would all go to support our friends' bands, and then celebrate a great show.
And I think something else that gets to me so much is that this is where I spent a lot of time with my last great love. The band he was in often played there, and I spent many, many nights making out with him in a booth, eating hummus and hanging out with the other band guys and their girlfriends. It obviously didn't make the relationship, but it housed a lot of memories from a time when I knew great love, passion, and later great frustrations. It was a backdrop to the kind of love I'd always wanted and finally had...at least for a time before things went sour. And no, I'm not pining for him. It was just a place that reminds me of happier times, and I hope that I will again have that (but lasting) someday.
As I sit here recounting the hundreds of memories had in this now defunct club, I find myself wistfully smiling. It was a part of a good chunk of my life - good, bad and ugly. I'll miss the music, the screaming along to songs, and the hugs goodnight, as we'd shuffle to our cars. And it was one of the few times I finally got that soundtrack to life I've always wanted.
R.I.P. Crocodile
*The only picture I can find in my drawer of pictures, of a night at the Crocodile. The ex has been blacked out to protect his identity. ;0)
This may come off completed overdramatic, but I'm sincerely sad about some news that I got tonight. I just got home from work a half hour ago, opened my email and saw one from my friend Chad (God of this blog) about the Crocodile Cafe closing. What??? I felt the bile rise. I clicked on the link and sat with my jaw hanging as I read about my favorite music venue in Seattle, closing its doors with no notice this week.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/pop/343960_crocodile18.html
Instantly, my mind raced for what friend back home would answer their phone at work with the three-hour time difference. Tony! I'll call Tony! He will understand my pain! I call and leave him a voicemail. He calls right back.
"TONY!!! The Croc is gone! The Croc is gone!"
Now, this may sound like no big whoop, but this is a huge deal to me. I know it will be a big deal to many of my friends back home as well. This was the hub of the Seattle music scene for many, many years (at least one of the ones that stayed). This was where my love of music progressed and where I was exposed to so many new bands. It was where I saw a lot of big name acts before they became big names. I turned 21 in the early era of grunge and was blessed to see some amazing shows there that I will never forget. For anyone whose life was ensconced in music in Seattle, you understand.
The club opened in 1991, and was one of the first places I went when I turned 21 two years later. The first show I remember seeing there was Beck. It was before he got big and some coworkers and I went to see him. I'd heard his music through my coworker's husband and was blown away by it. The crowd was tiny, the room dark, the stage empty minus a chair. There we stood watching a young Beck, hair mocking Kurt Cobain in his face, sing while he strummed his guitar. It was an amazing show. Everyone stood mesmerized. Then he played his last song (Loser). He brought out a tape player and played the song and just danced around the stage lip-synching. We were ticked at this and left. I look back at it and laugh, but we were quite irritated to have such a stunning show, only to end it with a pre-Britney Spears maneuver.
Over the next thirteen years it was where I KNEW I would always feel something intense. The amazing shows (and an amazing sound guy) always brought something out in me, whether it be extreme happiness from the lilting music, as I danced in my place and sang along at the top of my lungs with my friends; or aggression as we moshed in front of the stage in the grunge days; or just sheer beauty and sadness, as your soul felt connected to the haunting voice up on stage. It always made you...feel. There was NEVER a really bad show. Okay, so maybe a few. I guess I should say there was never a bad night. Even if you weren't into the music, you'd go hide out in the bar at the back of the club and laugh with your friends over drinks.
The best nights were when you accidentally stumbled upon an opening band, or I finally "checked out this new band" that Tony, Jason or Brendan would recommend to me. I can't even begin to list all the amazing shows I experienced in the 13 years I got out of that place before permanently leaving Seattle. Even through the six months I was gone in ‘96 and the three years I was away in the early '00's, it was one of the few music venues that hadn't either been turned into condos (Rkcndy) or changed ownership and names numerous times (The Mo). It was the one constant for great music.
I feel like a huge chunk of my adult life was spent at the Crocodile. It was where new friendships sometimes started, current friendships grew, and flirtations...even love blossomed. So many birthdays and milestones were celebrated here. Sorrowful nights were spent slumped over a beer, crying, only to be livened up once the show started and the music made you forget the pain. This was where we would all go to support our friends' bands, and then celebrate a great show.
