Your Face Like Snow

As I was approaching thirty, my good friend and companion Sage warned me of my impending need to settle. I narrowed my eyes.

My fair city is going through a massive babe drought and finding a suitable gnetleman or lady is a trying task for a lazy person like me. I've been on a few dates in the last few months and the majority have been with men still pining for their exes. In addition to that problem, Okcupid and Tinder contnue to be wretched hives of scum and villainy. And whenever I complain to either my sister or Sage about these dates with guys who tell me outright that they miss their ex, they tell me I should see where it goes.
 
In recent years I’ve found that I much prefer to be by myself. If it’s a choice between a second date with a dude who moped the whole time or a night by myself, I’ll go with the latter. Plus having been in an abusive relationship makes you realize that being alone isn’t all that bad.
 
One of the worst things that happened during my abusive relationship was how low my self esteem was brought down by it. Your self esteem is tied to your abuser during these relationships and it’s always kept at a lower level so you start to believe the lies the abuser is telling you. So, once I got out of that relationship, I wasn’t sure how I felt about myself. Luckily, I started to realize my own value and really begin liking the person I was.
 
I also met Bono during this time.

I’ve spoken about my massive u2 obsession in the past and the time I met three fourths of the band. I’ve also mentioned how awesome it was to speak to Bono. But I think that meeting was also a turning point in how I felt about myself and what I wanted out of someone else. It was because of this meeting that I started jokingly judging men on a scale of 1 to Bono.

At this time, I still felt that I wasn’t a person worthy of love. I liked myself but I didn’t feel like anyone else would, especially not someone I’d consider a potential romantic partner. Not that I would consider Bono a potential romantic partner, he’s like 4 feet shorter than me and wears platforms. But I digress.The thing I remember the most about meeting Bono was how I felt when we were speaking. I spoke to him about seeing u2 in Australia, how much I loved the show, how I spent my 25th birthday there, whatever. And he listened like we were best friends catching up, keeping eye contact and chuckling at my various witty remarks. The best part was how he made me feel like I was the most precious thing in the world to him. And not in the romantic way, just in a way that made me feel like I mattered to him. It was bizarre but one of the best moments of my life so far. 

Please ignore my weird face. I was probably two seconds from crying the whole time.

And it’s not that I want to be the most important person in a romantic partner’s life. It just felt great to realize I wasn’t broken after the abuse. I was still worthy of being thought highly of, of being seen as precious to someone and that was what I needed then. I reckon Bono calls every girl "sweetheart" but he'll never know how much it mattered to me that I felt like I wasn't as unworthy as my abusive partner made me feel. And I mattered to Bono. So fuck that other guy.
 
Though I've chosen celibacy for the next little bit, I know my worth now. And I really want other people to know their worth too. I felt so bad when I saw this girl at the salon talking about her horrible sounding boyfriend treating her terribly. If my head wasn't shoved into a sink, I would have told her to kick him to the curb. I think sometimes feeling bad is better than feeling alone. I know how it feels to think you'll never be loved again. But "love" isn't worth it.
 
So know your worth and be with someone who knows it. Even if it's yourself for now.

The Girlhood Dream

Ms. Vida seems to think that I don't have a dream. Well, honey, I'm not Martin Luther King. I don't need a dream. I have a plan.

Noxemma Jackson, To Wong Foo

I met my friend Tyler in acting class. At first, I didn't like him because I thought he was a bit of a ham. One day, I wore my CM Punk shirt to class. I only wear really nondescript wrestling shirts as the really obvious ones are ugly (and rarely come in a ladies' size anyway) so I was really surprised when Tyler complimented me on my shirt and we started our friendship over our love for wrestling.

If finding an awesome ladies size wrestling shirt is hard, finding a friend who likes pro wrestling as an art is even harder. Our conversations on Wade Barrett and Damien Sandow also included conversations about Nigel McGuinness and Colt Cabana and we could talk about the fun and the technical sides. 

When Tyler asked me if I thought he could be a wrestler, I told him the truth. It's hard. I wanted to be a wrestler but it's such a long way to get to the point where you "succeed". For me, I didn't look like a stereotypical female fit model slash actress slash wrestler. For Tyler, he didn't look like the steroid freak mastodons that the Vince McMahons of the world love.

But he didn't let that stop him. He went to Storm Academy in Calgary and trained and I supported him as much as I could. He was doing something I always wanted to do but felt so beaten before I even began.

Tonight I went to check out a local wrestling event as I really, really wanted to hit on Colt Cabana (shut up) and I was really surprised to see Tyler come out during the battle royale match. I cheered like an idiot and cheered even harder when he executed a freakin' beautiful hurricarana. During the intermission, I went to hug him and was just so proud to see him wrestling FOR REAL. 

