I know you've got a god-shaped hole
Last night I saw Wilco at Radio City Music Hall. I keep trying to write about it, but I either start talking about how great the acoustics were or all the funny things Jeff Tweedy said and sound like I’m writing a review for my school paper, or I try to explain how amazing it was, and how at one point I noticed while I was yelling and singing that my face was wet because apparently I’d cried earlier, and then I realize how dramatic and lame that sounds, so I just keep deleting. I can’t convey just how good I felt finally seeing them live. Wilco has been the background music for so many of the events of my life over the past eight years, and I know it’s cliche to say that Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was a very important or personal album to me, but if I were the sort of person who claimed that an album ever came close to saving my life, I’d name that one. However, there is no way to say you had some sort of visceral or spiritual experience when they encored the second time with “Misunderstood” without sounding like a douche, so I’m not even going to try. Anyway, the ladies’ rooms at Radio City Music Hall are really swank.
In other news, I just have to tell you about the faux-core romance novel my co-worker is reading. She just spent 30 minutes giving me the plot outline, and although it’s set in the 1800s and she usually prefers stuff set in Viking times, she’s really enjoying this one. Apparently there’s this ranch hand named Steve who has blue eyes and black hair, and he’s accidentally kidnapped this rich girl named Jenny with flaming red hair and green eyes, and they HATE each other. I mean, really, will these two ever get together or what!