Even though my gf and I were literally surrounded by disgusting buffoons during Sufjan Stevens' first annual Christmas situation at the Bowery in NY on Friday, we had an amazing time because 1) we were there and we like each other a lot 2) Sufjan was...
Without fail, there is one element to any potentially enjoyable situation that will supremely shit everything up. Can you guess what that element is? Humans. It's other humans. But even though my gf and I were literally surrounded by disgusting buffoons during Sufjan Stevens' first annual Christmas situation at the Bowery in NY on Friday, we had an amazing time because 1) we were there and we like each other a lot 2) Sufjan was there and I like him (and his penis and face) a lot 3) There were balloons.
We arrived at the Bowery a little bit early, and upon entry were given a songbook containing the lyrics to a few holiday standards. I asked for a second one so we wouldn't have to share, and was told people were only allotted "one per group." I wanted to bitch about this in my mind, but then I realized that I should be grateful I was even able to float in on the wings of the Asthmatic Kitty guest list. I am realistic in knowing that it's only a matter of time before bands and labels start denying me entry to their shows because all I end up saying about them is "someone farted somewhere," and at that point I will just switch professions and become a large animal veterinarian, which was my first career path anyway until I discovered that I can't do even the most basic of math.
After fondling our one songbook for 30 seconds, we ordered drinks, and waited for the doors to the main room to open. Once they opened, we went into the bathroom so that we wouldn't have to walk up stairs with a bunch of other people. When all was safe, we went in, and waited for about 99 years until the show started. Rosie Thomas, a member of Sufjan's touring band (and hopefully not anyone he has ever kissed in his life, or else I'll kill myself) did a not funny at all comedy routine under the name Sheila Caputo that mainly consisted of her making this one face and eating carrots. If there's anything worse than people in general, it's people who think they're funny and are just completely not. Sorry Rosie, you should stick to shaking the tambo.
When Rosie/Sheila left the stage and the emotional countdown to Sufjan began, I realized that both my, and my gf's view of what was clearly Sufjan's microphone was blocked by a huge, meaty backed man who was directly in front of us. For about 15 minutes we exchanged sentiments on how fucked up this was, until at one point 'ol meat back turned around and asked if he was in our way and we were like "NO NO! YOU'RE FINE! IT'S FINE!" But then I eventually did tap him on the shoulder and ask that he please move his meat from the front of us, to the back of us. Which he did. And thank the lord on high because then we had a perfectly clear view of Sufjan, who came out and blasted our faces off with mostly Christmas songs, both old classics, and from his two Christmas sets, and a few non-Christmas Sufjan songs for good measure. People have tried to get me to explain many times just what it is about Sufjan's music that I love so much, and I can't explain it. But I love him in a real and unconditional way. Much like the love of Jesus. The day following the show my friend Andrea and I spent about five hours on her computer trying to find one reported instance of Sufjan kissing or fucking anyone ever, and there was nothing. All we could find was that he owns a bike, freaked out watching Fantastic Mr. Fox once and had to take a pill, and that he keeps piles of books and sewing projects around his apartment and doesn't own much stuff. You intrigue me, Sufjan. You intrigue me, Jesus. Wait, what?
Aside from being in the room with Sufjan for a few hours, the highlights of the show were all the glittery Christmas decorations draped over the stage, and most of the room itself. There was also this huge wheel of Christmas songs that would get spun, and then whatever it landed on, the band would play. A lot of assholes were singing in these weird musical theater voices, and this lady in front of us kept flipping her frizzy hair in our face like it was some sort of nervous tick. And yes, there WAS indeed a farter somewhere, blasting out burrito farts every few minutes. AND YET! AND YET! It was a fantastic night. I am finding more and more that I REALLY like shows where shit ( like confetti, not actual turds) fall from the sky. This is probably because I'm retarded.