Dreams are easy to have but actually going for them isn't. There are a lot of hurdles. Most of my hurdles were things that made me tired before I even started. The scornful looks I got when I amateur wrestled as a kid and the realization that there are barely any female main events in the WWE. I am sad I didn't say "fuck it" and go anyway. But I don't regret where my path has led me towards another dream. I just wish I had been as strong as Tyler to at least try. 

When Tyler had his second match, he and I had an epic high five as he circled the ring to slap the hands of the crowd that reached out. Seeing Tyler in the ring, even if it wasn't WWE, inspired me to dream big and just go for it. I aim to be as big as Tarantino, to make art, to do everything and anything I can. My fear may have ended one dream but the inspiration from Tyler made me realize I didn't want it to end another.

This is awesome! *Clap, clap, clap, clap*

I want you to know that you don't need me anymore

 This song is about letting go of someone you don't want to let go of.

Grief is so bittersweet to me. It's so amazing to me that you can love somebody so much that their loss leaves a mark on you forever.

It's been 10 years since my grandmother's death but I can still feel a hole in my soul that echoes inside every so often. Though I got so annoyed that her constant attempts to control my life, you don't forget someone like her. My grandma with her wrinkled hands covered in flour, her black and white hair, and her laugh. I see a lot of her in my sister and every time my sister does something that reminds me of our grandmother, it's like she's still here.

One of my friends is currently dealing with her own grandmother's illness and I told her that there's never enough time and even when you're expecting it, the end is always too soon. I was reminded of one of my favourite quotes from The Lord of the Rings:

'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo.
'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'

Fear is not going to stop our loved ones from leaving us. However deciding to just enjoy the time we do have helps make things easier in the end. I have so many good memories of my grandmother and it's what I hold in my heart. I'm glad for every moment I had with her and for her love that still affects me.

kisâkihitin nôhkom (even though you'd totally hate me for speaking Cree)

I've got you under my skin.

At dinner before the tattoo appointment, my sister kept punching me in the arm randomly. "What the hell?!" I asked.

"Just preparing your arm for the appointment." She said helpfully and punched me again.

In December, I met with Bram at Rebel Waltz tattoo after my friend Andee recommended him to me. After realizing his style suited what I wanted for my tattoo, I put down a 50 dollar deposit just to prove to myself that I was going to do it. The appointment was set for January 14th.

For the next few weeks, I went from extremely excited about finally finding a design I liked to becoming extremely horrified that I was going to have something on my arm until after I started to decompose. My sister was certain I was going to chicken out. My mom was worried that it was going to look ugly. My dad was like, "Do what you want, my girl!"

I've always wanted a tattoo but I weigh the pros and cons of everything. However, I knew that the tattoo was something I wanted and I hadn't been so sure of something in a long time. The plan was going to get 5 crows going from the halfway point of my left bicep up my shoulder and onto my chest. In the days leading up to the 14th, whenever I'd get nervous, I'd lift the sleeve of my t-shirt to look at my bare arm and think about how cool Bram's work was going to look once it was on.

I was 75% ready, 25% nervous. But, as I left a deposit, I knew someone was going to get a tattoo either Bram or me.

On the day, Bram created a stencil and put it on my arm while I nervously jittered about. He started up the extremely loud and dentist-ry like tattoo machine and I held my sister's hand. My sister's eyes seem to say, "Last chance". Bram dipped the needle into the ink and the buzz started.

And I was ok. When it started, I felt relief. I was finally getting my tattoo after living in the "should I/shouldn't I" fog for a long time. And it didn't even hurt.

That was until Bram got to crow 4 at the top of my shoulder and the way he pulled on the skin and the way the needle cut, I felt like he was slitting my throat. I had told him I wasn't sure about crow 5 (the one on my chest) when he put the stencil on so when he finished 4, he asked if I wanted 5. After unclenching my teeth after the pain of 4, I said, "Nah, let's just end there".

My sister looked at it from her seat at the other side of the table I was lying on and said, "It's so nice! It almost makes me want to get one.....almost". 

I bled like a crazy person and my white tank top on the left side was spotted in blood and black ink. Bram gestured me to the huge mirror in his studio and I stood up and checked it out. Love at first sight.

*Poke* Ow! Quit it!

The days that followed were PAINFUL. I felt like I had the skin peeled back from my shoulder but not even the pain would stop me from checking out the healing progress and just marveling at the beauty of it all. I also had to dodge my sister and mom from poking me in the arm as it healed.

It's healed beautifully and the worries I had of regretting were for naught.

I can't wait for bare arm season

The tattoo is a sort of tribute to my grandma. My grandma had a pet wild crow that she fed on her deck that she tried to bring into the house one day. The crow didn't want to live in her house so it bit her. My grandma chased it off and stopped leaving bannock out for it. I felt like that crow during my childhood. I also feel that stopping at 4 was sort of meant to be and it feels like it could represent my dad, my mom, my sister and I.

It has a mishmash of meanings to me. However I decided on it because it just looked damned beautiful.

I really want to get another one but I think I'll wait until after I forget the pain of crow 4.

