Bringing the disparate areas of your life together can be a little nerve wracking. When I invited Vodo my former Loft teacher and now friend to join Heather, Wolfdogg, and I on our journey to Milwaukee, I was worried.

Vodo is kind of awkward. I’m the reigning Queen of Awkward. Wolfdogg is a slightly taller & nerdier dude version of me. Awkward + Awkward + Awkward has all the potential to equal the worst thing to ever happen inside a minivan ever.

But then there was Heather. I was putting all my eggs in Heather’s basket. Heather is nothing but grace and charm and putting people at ease. She’s the best hostess ever. We could have invited the Queen of England to sit in the way back and we’d still have been okay, because Heather’s easy goingness makes everything smooth.

The day started a little rough. I was five minutes late (because I am an asshole), Vodo was ten minutes early (because apparently he is not), and within forty-five seconds of sitting in the back of the van Vodo was throwing stuff at me.

“What is this?” I asked.
“I don’t know it just came off,” he said.
“VODO YOU BROKE THE MINIVAN ALREADY?” I shouted.
“Nah,” Wolfdogg said. “That’s been broken.”
“You’re gonna get us kicked out before River Falls,” I snarled as we took off.

Because I was so nervous I kept up a pretty consistent run of stream-of-consciousness chatter, which for an introvert who rarely has to talk to people with her mouth is a lot of work. However, my fear of awkward silence far outweighs my fear of sounding like a babbling idiot. The more you know.

I told them how awful I was at dating and how hard it was to find someone suitable and how I was very popular with short men who wanted to be lifted up. This and Hobbits became a running joke of the weekend.

?Short man in fancy dress? I have no time for you,? Vodo said at one point dissing both my feelings toward the book and my views on most men who want to go out with me in one fell swoop.

And while I tried to tamp down my disdain for all things Hobbitty and StarWarsy and Doctor Who-y, the conversation that flowed from some of those topics was my favorite of the entire weekend, because it’s then that I got to see three people that I adore find something else in common.

There was a very long discussion about Doctor Who that I kind of tuned out of. It was nice.

And while the trip down to Milwaukee was all anxious energy and anticipation and jokes a minute, I kind of liked the trip back to Minnesota more.

Four weary music fans low on sleep and high on coffee. Comfortable with chatting and intermittent lapses into silence.

I spent a lot of time with my head against the window singing, because I am incapable of not singing in a car no matter who is in that car with me. Sorry Queen of England & anyone else who has to go on a road trip with me in the future, you’ve been warned. At one point Wolf even complimented me and Vodo on or harmonies when we dueted on Teenage Fanclub’s “The Concept.”

What was so great about this trip home was that the songs then spun out conversations about books or movies or other songs and musicians. There’s much to be said about being trapped in a car with three incredibly smart people who share the same pop culture sensibilities as you do, even if the left side of the car is being total assholes about your inability to listen to long instrumental intros to Death Cab for Cutie songs.

And even though I spent a lot of non-singing time threatening that left side of the car where Vodo & Wolf sat my favorite part of the whole trip was watching the two of them airdrum to whatever song was on the radio.

The post The Roadtrip appeared first on I Will Dare.

It was at a rest area outside of Mauston, WI. At least I think it was, because there was a giant sign talking about moss and when we got back in the minivan Vodo said something about the Moss and Mauston so I have decided it was Mauston.

Heather & I were loitering outside the rest area, stretching our legs and backs, turning our faces up to the warm sun, and enjoying the cool breeze.

“Ahhh,” Heather said. “Wouldn’t it be great if they were playing outside?”
“Yes,” I said. “A blanket, some beers, the Replacements at sunset.”

Now some people are very anti-outdoor concerts. The sound is floaty, the vibe is different, etc. I get that. But at the same time, I’m all cool breezes, eating hot dogs on a patch of grass, and remember that time with Jason Isbell and the fireflies? FIREFLIES!

A lot of times when arguing with anti-outdoor people I just shout FIREFLIES! As though that proves my case. I should have probably been a lawyer.

However, after see The Replacements in Milwaukee, I can kinda see their point. And I hate that.

This was my third time seeing The Replacements. Ever. First time was outdoors at RiotFest in Chicago. Second time was outdoors when they played “If Only You Were Lonely” for me in front of a million other fans at Midway.

And now Milwaukee at the Eagles Ballroom which is the same building (but different venue) where we saw Westerberg in 2005.

First of all, FINALLY I have seen The Replacements more times than Sister #2, Ben, and Max. I feel very good about that.

Second of all, HOLY SHIT did seeing the ‘Mats indoors rock the motherfucking Casbah, and I put the credit for this at the feet of the crowd. I forget what a difference the crowd can make at a show, especially because I’ve seen so many outdoor shows lately.

From the second song (Favorite Thing) the crowd roared along with Westerberg, who throughout the concert kind of hung back and let the crowd sing. Apparently he has some sort of ailment that’s affecting his voice. I didn’t mind at all, because there’s nothing I love more than a dorky singalong.

In fact, at one point, during Alex Chilton the crowd was so euphoric and into it and singing along that I think we all kind of levitated off the ground, en masse. The energy contained by the building was just that powerful. I had forgotten what that can be like, that confined musical energy. It’s fucking magic.

And so was Saturday.

I was worried going into my third Replacements’ show that I would be disappointed. I’ve been listening to these songs for twenty years and heard a lot of my favorites live a bunch of times (mostly with Westerberg) solo. Plus, I’m a jaded, bitter, cranky old goat who hates everything.

