Over the summer I had big plans to get a job in LA and finally come “home” after eight years of obsessing over my big tragic middle-class displacement. The abysmal economy and my complete ineptitude when it comes to the process of job hunting colluded to create a rather different outcome. Instead of living on ramen and sunshine, I am well-fed and bored out of my mind at my parents’ place in Missouri.
When tickets for Jimmy Eat World’s Invented tour went on sale, however, I was still oblivious to the fact that my plans would fall apart. I had received my share of set-backs, but this was back when I was still optimistic and had yet to have all sense of hope mercilessly beaten out of me. Those were the days…
That purchase is ultimately the reason my big road trip happened this week. I spent $50 on my barely-in-the-building seat to see my favorite-band-since-middle-school perform at The Wiltern with my best friend, and damnit I would not let silly little things like 1600 miles and two time zones stand in the way of that.
So here I am. For the record, the show was every single bit as awesome as I would have hoped and I make no apologies to the people sitting around us for the fact that we danced like meth addicts having seizures (are those even related concepts? Whatever. Go with it.)
Between We Were Promised Jet Packs and Jimmy Eat World, we devised several strategies for getting all six of us onto the floor. Someone actually made it in, but she came right back out because it wouldn’t be any fun alone. This is true, because she was an essential component of our epileptic trio, so it certainly would have been less fun for us.
This reminded me of the first time I saw them in concert. In December of 2002, my family packed up our lives and moved from The Valley to the rural mid-west. The day that we moved in my mom took my brother and I to Kansas City in order to see Jimmy Eat World and…dare I admit it, Good Charlotte. (I was 14 and had so many feelings. I will not apologize.) This is also the show where I first heard OK Go, which had its own strangely life-altering impact, but that’s a story for another day.
This whole moving business was a highly traumatic affair for us. A lot of big things had happened in the few years preceding the move, and I was now the purple-haired girl (or maybe it was still just pink-tipped at this point) in a sheltered, religious Missouri town. I didn’t even know how bad the culture shock was actually going to be (being interrogated by the boy who sat in front of me in geometry is one of those life experiences I’ll cherish forever — “Do you worship Satan? Is your mother ashamed of the way you dress?” Good. Times.)
Anyway, the show was a big radio-sponsored deal with 7 or 8 bands, most of whom I don’t honestly remember. At some point around half-way through the show, my mom excused herself to the restroom. On her way back from the restroom, she stopped and told one of the bouncer ladies all about her mopey children and how badly she wanted to be able to make us happy and blah blah blah and the woman actually relented and told my mom that if she hurried and brought us down, she would let us onto the floor.
Maybe this instance of being rewarded for my whiney emo nonsense is the reason it took me several more years before I woke up, looked in the mirror, and realized that I wanted to punch myself in the face. And this is why I hate feelings today.
We hugged the poor woman and probably made her regret her decision and then bounced on in there all wide-eyed like it was Christmas. We got all the way up to the barricade by the time Jimmy Eat World came on. I got to show off my big sisterly authority and vaguely attempt to stand my ground against a girl who was pushing my little brother, and I had an awesome introduction to my time in the mid-west that set the stage for what would be the best thing I did in high school. (This is where OK Go and a silly little music website I created come into the picture, but this, again, is a full story in its own right.)
So thank you, Jimmy Eat World, for being awesome wherever you are. Whether I’m 14 and taking my mind off of my silly oh-my-god-why-are-my-parents-ruining-my-life-I-hate-this-place drama or 22 and dancing off the stress of my oh-my-god-why-is-the-economy-ruining-my-life-I-hate-this-place drama, it always works. Except after its over I have to face the fact that in eight years, I haven’t really progressed as a person. Oops. Maybe next time.
(speaking of Next Time, when I first heard about the release date for Invented, I got to thinking that maybe just maybe my favorite band will be in my favorite place and perform at 2011’s Coachella, based on when their Invented touring will wind down and I am probably setting myself up for disappointment since I have also been praying for THIS for the last eight years and I really need to let it go but oh my god a girl can dream, right? Right.)