Sunday, March 9, 2014
I've made a huge mistake.
I play in a band with my sister and brother-in-law. The band's name is motherboy, which, for you Arrested Development fans out there, is the best band name ever, am I right?
We started playing together about two and a half years ago, right around the time my father-in-law moved in with us for his final illness. I guess it was, for me, a way to escape the stress of all that. At least in part. I also just love to sing, and I love to sing with my sister, and we mostly have lots and lots fun up there. It fills a need, for all three of us (if I may be so bold as to speak for Katie and Mark), to perform and to make music. We are definitely not in it to get rich; tips are non-existant, which is a little depressing, and we don't request huge fees from the establishments where we play. We're not in it for the applause; when you play in bars and restaurants, most people aren't really paying attention to you at all. But in fine weather, we haul all our equipment out and play, just about every two weeks, to decent sized crowds of friends and strangers alike. Occasionally we even learn a new song, but since we're mostly background music, I think that goes unnoticed most of the time ;)
We play almost exclusively at a pizza place up the street from my house. The owner, Ian, is a great guy, and we like working with him. He decided to expand his operation, and added a second location out on the beach. Yesterday was the grand opening, so we trucked all of our stuff over the bridge and set up in the chilly sea air.
Katie and Mark moved to Wilmington several months ago, and since then, we've been keeping our band equipment in my storage unit. Over the past several months, the equipment has gotten spread out all over the place: microphones in Katie's classroom at school, the piano in Adrian's office, speakers in my garage, music stands and cables still in the storage unit. So it fell to me to collect just about everything and get it over to the beach. I emptied my car, folded down the seats, and was feeling pretty good about cruising down Beach Drive in my surf-wagon-esque HHR, wearing my black polka-dot dress and rust-colored tights, owning my 2004 hairstyle. Feeling pretty cool, unloading the car, setting up on a flat-bed trailer that Ian borrowed for use as our stage (it was cooler than it sounds). Feeling really good....right up until the moment that Katie said, "Okay, all we need now is the piano stand," and I went, "FFFFFFFFFFFFffffffffffffffffffffffffffff" (which is either the sound of my ego deflating or me trying not to drop an F-bomb in front of my nieces, your choice).
It was 3:13pm. We were supposed to start playing at 4. There really was no way I was going to make it out to Boiling Spring Lakes and back by 4, but of course I had to try, what else could I do? Get back in the car. Fume a bit. Call Adrian, and bitch the whole way home. "There is NO WAY I'm going to make it back in time! GAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! THIS is why I NEVER come to the island, it's SO FAR AWAY!!!!" Despite Adrian's sympathy, and his reassurance that it's not that far, I would make it, I would not be appeased. "I hate Oak Island, I'm never coming here again, it's like the next COUNTY or something. GRRRRRRRRRRR."
I felt certain that the piano stand was at the office. It wasn't. Another call to Adrian. "Oh yeah, Here it is in the garage." Back to the house, Adrian throws the stand in the back of my car, and I peel off. Still pissed at myself for missing it the first time around, still grumbling about how f-ing far away the f-ing beach is. Just to amuse myself, I reset the trip thingy on my car, wanting to know just how f-ing far away the f-ing beach really is.
You guys. I am not kidding. It is, from my door to the new pizza place on the beach, 13 miles.
THIRTEEN MILES. As in, the distance of a half-marathon. As in, the distance I claim I'm going to run in less than a year.
I've made a huge mistake.
PS - I pulled back into the parking lot at 4:02pm. Not too bad, but not my favorite way to start a gig.