And I think something else that gets to me so much is that this is where I spent a lot of time with my last great love. The band he was in often played there, and I spent many, many nights making out with him in a booth, eating hummus and hanging out with the other band guys and their girlfriends. It obviously didn't make the relationship, but it housed a lot of memories from a time when I knew great love, passion, and later great frustrations. It was a backdrop to the kind of love I'd always wanted and finally had...at least for a time before things went sour. And no, I'm not pining for him. It was just a place that reminds me of happier times, and I hope that I will again have that (but lasting) someday.
As I sit here recounting the hundreds of memories had in this now defunct club, I find myself wistfully smiling. It was a part of a good chunk of my life - good, bad and ugly. I'll miss the music, the screaming along to songs, and the hugs goodnight, as we'd shuffle to our cars. And it was one of the few times I finally got that soundtrack to life I've always wanted.
R.I.P. Crocodile
*The only picture I can find in my drawer of pictures, of a night at the Crocodile. The ex has been blacked out to protect his identity. ;0)
LAWN CHAIRS AND LIGHTNING BOLTS
Friday night I was driving home with my takeout Thai and had put in an old Built to Spill CD that I hadn't listened to in quite some time. As the last song played, the music washed over me and I was taken back to the first time I heard that song.
It was the summer of 2001. I was living in Arizona and was in the midst of divorce paperwork with my husband. My heart was broken, but I also knew that in our hearts we both knew this was what was best for our own happiness. I was lucky enough to have two of my good friends from Washington who had temporarily moved down there, to help me keep occupied and laughing through it all. Tony and Chad, as well as their friend Justin, who became a dear friend too, would spend many evenings at my house where we would play in my swimming pool while drinking beer and eating pizza. Through all the sadness I was going through, I also found great joy in the simplest of activities with amazing people. Sometimes the most painful events bring the most beautiful experiences.
That was also the summer that my friends discovered Four Peaks. It was central Arizona's version of mountains and became one of our favorite destinations to play and hike at. I think my friends and Four Peaks became my salvation that summer. We would drive my friend's truck up the long, windy dirt roads then park and drink beer as we watched the sunset to the soundtrack we provided for the changing sky. I once showed them some of the moves I learned in the belly dancing class I once took. They would take me on walks through the desert mountain by headlamp. They found an old abandoned house and barn in the middle of the desert that we'd explore, most often with me hiding in the truck whimpering about The Blair Witch Project. We’d often encounter the strange desert creatures. There was tarantula petting; Gila Monster crossing; and once had a bat stuck in the windshield wiper. At the end our nights at Four Peaks we’d take turns sitting in the open back window, shirts off, laughing into the wind. They were some of the most fun moments of my life.
Then there was the night that reminded me of the Built to Spill song. This particular CD had just come out and Tony wanted me to hear it. So the two of us drove up to Four Peaks with lawn chairs so I could listen to it the way most things in life are meant, in nature. We didn't venture too far in because we didn't have four-wheel drive in that car, so we parked up in this clearing, set up the two lawn chairs and blared the new CD as we watched a monsoon roll in. We sat and drank beers as the music filled the desert and the lightning provided it's own show for us. It was almost as if the music and Mother Nature had perfectly choreographed the moment. No fireworks show ever compared to what was being provided to us.
And as the last song played, I told Tony about Flagstaff, which I'd recently been introduced to by my lovely friend Shana. I told him about the real mountains, clean air, and the green that we both missed from back home that was hiding up there. We both fell silent by the beauty of the song and the natural light show we were watching, and then BOOM! Lightning struck about a mile behind us and we both turned to witness the bolt hit as our hair stood on end from the charge. Eyes bulging in unison, we screamed and grabbed our lawn chairs as we laughed our asses off and jumped back into the car. And instead of heading home, the adrenaline spurred us to say “fuck it” to our lack of four-wheel drive, and venture deeper into the desert to the old, abandoned farm.
It was one of the best nights of my life, and one of those beautiful moments that I must have buried. But with the help of that old CD, the memory was unearthed and allowed to come haunting back into my heart. Thank god for friends. Thank god for music. And thank god for ghosts. Sometimes they bring back the past you needed to remember.
It was the summer of 2001. I was living in Arizona and was in the midst of divorce paperwork with my husband. My heart was broken, but I also knew that in our hearts we both knew this was what was best for our own happiness. I was lucky enough to have two of my good friends from Washington who had temporarily moved down there, to help me keep occupied and laughing through it all. Tony and Chad, as well as their friend Justin, who became a dear friend too, would spend many evenings at my house where we would play in my swimming pool while drinking beer and eating pizza. Through all the sadness I was going through, I also found great joy in the simplest of activities with amazing people. Sometimes the most painful events bring the most beautiful experiences.
