It always makes for an amusing conversation.

Some individuals - who happen to go by the monkiers of Mom and Dad - have a difficult time sometimes, understanding why precisely their eldest is so often found trapsing off to concerts by people I've seen before.

V? Where are you now? Boston? Montreal? New York? Some place somewhere in between? Who's playing this time?

With the discussions about this disconnect - when either of them decides to give the discussion another try - comes laughter about how I've "just seen" whoever I'm going to see.

One show is the same as any other, after all. Right?

Nathanson's in town in a little less than two weeks, his first show in the area since headlining the old Higher Ground in April '04, which was the first in the area since the Coffeehouse show in 2001.

Of course, the parentals would point out if they could keep track of the shows I've attended over the last several years (a task even I find daunting, and I'm the one who went to them), I've seen him numerous times between these Vermont stops. Endicott College (otherwise known as The Night of No PA), Corporate Mad Lib Pavillion (The Night We Skipped OAR and Left After Matt and Howie To Go See Tides), the Orpheum (The Night Before the Earliest Trip Home Ever) and the stint at Paradise (The Nights That Led To What I Did On My Music-Prompted Vacation).

So what's the big deal about seeing him again? What's the big deal about seeing anyone numerous times? Why do you do it, why do you put miles on your car and why do you look so damn forward to yet another show, V? Why?

This evening, during the Load Up the iPod process, I finally made my way over to archive.org to get some more live material. I started downloading one of the Matt Does Paradise shows, periodically pausing to listen to tracks and songs I'm looking forward to hearing again, in person, shortly.

Mom, Dad, other people scratching their heads: this is why.

One of these days, I'm going to burn a copy of a Matt show and just leave it for the folks so they can take a listen, with the hopes that they get it.

This absolutely gorgeous evening of music? I was there for it. I stood in the balcony with my friends and I witnessed this in person. Each little variable, each joke?

There are no exact replicas of shows.

OK, maybe if you're going to see Gavin DeGraw. In that case, I concede.

And the possibility of what every evening could bring, what songs could be dusted off the shelf and, likewise, what songs could make brand-new-to-me appearances?

This is why I go. And, in this case, why I'm going to be so pleased to be standing in the crowd in a couple of weeks.

In other news, I made my first homemade soup this evening. I am pleased to report that it is exceedingly delicious. So exceedingly delicious that I almost don't mind that the recipe said it would yield four servings, when in actuality, it yielded something more like 12.

Beth at one point asked me what I was doing, as I clanged around pots and pans.

"I'M CULINARYING, DAMMIT!"

I've been informed that I have a truly original cooking technique. I think that was Beth's way of saying I cook like an idiot.

But I say if I'm cooking in any manner, that's progress. And if the kitchen has yet to burn down or otherwise be destoryed in the process?

All the better.