When you gonna make up your mind

Being a wrestling fan isn't easy. You've got folks on your ass about liking a "fake" sport and all the homoerotic bits.

Add on being a female wrestling fan and things are even more sucky. You're told you're only into wrestling for the hot guys and don't know shit about anything when it comes to wrestling.

Trust me, I wasn't in it for the hot guys. Back when my grandfather and dad got me into wrestling, wrestlers looked like this:

Oh, baby, take me, I'm yours.

I go in and out of my interest in wrestling but I have a massive soft spot for it. 

It's why I lost my mind when I found out Mick Foley was doing a speaking show in my city. Mick has always been one of my favourites. Back in the late 90s, Mankind scared the hell out of me so, of course, I loved watching to see what other scary things he'd do. 

After reading Mick's first book Have A Nice Day I really thought he was brilliant. It was nice to see him succeed despite being told repeatedly that he'd never do so because he didn't look "the part". Since being a wrestling fan usually means you're put down a lot about it, I (and many other fans) could relate to his struggles. I also really loved that he is a feminist. Considering that pro wrestling isn't exactly known for its pro-women stance (amongst the wrestlers or with fans), having a wrestler tell his audience that maybe a woman should get a chance to ask a question (which Mick did at the WWE panel when I was at SDCC) is a pretty big deal. 

And he's just a nice guy really. At the WWE signing at Comic Con, my sister was heartbroken that she'd have to choose being going to a panel for her favourite TV show or going to a Mick signing that I decided to go get her autograph. I ran up to Mick during the signing and handed him a note book turned to a page with "Hi Kerri" written on it in a word bubble. I quickly told him that my sister loved him but couldn't make it to the signing but would he be so kind to take a picture for me holding the sign so I could give it to her.

His body guard was about to push me off but Mick said, "No, no, it's ok! Do you have a camera?" 

My sister nearly wet her pants

My sister was excited to meet Mick this evening to get him to sign the Comic Con picture. I was excited to shake his hand and tell him I really appreciated all the good work he does for organizations like RAINN in the US and for victims of war rape in Sierra Leone. As we got on stage at the Park Theatre and got our chance to talk to Mick, he smiled brightly at me and commented on my Cyndi Lauper shirt that reads "GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN" saying it was cute. I shook his hand and he asked how I spelled my name. As I shook his hand again and he handed me my autograph, I told him that I really appreciated all the work he does for women who have gone through such tragedy and I wish more men were like him. He smiled and thanked me.

I didn't tell him but I am a survivor of sexual assault. The first thing you want to do about it is hide the fact that it ever happened. It's so hard to talk about it and so many people want to ignore that it even happens. 1 in 3 women are survivors of sexual violence. Every time I tell my story to a friend, they more often than not tell me they went through something similar. For a long time I felt that every man that I ran into would hurt me and that I always had to be on my guard. When you are growing up, the incentive is on you to protect yourself because "guys can't control themselves". What does this say about men? Women have to take the procautions because men can't control themselves? This thought process hurts both men and women. Men are mindless animals while women only have themselves to blame if they're raped. I think it's important that men and boys are involved in the prevention of sexual assaults.

As Mick himself has said, he's "hopeful that if he can spread the message that 'this thing that you think of as a drunken exploit that you might brag to your friends about is shattering a life and the lives of people around [the survivor],' then maybe men will listen. 'Everyone knows a survivor, whether you [are aware of it] or not, and I'm hoping that others, both unlikely figures and likely figures, will join the cause.'" (Source)

"It doesn’t seem like a pro-wrestler would be able to lend much when it comes to a campaign against sexual violence, but for some reason I kept telling myself that it made perfect sense."

Maybe some dudes in the wrestling fandom will see Mick's tweets about RAINN and get interested. Maybe they won't. However it's nice knowing that there are men like Mick supporting the cause. I really wish there were more guys like him. Knowing that there are makes me less afraid that I'm going to be hurt in those moments where I don't have my guard up. 

Plus his book made me discover the awesomeness that is "Winter" by Tori Amos. 

 

I'll start the chant: Thank you, Mick.

Music can change the world because it can change people

I was super duper excited to discover that Santa (aka my parents) had listened to my whines and I got a vinyl record player for Christmas. On Boxing Day, I rushed out to McNally Robinson and Music Trader to get a few new records to play in addition to the ones I got from my parents. 

As I was listening to Under a Blood Red Sky that night, I realized that, ever since I had bought my first MP3 player, I hadn't really listened to an album all the way through in a very long time. When I was a teenager, I would listen to the whole album before deciding on favourites. I had a theory that if the lead single was the first track of the album, the rest of the album usually sucked. I also liked finding hidden tracks (in the days before the internet, I would usually find them by being woken from my sleep when I let the CD play all the way through). 