But hearing those songs, with that crowd made everything fresh and new again. Hearing all those voices singing together was amazing. A lot of the tweets and pictures I saw talked about how the venue and the concert felt like church. It was a gathering of like-minded souls in one place to worship at the alter of music that has been vital to them at some point in their life, and yeah, we were worshipping a little bit of nostalgia, what of it. If you were there you would know the whole night felt kind of sacred, divine. You need to only witness the beatific smiles of the people as they poured out of The Eagles Club to know that something mystical happened inside that building.

Or you could have taken one glance at me when the ‘Mats covered The Jackson 5’s “I Want You Back” and then when right into “I Will Dare.” My eyes filled, I couldn’t control my own dancing feet, and my face split into pieces from smiling so hard.

It was so rad.

The post Seeing The ‘Mats Indoors vs Seeing The ‘Mats Outdoors appeared first on I Will Dare.

“Did you answer the phone?” Vodo asked after I, well, answered the phone.
“You called me!” I screeched.
“You aren’t supposed to answer.”
“But you called.”
“I called so I could get your number into my phone. Nobody answers. Don’t you know that?”
“Vodo,” I said. “I’m old. I answer the phone.”
“THIS IS SO AWKWARD!” He said in a tone that sounded kinda all-caps and exclaimy.
“I am going to hang up now and text you.”

I should probably just apologize to Wolfdogg & Heather right now for having to spend five hours in a minivan with Vodo and I. I’ve already threatened to live-tweet everything he says & to throw him out of the car before we hit River Falls.

The post Portents appeared first on I Will Dare.

Twelve hours after leaving my house, I collapsed into our temporary hotel room in Chicago. Apparently it’s temporary because the blinds are broken and they can’t move us until tomorrow. I don’t care about the blinds. However, if they want to give me a few free breakfasts and coffees for the trouble, I will take them. Traveling is expensive.

My traveling companion is fourteen-years-old. He is the child of my second sister. It’s Maxwell. I would show you pictures of him here in Chicago but he refuses to allow his soul to be stolen by the lens of an iPhone. Teenagers.

Maxwell and I make pretty good companions so far. He’s laid back and I’m laid back. We both roll with the punches (train delays & gross lunch options), got sick of the train at the exact same time (1.5 hours before we finally arrived in Chicago), and best of all we cherish silence. Neither of us has a problem with the other person in the room not talking.

As I type he’s seated behind the loft-y little hotel desk listening to some music. He doesn’t seem to care for my Chicago-based playlist which mostly just features me playing Ryan Adams’ “Dear Chicago” over and over again. That song guts me in all the good ways.

Before he slid into his earbuds, as I was teetering on the edge of a pizza-induced cheese coma, Maxwell said, quietly, “This is so fun.” And my heart burst with joy. Not just because he I want him to have fun, but because so far all we’ve done is take a too-long train-ride, a too-long cab-ride, and waited too long for some ridiculously delicious pizza. If that’s fun, he’s gonna blow a gasket tomorrow.

I can’t take too much credit for the fun. I think that goes to our chatty Cabbie who hauled us from Union Station to our hotel here in the swanky Miracle Mile. He kept a running commentary going about everyone and everything: the weather, his fellow cabbie who works too much, and the doofus on the corner trying to take a picture of the Sears Tower.

And when he found out we were in town for a three-day music festival, he cackled with joy. “Really? A three-day concert?” he asked. “That’s like Christmas to me. I’m going to spend all weekend in Humboldt park.”

Now, I have plans of snuggling into this too-short bed (the perils of the freakishly-tall are neverending) with Linda Rondstadt’s memoir and passing out within two pages.

Tomorrow is Joan Jett and I’m going to need all my sleep to hold my shit together for her show.

The post RiotFest Diaries: Chicago doesn’t seem tired at all, but I am appeared first on I Will Dare.

• There was a tent called the ‘G Spot’ selling glasswares. I was disappointed to learn that they weren’t any glass dildoes. Not that I’d have bought one. Because buying a dildo from a hippie just seems unsanitary.
• Harmony Park’s stage was surrounded by these HUGE trees. They were gorgeous. There was also a little kid running around flying a kite. At one point he got the kite stuck in the tree and about 30 people watched with rapt attention for about 10 minutes while he tried to get the kite unstuck. Eventually he did and we all clapped for him.
• Nate was our next-door RV neighbor. He’s in a band with is fiancée Celsetial called Mad Love (I think). He also has a six-year-old son named Miles. I know this stuff because Nate told me. Throughout the weekend I kept an eye on Nate, and proceeded to creep out the entire Wolfdogg gang with my constant reporting on his activities. “Nate’s cooking now.” “Oh he has fresh garlic.” “He’s chopping an onion.” You get the picture. Nate was very entertaining.

• One hippie was walking around the festival grounds with a turtle. A real, live turtle. He wasn’t carrying the turtle, no the turtle was loping along at his feet. Here’s what I think about that: Best Chick Magnet Ever. Better than a dog. Seriously. Dudes go get a turtle and take it for a walk. You’ll see what I’m talking about.
• Lots of the hippies carried around books with them. I am not sure why. I didn’t ask.
• I was disappointed about the total lack of nudity. I blamed it on the cool weather.
• I think the word dirty gets attached to hippies because of the port-a-potties. Ew.
• Late Saturday night while Wolfdogg, Heather, and I were drunk and eating sandwiches, a random guy walked up to Bob the RV’s door and asked if we were ‘looking’ for anything. I didn’t know that drug salesmen went door to door. After he left I spent 10 minutes laughing about it like I was stoned

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