Last week we went to Mississippi Studios, a Baptist-church-turned-recording-studio-turned-music-venue, to see a live show. One of our favorite bands, The Moondoggies, but that’s neither here nor there.
Actually, it is. (Warning: I’m about to geek out here). Not only did Tara surprise me with a vinyl LP she bought at the show, but she had all the band members sign it for me. And I grabbed their handwritten set list from the stage after the show. Scribbled on a napkin. How cool is that?! I’m such a fanboy – who knew? Granted, almost nobody has even heard of The Moondoggies. They’re a local indie rock band from Everett, Washington. But if they ever explode and become really popular, man will I have some cool stuff. It could happen – you never know. Once upon a time, Nirvana played tiny clubs in front of a dozen people, so anything is possible.
And at the show, we met a guy named Chris who was recording audio for the band. He was there with his girlfriend Tricia, and we struck up a conversation all about music and the Portland scene. When he found out I’m a big fan of The Moondoggies, he offered to send me a copy of the recording. Even took down my e-mail address and everything. Whether or not he ever follows through is debatable, but if nothing else we sort-of hung out with a cool dude and learned a few things about the local biz.
Anyway, we got to the venue about an hour before the doors opened. Looking to kill some time, we wandered around back, where there was a courtyard with tables and chairs and a fire pit, which had just been stacked with logs that were set ablaze. We ordered a drink from the bar and sat around talking and people watching, two of our favorite pastimes. And then Tara mentioned that we were on the older side of the crowd.
NOOOOO!!! I screamed.
Luckily, the scream was confined to inside my head so as not to draw stares from all the youngsters there. Glancing around, I grudgingly had to admit that she was probably right. Which sucks, because I’m just now living the life I always wanted to. Going out to enjoy live music late into the night and whatnot. I don’t feel old. I actually
think thought I fit right in, but a few observations changed my mind. Sadly, it all came down to the way I was dressed.
The other kids (god, I don’t want to call them that!!) – the other patrons – were dressed like the Portland hipsters they are. While I wore denim shorts and a pair of white tennis shoes, they were dressed in jeans and what I have since learned are called “lifestyle” shoes, things like Vans and Converse Chuck Taylors. I was sporting a flannel shirt, so points for me there, but I did not have a beanie or facial hair or a tattoo. In other words, I looked like – oh, the shame – a dad, I suppose.
Seriously. White tennis shoes. Nike’s, even. Could I look any more suburban?!
Fortunately, Chris (who was totally dressed the part) didn’t seem to mind my attire – or if he did, he never let on (then again, I have yet to find a copy of that audio recording in my In Box). But I made a vow that evening to change things up a bit in order to better blend in with the crowd. I figured the simplest and quickest improvement I could make would be the shoes, so after shopping around for something cool and hip I found these plaid checkered loafers that I think will do the trick nicely.
I’ll also probably never wear shorts to a show again, even if it’s 110 outside. Seeing that this is Portland that’s not likely to happen anyway, but if it does, I’m sweatin’ it out, man.
And probably complaining bitterly the whole time, but hey – even hipsters are allowed to whine.
For the record, I am not claiming to be a hipster. I think age-wise that ship has sailed, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But I do appreciate what they stand for. From urbandictionary.com:
Hipsters are a subculture of men and women typically in their 20’s and 30’s that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter.
Hmm. You know what? Maybe I am a hipster, after all.
I really just don’t want to look out of place, that’s all. And next time we go out, I won’t. Not with my groovy plaid loafers, baby.
Until then, go check out The Moondoggies. Please. They’re really good, and I want to be able to say I knew them when.