However, since I've had an iPod, I usually just download the one song I want and avoid the rest. This was amazing to me, at first, as I wouldn't have to buy all of a crap pop album for the one song I liked like I did when I was a kid. But now I have like two tracks from an album and nothing else. Even with my current favourite bands like Black Keys, The Gossip, Lykke Li, and Franz Ferdinand, I don't own a full album by any of them. The only time I would venture further into an album was when I heard a song I liked at a concert and looked it up (looking at you, "Lucid Dreams" by Franz).

I also realized that, of U2's last two album, I had only listened to "No Line" in full because I was going to their concert in Vancouver and I needed to "study up". I still haven't listened to "Atomic Bomb" all the way through (and only like non single "Love and Peace or Else" because of U23D).

Maybe it's due to cheapness. When I was a kid, CDs in my hometown were 30 bucks each so I had to be absolutely certain I loved a band before I bought it (Greatest Hits were a godsend for me).  Now I'd rather pay 99 cents for a song I know I like than risk 10 bucks on an album I don't love. 

But I think things may be changing after the record player came into my room. I bought Bella Donna by Stevie Nicks on Boxing Day because I love "Edge of Seventeen" and heck Stevie Nicks is awesome. Despite Edge of Seventeen being the first track on side 2, I listened to side 1 first and just let it play while I was reading. And I liked it a lot. I felt like a teenager again when I would sit around and let a CD I hadn't heard play in the background.

I'm still going to stick to iTunes but I think I may be willing to go to the record store and see what I can find. It's like looking for treasure.

There's so many good things.

I've had a lot of film instructors tell me that bits of yourself go into the characters you write. I've always liked movies that devote a lot of time to something a character just loves be it music, a book, or another film. It's like a secret you learn about the person who wrote the movie and it makes me curious to try and see why it was so important to them. I have a confession to make: the only reason I finally got around to reading a Jane Austen book was because of the movie The Lake House. Please, hold the laughter down to a dull roar.

I started listening to Bob Marley because of Neville in I Am Legend.

 "The people, who were trying to make this world worse... are not taking a day off. How can I? Light up the darkness." 

And began listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds because of Marion in Wings of Desire.

I still love Wings of Desire for introducing me to one of my favourite songs.

Sometimes I can see why the character loved their song or book so much and they become a large part of my own life like Nick Cave and Bob Marley's music has.

Even in my real life, I like asking my friends what their favourite music/movie/book is and why and I find it just to see if I can find why it's so important to that person. It's like looking into a small part of that person's heart. It's very cool.

I guess this curiosity is why almost all the characters I write are nerdy U2 fans.

Turn Away No More

Nothing is permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/c/charlie_chaplin.html#tYLqhuYibAiBxoLs.9

Nothing is permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/c/charlie_chaplin.html#tYLqhuYibAiBxoLs.99

Nothing is permanent in this wicked world-not even our troubles. 

Charlie Chaplin. 

I've always liked how determined I am. The majority of what I've accomplished in life has been due to how stubborn I've been in my pursuit. It's why I have a hard time dealing with my depression.

It's the one thing I can't change just by convincing myself I'm going to. From the ages of 13-17, I was diagnosed with depression. I took medication and traveled 4 hours every week to see a counselor in order to deal with it. My depression manifested as being unable to sleep, feeling apathetic, feeling anxious over nothing, having intense crying fits, and angry outbursts. I also felt that I was observing my life from behind glass with the person living my life not caring about what I wanted. I was suicidal and would think of ways to end my life that would look accidental. It was a dark time and I still feel apologetic over how I mistreated my parents when I was at my worst.

At 17, I moved away to university and after a few months, I felt ready enough to stop taking the pills. A counselor told me when I was a teenager that my depression was the sort that would manifest all my life. For years after I stopped taking the pills, I was afraid I'd be needing them again.

Me at 16/17, thinking I was the definition of "cool". Not shown is the kilt I wore over jeans.

I understand being upset when things are going badly. It took me about a year to get over the worst of my mourning over the death of my grandparents. When my father had a heart attack, I would cry often during the days when we waited to see if he'd be ok.

I don't understand being upset for no reason. Late last year and early this year, I would go days without sleep whenever I had an assignment due even if I was prepared for it. I went to my finals in April with only a half hour of sleep, anxious the whole time that I'd faint in the middle of the exam. I would be overcome with intense bouts of rage where I'd lash out at family over nothing. And I became so apathetic that I thought about leaving school after I lost my focus and thought I didn't like film making any longer. Worst of all, I thought about hurting myself to get back at everyone who I had perceived had wronged me.

After the last thought appeared, I decided it was time to go back to the pills. But I was terrified of being weak, of admitting I needed help, and scared that the pills weren't going to have an effect. I always saw my depression as a weakness in myself because I couldn't deal with it on my own. I've pulled myself out of so many other things yet I felt so powerless over my depression because it wouldn't bend to my will. It kept me locked up inside my head while it screwed around with my life.
I was scared about needing the pills to help me deal with it but I hated how my depression took away my enjoyment of everything I cared about. I couldn't live not caring and so, despite my fear, I decided to talk to my doctor and get the medication I needed.