That was also the summer that my friends discovered Four Peaks. It was central Arizona's version of mountains and became one of our favorite destinations to play and hike at. I think my friends and Four Peaks became my salvation that summer. We would drive my friend's truck up the long, windy dirt roads then park and drink beer as we watched the sunset to the soundtrack we provided for the changing sky. I once showed them some of the moves I learned in the belly dancing class I once took. They would take me on walks through the desert mountain by headlamp. They found an old abandoned house and barn in the middle of the desert that we'd explore, most often with me hiding in the truck whimpering about The Blair Witch Project. We’d often encounter the strange desert creatures. There was tarantula petting; Gila Monster crossing; and once had a bat stuck in the windshield wiper. At the end our nights at Four Peaks we’d take turns sitting in the open back window, shirts off, laughing into the wind. They were some of the most fun moments of my life.
Then there was the night that reminded me of the Built to Spill song. This particular CD had just come out and Tony wanted me to hear it. So the two of us drove up to Four Peaks with lawn chairs so I could listen to it the way most things in life are meant, in nature. We didn't venture too far in because we didn't have four-wheel drive in that car, so we parked up in this clearing, set up the two lawn chairs and blared the new CD as we watched a monsoon roll in. We sat and drank beers as the music filled the desert and the lightning provided it's own show for us. It was almost as if the music and Mother Nature had perfectly choreographed the moment. No fireworks show ever compared to what was being provided to us.
And as the last song played, I told Tony about Flagstaff, which I'd recently been introduced to by my lovely friend Shana. I told him about the real mountains, clean air, and the green that we both missed from back home that was hiding up there. We both fell silent by the beauty of the song and the natural light show we were watching, and then BOOM! Lightning struck about a mile behind us and we both turned to witness the bolt hit as our hair stood on end from the charge. Eyes bulging in unison, we screamed and grabbed our lawn chairs as we laughed our asses off and jumped back into the car. And instead of heading home, the adrenaline spurred us to say “fuck it” to our lack of four-wheel drive, and venture deeper into the desert to the old, abandoned farm.
It was one of the best nights of my life, and one of those beautiful moments that I must have buried. But with the help of that old CD, the memory was unearthed and allowed to come haunting back into my heart. Thank god for friends. Thank god for music. And thank god for ghosts. Sometimes they bring back the past you needed to remember.
HEATHER FOR HUMANITY
I think I've found a way to save for my escape from North Carolina! It's beautiful, it's brilliant, AND it's fun and creative! And I owe it all to a cow, or at least talk of a teet.
Today was kind of a tense day. A day of waiting. So I tried to keep myself as busy as possible at work. I had much to do, but time dragged. I was emailing with some friends when the topic took a strange and interesting turn, as it so often does. One of my friends started talking about this organization where you can jointly sponsor a cow. You can apparently pay a certain amount and you own a certain percentage of this cow. He joked you could buy its teet, but sadly it's just a percentage, not a body part.
My mind took this and ran. I flashbacked to Sally Struthers in her old commercials for the Christian Children's Fund where you could sponsor a child in a third-world country. For a certain amount each month you could sponsor a child where your money would pay for their food and medical care. And to prove they weren't taking your money to the bar, they'd send you a picture of a kid sitting in dirt with flies on their face. This was the child you were sponsoring. Each month you'd receive a new picture, most likely without bugs on their face, and a status report "from your child". I'm assuming this means that a child says, "Thank you for the rice and bug repellent" in their native tongue and it is translated into English with crayon on a dried leaf.
As I reminisced about the old commercials, I put a picture of a cow in my head to replace the impoverished child. I giggled as I thought about receiving a hoof print each month with a picture of the cow eating grass or being milked. And as quickly as I flipped from the child to the cow, the picture flipped again in my mind and I knew my destiny! ME! I would let the world sponsor my body parts!
I post my "body" online and you pick a part you want to sponsor, then you pay your sponsorship fee! Each month you would receive a picture of the body part, along with an update on what's happened with that body part. What would a body part write? Let's see...
Dear Sponsor,
Thank you so much for your contribution! Since receiving your generous donation I have been thoroughly washed with Oil of Olay Body Wash every morning. Your contribution even allowed me to be moisturized! I was so dry and cracked prior. My host couldn't even afford to get the dirt off of me, but now with your help, I am clean and soft. The carpal tunnel is acting up though as I write this update, I can feel the shooting pain running up me. Sniffle. Please send more!
