A memory, a winner and a problem

One
My original copy of the mp3 had been lost among the shuffle of computers and hastily-burned and misplaced CD-RWs full of music files. By the time I might have thought to find a new copy, my New Mayer aversions had disuaded me to even think about seeking his music out. I was being innundated on the radio, why seek it out on my own?

But I smiled fondly upon hearing the plucky intro and husky vocals last night. I'd asked him about this recording.

He was describing David Gray and the manner in which the music touched him. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table as he described the final lines of "Say Hello Wave Goodbye." "When he gets to that," he said, breaking into song to sing my favorite line, "it just gets you right here. He's amazing." He tapped his hand against the chest over his heart. "So you're a fan of his too? What's your favorite song?"

"Mmm..." So many to choose from. "'Sail Away?" Nope. 'Shine.'"

"'Shine!'" He crossed his hands over his chest and nodded approvement. "You're an old school fan! I like it."

"Now, I know you covered 'Babylon,'" I said, prompting him to chuckle and stretch out his legs. The chair was already placed back from the table so his ridiculously long legs were able to stretch out. "People couldn't stop talking about it."

A slow smile spread across his lips, and I had to force myself to think about something other than how good-looking he was. "It was kind of a one-time thing," he said. "See, most of the time, with covers, I don't even go near songs that someone just put out. It's a respect thing. And David just put 'Babylon' out, but when you hear it, you just know it's an instant classic. It's going to be around for the long term. So I gave it a shot."

"How'd it work out?"

"He can do more for it than I can, that's for sure." The three of us - Michelle, John and I - laughed. "But I still do it during soundcheck every once in awhile. Who knows, maybe I'll have to bring it out tonight." I grinned as he wiggled his eyebrow.

After the conversations about Count Chocula and "Your Body is a Taco Stand" - and after he insisted that I tell him just how I found his music on Napster ("The one time being narcissistic paid off," I commented), Michelle and I stood by the bar. We'd planned to wait outside until the doors opened, but Steve told us to stick around - John had put us on the list, so we could hang out and relax until showtime.

As we discussed our relief over a successful interview, the amusing anecdotes that had come from it and exclamations of "Holy shit, I couldn't believe how hot he was as he walked toward us," I heard familiar guitar notes and whipped my head toward the stage. John was watching us with a smile and chuckled as my eyes lit up. I mouthed "thank you" and blew him a kiss as he continued to effortlessly pluck away at that intro.

Two
I was able to keep my laughter to a minimum as I ordered my batch of tickets, only remarking that my 12-year-old cousin had better LOVE ME for this.

I bit my lip as Beth made her ticket request and felt my face turn red with the laughs I supressed until we walked out of the box office.

"Hold on, I've got to make a call," I said, chuckling on the sidewalk. I dug my cell phone out of my bag and dialed.

"Mom? Hey. You know how I joked about getting front row tickets for KC & the Sunshine Band and The Village People so you could throw things on stage? Well, funny story..."

Beth laughed as my mother delightedly groaned on the other end of the phone call. "Well, we WAITED to order them! We didn't think it would be front row, but you can't really pass that up," I said brightly into the phone. "Concert rules. Don't say no to the front row."

The laughter continued as Beth and I walked up the street. She had tickets to the two-family "Mother-Daughter Fest 2k5" in her bag. I had tickets to "Best Cousin Ever Fest 2k5" in mine. We had just semi-voluntarily gone out of our way to buy tickets to Clay Aiken (August 29) and Disco Night (September 2). I decided that our response was one resultant from being in shock.

"I'm praying that there are good shows right before and after that week," Beth said.

"Higher Ground had better not let us down. 'Cause we look like real winners today," I replied.

Three
I sat down at my computer and began to type and hum to myself. "Bitch can't hang with the streets..."

Damn you, Beth. And damn you, Ben Folds.

It had started to plague her earlier this morning, after an attempt to "start off the morning right." The piano melody weasled its way into her head, leaving her humming the chorus over and over throughout the day, she told me.

"It's such an offensive song. It really is," she lamented as we walked down the street during our lunch break. "But it's hilarious because it's Ben covering Dr. Dre and he makes it sound pretty!"

I laughed at her because my busy morning had prevented me from even thinking of the song.

But upon my return, it hit me. "It's real conversation for your ass..."

This was going to be a problem.