The doctor told me I'd start feeling the effects of the medication in about a month but I started feeling better almost immediately. Maybe it was the placebo effect but it was probably related to my decision to finally do something about the depression that had slowly been creeping its way back into my mind like ink in water. My depression sucks away my love of and amplifies the worst bits of my favourite things until I'm asking myself why I'm bothering with it if it is so horrible. The pills don't eliminate the symptoms entirely but, as my friend Bryan told me, they allow me to see things clearly when my depression tries to cloud my judgement.

Sometimes I'm still stuck in my teenaged mindset that this whole thing is going to haunt me forever and what's the point of anything. As an adult, I realize I can and have been happy even in the worst bits of my depression as a teenager. As a teen, I couldn't see anything happy in my future but now I know that things get better. They always do. There's always someone there to hug, someone there to say "Hi", someone to smile at me, to laugh with, cons to go to, places to see, music to hear. 

The good wouldn't be as awesome without the bad. And I know, eventually, I will deal with the bad.

"I could never love anyone as I love my sisters"

Subtitle:  
Yes, Dudes and Dudettes, major-league butt-kicking is back in town.

The only way I can explain what it's like to have a sister is to tell you to read "Little Women". The novel follows the lives of four sisters – Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March – detailing their passage from childhood to adulthood. I read it as a teenager when a friend described me as a Jo and I wasn't certain whether to take that as a compliment especially after this friend told me my sister and I were essentially Amy and Jo.

I could also tell you to watch "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" to sum up my sibling relationship. It's the story of 4 brothers fighting crime in the big city...who just happen to be mutated teenaged turtles. Whenever we'd play Turtles on the playground, I was Leonardo. My sister would be Michelangelo and would get mad when I told her she was more of a Raphael.

As far as I can tell, we aren't mutations.

TMNT and Little Women: Basically the same story.

I remember the day my sister was born. I was just about two and it was the summer. I ran out of the elevator and yelled for my mother who was in a hospital room with my sister in her arms. As I felt that everything my parents did was a gift to me, I presumed the baby was mine. I screamed "my baby" until I was allowed to hold her. There's a picture of this moment where I ham it up for the camera, while my sister is exhausted in my little tubby arms while my mom is cautiously behind us ready to grab my sister if I were to drop her.

There are very few pictures from our childhood where she and I are pictured separately. She being 20 months younger than me, we were always close (even when I didn't want to be). Whenever I'd try to sneak out of the house to play with my friends, my mom would catch me and yell out the kitchen window, "TAKE YOUR SISTER". On days with terrible weather, we were each other's best friend.

But sometimes that kid just rubs me the wrong way. I see her as hot headed and she sees me a selfish. She'd sit on my chest when we were kids until I tapped out. I used to hang onto her thumbs with both hands until she was yelling for our dad. We both remind each other of embarrassing stories from our childhood (which will be left in the vault of our family) and call each other horrible nicknames ("Creepella" is a favourite that we alternate use of).

----

“…Jo loved a few persons very dearly and dreaded to have their affection lost or lessened in any way.” 

Little Women

----

People made fun of me after my sister got her first real boyfriend and all I did was complain about him. How they went to Wal-Mart for some reason and just hung out. Their constant dates to Burger King. Him teaching her about cool shows like Regular Show.  I didn't want to admit that I resented the poor guy for taking up time I felt belonged to me when it came to my sister.

----

He's dull as powder, Meg. Can't you at least marry someone amusing? 

Jo

----

I finally revealed to her how I felt after we got into an argument about my assy behaviour around her boyfriend. After she poked fun at me for being jealous of her boyfriend, she told me we'd return to regular hanging out.

----

Together, there is nothing your...minds cannot accomplish. Help each other, draw upon one another, and always remember the power that binds you. 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 1990

----

I still see my sister as the Amy March and Raphael to my Jo March and Leonardo. Both pairs have volatile relationships that cycle between extremes. However they are the closest siblings within their families and are prepared to do almost anything for the other. When Leo is about to be stabbed by the Shredder at the end of TMNT, it's Raph that throws his weapons away first to save Leo's life even though they had spent most of their time together earlier in the film at odds. When Amy falls through thin ice, Jo skates frantically to save her and walks home in her bloomers, giving whatever clothes she could to Amy to keep her warm. This was a few days after Amy burned Jo's manuscript (which she had been working on for years) and Jo told her mother that she'd never forgive her.

---

I feel stronger with you close by

Beth

 ---

When my relationship of four years ended in a catastrophic fashion that left me severely broken hearted, my sister took the next bus into the city to be with me and just let me cry for three days.  This was after I hadn't seen her for awhile due to how restrictive my relationship with my ex had been. Last year, when a doctor informed me that I would need an MRI to see if I had a brain tumour, the first person I wanted to see was my sister, who hugged me for half an hour while I freaked out.