Oh. And I have a new freckle.
Thank you dear sponsor.
Love,
Right forearm
***********
Dear Sponsor,
Thank you for your generous donation! Today my host purchased Kleenex to purge the boogers out of me. It's been so long, and I've been so full. Without your help I would still be plugged up and full of snot. Your contribution has also allowed my host to upgrade her anti-wrinkle crème, and I can just feel the collagen kicking in! Soon I may be smooth of expression lines from years of my host wrinkling her nose in disgust. I keep telling her, "If you make that face long enough, it just might stay." And it has, but because of your help we are working towards wiping years off of me.
While your sponsorship has brought me a whole new life, think of how much better my life would be if I were reshaped! Nose jobs are expensive though. Maybe you could find it in your heart to bring me a new life; a life of a more face-appropriate nose? My host was once told you couldn't trust pointy-faced people, but that she was an exception to the rule. I don't want to be pointy anymore. Please help me live a life where people KNOW they can trust me by not being pointy.
Thank you again. I am enclosing a booger from myself as proof of where your money is going.
Love and deviated septums,
Nose
It would be awesome! So let's start! Let me know if you want to sponsor a body part, and you too could help my parts live a better, more fulfilling life. Each month you will receive your letter updating you on my part's life, along with a new picture. Parts listed below.
Today was kind of a tense day. A day of waiting. So I tried to keep myself as busy as possible at work. I had much to do, but time dragged. I was emailing with some friends when the topic took a strange and interesting turn, as it so often does. One of my friends started talking about this organization where you can jointly sponsor a cow. You can apparently pay a certain amount and you own a certain percentage of this cow. He joked you could buy its teet, but sadly it's just a percentage, not a body part.
My mind took this and ran. I flashbacked to Sally Struthers in her old commercials for the Christian Children's Fund where you could sponsor a child in a third-world country. For a certain amount each month you could sponsor a child where your money would pay for their food and medical care. And to prove they weren't taking your money to the bar, they'd send you a picture of a kid sitting in dirt with flies on their face. This was the child you were sponsoring. Each month you'd receive a new picture, most likely without bugs on their face, and a status report "from your child". I'm assuming this means that a child says, "Thank you for the rice and bug repellent" in their native tongue and it is translated into English with crayon on a dried leaf.
As I reminisced about the old commercials, I put a picture of a cow in my head to replace the impoverished child. I giggled as I thought about receiving a hoof print each month with a picture of the cow eating grass or being milked. And as quickly as I flipped from the child to the cow, the picture flipped again in my mind and I knew my destiny! ME! I would let the world sponsor my body parts!
I post my "body" online and you pick a part you want to sponsor, then you pay your sponsorship fee! Each month you would receive a picture of the body part, along with an update on what's happened with that body part. What would a body part write? Let's see...
Dear Sponsor,
Thank you so much for your contribution! Since receiving your generous donation I have been thoroughly washed with Oil of Olay Body Wash every morning. Your contribution even allowed me to be moisturized! I was so dry and cracked prior. My host couldn't even afford to get the dirt off of me, but now with your help, I am clean and soft. The carpal tunnel is acting up though as I write this update, I can feel the shooting pain running up me. Sniffle. Please send more!
Oh. And I have a new freckle.
Thank you dear sponsor.
Love,
Right forearm
***********
Dear Sponsor,
Thank you for your generous donation! Today my host purchased Kleenex to purge the boogers out of me. It's been so long, and I've been so full. Without your help I would still be plugged up and full of snot. Your contribution has also allowed my host to upgrade her anti-wrinkle crème, and I can just feel the collagen kicking in! Soon I may be smooth of expression lines from years of my host wrinkling her nose in disgust. I keep telling her, "If you make that face long enough, it just might stay." And it has, but because of your help we are working towards wiping years off of me.
While your sponsorship has brought me a whole new life, think of how much better my life would be if I were reshaped! Nose jobs are expensive though. Maybe you could find it in your heart to bring me a new life; a life of a more face-appropriate nose? My host was once told you couldn't trust pointy-faced people, but that she was an exception to the rule. I don't want to be pointy anymore. Please help me live a life where people KNOW they can trust me by not being pointy.
Thank you again. I am enclosing a booger from myself as proof of where your money is going.
Love and deviated septums,
Nose
It would be awesome! So let's start! Let me know if you want to sponsor a body part, and you too could help my parts live a better, more fulfilling life. Each month you will receive your letter updating you on my part's life, along with a new picture. Parts listed below.