I've never had fights like the fights I've had with my sister and we have even threatened to never talk to the other again after some of those fights. But it is the other who we seek out when we're upset or hurt (including just after the fights we have). I admire her and think she's gorgeous. She supports me in every crazy scheme I concoct and listens to me when I need someone to bounce ideas off of. When I was in Australia, I wished she had been there with me so we could see the sights together and I bet she felt the same way when she went to San Diego the first time.

Despite our Noel and Liam Gallagher-esque battles, my relationship with my sister is extremely important to me and I doubt I'd make such a big deal about stuff that involves her if I didn't care so much. After seeing my dad lose so much time with his own siblings due to family feuds and what not, I promised myself I wouldn't let it happen to my sister and I.

Besides, she's the only person who likes U2 as much as I do.

Love is a first

At my last day on the job lunch with my coworkers/friends, I got talking to my friend Paul who is a huge Trekkie. We got into a discussion about how your vision of a certain character is influenced by who you saw first. He said it's why he prefers Captain Kirk to Captain Picard as a Starfleet Captain should not be "a bald, Earl Grey tea drinking" dude.

Only question I ever thought was hard
Was do I like Kirk or do I like Picard?

I totally disagreed ("PICARD GOT RESULTS") but he mentioned that it was because I grew up with Picard as my captain whereas Kirk was his. He also went on to add that the Tony Stark in his mind was different than the Tony Stark in mine as his Tony was based on the comics and mine was based on RDJ's portrayal.

I thought about it a lot and realized that it was pretty much true. My Batman will always be Michael Keaton. My Superman is always Christopher Reeve. These first characters become your archetypes for what the character should be and it's hard to shake. Though I really enjoyed Man of Steel, I was comparing Michael Shannon's aggressively determined General Zod to Terrance Stamp's cerebral dictator General Zod the whole time.

The only exception to this rule that I can think of is Commissioner Gordon. Yeah the first Gordon I saw was Pat Hingle in Batman but the Gordon in my head became the one I read in comics like Batman: Year One, The Killing Joke, and Birds of Prey. But my Gordon will forever be Gary Oldman's Gordon from The Dark Knight films. Partly because of my love for Gaz but largely because he showed the heart of the character.

Gordon, to me, has always been the example of what a good person of Gotham is. They're not blind to the corruption around them and do what they need to in order to survive but they still believe that things can get better. His desire to do the right thing isn't a weakness. The Dark Knight films were the first time he was a real flesh and blood character and that's why he became the archetype Gordon for me. 

Despite my love for The Dark Knight films, Alan Napier's Alfred from Batman 1966 is eternally loved by me.

They see me rollin'

They hatin'

I'm curious to see who your archetypes are. 

Give me a head with hair

Tomorrow I’m going to get my hair cut. And as usual, I go in with an idea of what I want. 

 

Daryl Dixon and Michelle Williams: my two biggest hair inspirations

I found people have a strange obsession with women and their hair. About 4 or so years ago I decided to go pixie. I had done it before back in high school when my mother told me she didn’t want me accepting my diploma with hot pink hair and it should be my natural colour for that day.

My hair at the time was shoulder length and a faded pink. My roots were about an inch long and so I had the local hairdresser take it down to my roots. My mother’s response: “I meant dye it back to your natural hair colour!” 

I’ve always loved and wanted short hair. As a child, I’d stuff my butt length hair into a baseball cap so it wouldn’t get caught in branches when I’d play in the woods. I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair past shoulder-length because of my Dad. As my hair reminded him of his mother, I had to keep it long. I put up with it but would whine like the biggest spoiled brat when my mother would have to braid it for pow-wow. That braid was so tight it would pull the skin of my face taunt.

When I cut it pixie again, my hair was just above bra line. The hairdresser tried to talk me out of cutting my hair as “my round face would look terrible” with that short a cut. After mentally noting not to tip her, I told her just to do it as it was what I wanted. I had to keep telling her to go shorter until finally, my hair was less than an inch long and I felt fabulous. The hairdresser even admitted it suited me and ever since I’ve been a pixie. 

It drives me to fits of hysterical laugher when people act like cutting off that amount of hair is some brave feat. When people see my hair, some girls will say, “Oh, I could never go that short! It’s so scary!” A car crash is scary, cutting your hair isn’t.

I didn’t slay Smaug, I just cut off my hair.

But I guess it can be scary as I’ve noticed that people don't censor their opinions of a lady with short hair. I’ve had older women at work inform me that I’d look so much prettier with longer hair. Dude-bros have told me I look like a dyke. Magazines rarely have a model with short hair (unless Michelle Williams has something to promote). It also drives me nuts when folk will insult Carol of The Walking Dead by saying, “Well look at her, she’s ugly: HER HAIR IS SHORT".

 I’d love to know how she keeps her hair that short in an apocalypse when the guys can’t even shave but I digress

I’ll admit I have moments where I wonder if I should grow my hair out. I think about growing it out so I can rock a Betty Page look or braid it like Katniss in The Hunger Games but then I remember I hated looking after my hair and it never looked good on me. Whereas my sister's hair is a manageable cape of Rapunzel-ish beauty, my hair, when it’s long, has a life of its own. It crimps in weird places, it grows awkwardly, and it doesn’t hold a style (my friend took 6 hours to curl it once and the curls started to unravel within half an hour).  And I always used my hair as a curtain I could hide behind. It was an excuse to be shy. And lastly, my hair was usually long because someone else wanted it that way. When I find myself asking why I want to grow my hair out, it’s usually because “Oh, that dude will find me prettier”, “I’ll look more like a girl”, etc. 

Well, fuck that. The reason I don’t grow it out is I love it the way it is. I feel prettier. I like the lightness of it. I like its sharpness. Sure I hate that it still finds a way to grow awkwardly (The back of my head and I hate each other for just that reason) but I'm not planning to grow it out past 2 inches anytime soon. 

My hair being short doesn’t make me any less of a woman despite what some old biddy may say. My boyish short hair is a girl’s haircut because a girl is wearing it (and rocking it).

And if a boy I date ever tells me “I want long hair”, I’ll tell him to grow it himself. 

Soranik Natu, Green Lantern of Sector 1417: doesn't need long hair.

Purple Rain

U2 7 Part 4: Minneapolis



I had originally bought my tickets to U2’s show in Minneapolis because they hadn’t scheduled a show in Winnipeg. When the tour was rescheduled, my mom wanted to come to the show in the States after she was blown away by U2 in Winnipeg. So the original group heading down south was my mom, my sister Kerri, and me with me doing the driving.

Unfortunately my mom had surgery scheduled for the Monday after U2 and there was no way she could go with us and get back in time for her procedure. We decided to give the spare ticket to Kerri’s boyfriend Sean in exchange for his car and driving duties (as I hate driving and only do it when I have to).

Sean’s not the biggest U2 fan and his only exposure to them before he dated Kerri was Bono’s “appearance” on South Park. He was the driver on the fateful day where we met U2 and originally had gone grudgingly. When we saw U2’s plane for the first time, my excitement filled the car until all three of us were screeching that we were going to miss them if we didn’t haul ass. At one point he was so pumped full of endorphins that he probably would have followed their car if we asked (we didn’t).

We left early Friday morning, starting the 7+ hour drive to Minneapolis with Sean’s GPS as our north star (or south star if you want to be technical). We got to the border and we were told Kerri's passport wasn’t valid.

My first thought: Kick her out. Kick her out. Kick her out.

Before I could get my sister’s door open, the border guard told us, “Yeah, she needs to sign it! Sign it before you come back and see you later.”

The three of us breathed a sigh of relief and we went forward into North Dakota, Sean and I giggling that we had both thought about kicking Kerri out of the car. Kerri replied, “I know! I felt your evil eyes on me the moment she said something was wrong!”

Kerri has this mad obsession with American Wal-Marts, especially after she found out about Super Wal-Mart. I think being able to buy a gun, a cake, and clothes all in the same place just appeals to her. So we stopped at this large one somewhere in North Dakota to pick up snacks. I purchased a bottle of water and a WWE Magazine as it was cheaper in America and it had a fantastic article on Wade Barrett, my favourite wrestler of the new batch and current object of my sports entertainment affection.

Excuse me, I’ll be in my bunk.

-----

Anyway, where was I?

-----

The Minneapolis trip was the first time I stayed in a hotel during my U2 travels and the first time I ever had a hotel room to myself. As children, my sister and I would have to share a room with my parents where we fought the urge to put a pillow on my dad’s face to stifle his snoring. The first thing I did in my Minneapolis hotel room was stretch out on the king’s size bed and just basked. After 2 years of hostel bunks, old couches, and pull-out-beds during my travels, a king-sized Super 8 bed was an absolute treat for my last date of the tour.

It was hot as hell when we arrived on that Friday so we spent the evening indoors at the Mall of America, taking the hotel shuttle to get there. Usually, I hate malls and I don’t like traveling just to shop but I love visiting MOA. I could spend hours at the Lego store or wandering around the amusement park or people watching on the 4th level. I also love it as it has the first Cinnabon I’ve ever visited (I had read about Cinnabon in the Animorphs series and always wanted to see what the cinnamon bun hype was all about). I ruined myself for supper with my Cinnabon bun when I met up with Sean and my sister at Famous Dave’s, a BBQ place that serves platters so large that they could fit on tractor tires.

Is there anything on this menu that isn't covered in gravy?!

Random aside but it continues to astound me how large the portions are in America. I kept forgetting about it when I’d go to order a medium drink and get what is considered a large in Canada. I once said to a person at a North Dakota Wendy’s, “This is a medium? What is the large? An oil drum?”

Show day I slept in while my sister and Sean went to check out the local zoo. The forecast called for rain with some meteorologists predicting a storm that would start around the time U2 went on stage. After deciding navigating the transit system to the stadium would be too much of a hassle, we took the car to a pay lot near the University of Minnesota that offered a shuttle to the concert.

It was around 4 when we parked the car. The sky was overcast with the sun occasionally peeking through and the air was thick with moisture. It took 10 minutes for the shuttle to arrive at the TCF stadium, stopping right in front of the GA gate with the huge GA line snaking halfway around the stadium.



“Are we going to line up?” Sean asked, eyeing the line.

“Nope, let’s eat.” I said as we wandered about eventually heading to a nearby pizza joint in the university village near the stadium. The sky started to spit rain as we got inside. It was packed but we were served quick enough considering. The drink specials were insane due to the stadium not selling booze at the show that night (as it was on a university campus). When I went to use the bathroom after we got into the stadium, I’d see tiny baby bottles of booze littering the path and in the port-a-potties, empty of course. Funny enough, it was the only show I went to on this tour where the smell of pot didn’t hang over the GA like a cloud (But it could have been due to the rain).

When we got back to the line, people from the line were being allowed in 50 at a time. It was a lot more orderly than any U2 line I had ever been to and I was glad my sister didn’t have to implement her “Elbow to the Face” move she had planned to use if things got hairy.

I knew I had been to too many shows when I commented on how small the stadium was. The GAs for the Hippodrome and Anz had been seas of people but U of M was more like Winnipeg’s with the audience being a sort of “pub gig” for U2 considering its size. Everyone was crowded near the outer halo runway with a few people sticking to the back and sitting on the ground but with loads of room to move around

I took my sister’s hand, she took Sean’s and we ran over to the inner circle gate on the left side of the stage (Known as “Edge Side” to the hardcore fans). We got in and settled near the back where the runway rises to the back of the stage. That bit has become my favourite part of the GA as it still gives you a good view of the stage, a great view of the screen, you’re still in the pit, and you can move around without getting someone’s Irish flag in your face. You can also wave “hello” to the band as they ascend the stairs at the back of the stage at the start of the show.

It was getting muggier and muggier that evening with occasional gusts of wind chilling the skin. With the sky darkening as U2’s time drew near, you could tell it was going to rain.

The smoke machine puffed to life as the show started and the wind sent it right down into our area of the pit, giving our surroundings a dream quality. The lights bounced off the smoke and cast weird shadows, disorienting me as Even Better than the Real Thing blared throughout the stadium.

The rain started during The Fly and didn’t stop for the entire show; it ranged from beautiful little drip drops to a straight-up shower. I’ve been through monsoon season in the Bay of Bengal where the rain fell so hard and thick that just running to the car 2 feet away would get you drenched. I didn’t experience that sort of rain again until the concert that night. The rain fell just as hard as it did in Bangladesh, some of it gathering strength somehow as it fell off the Claw onto my head.



I had been wearing my dupatta (a scarf from Bangladesh) to cover my head during the initial spit of rain but even it couldn’t handle the downpour that started. My sister and I whipped out our rain ponchos that we had been hanging on to since U2 in Winnipeg and put them on.

Before that night, I would have thought a show in the pouring rain would have tied Montreal 1 as the worst U2 show I’ve been to. But as the rain fell and our area was flooded with water and smoke from the smoke machine, it was magic. The wind howled and whipped the smoke around in strange shapes, the rain cascaded off the Claw in a waterfall, and everyone was soaking wet even in ponchos and rain gear. And no one gave a damn about the rain like no one cared about the cold in Winnipeg once U2 started to play.

Some bands would let the rain get to them but not U2. When the rain fell harder, they played harder. Bono strutted around the runway almost like he was daring the sky to try and shut him down. He got as soaked as we were.

He also covered every rain related song he could think of.

The lightning started next. At first I thought it was just another part of the light show but noticed it didn’t fit the song. The floor of the GA was metal and covered in rain water. I’m terrified of lightning in a safe dry house so I was nervous as hell standing in that GA as the storm really started. And even though I thought about running for cover in an area that didn’t have a conductor as a floor, I didn’t leave.

I felt like a little kid playing in the rain. I wish I had rubber boots! I was kicking up puddles, dancing and jumping to the music. During Get on your Boots, my sister and I sang along at the top of our voice. During Elevation, we got sick of waiting for Bono to get through “Can’t Stand The Rain” so we started the song ourselves along with everyone else in the audience.

But my favourite part was during Vertigo. My sister used to joke that she’d yell, “Turn it up, captain!” during the song in concert. I didn’t hear if she actually did it but we both screamed out, “Unos, dos, tres, catorce!” at the start of the song and jumped like a bunch of kangaroos as Edge played the first bit of the song. I think this song is one that comes alive in concert and the chainsaw sound of the guitar just sounds better when Edge is playing it right in front of you.

Kerri and I were holding hands as we jumped and we lifted our intertwined hands into the air during the chorus with everyone hearing us yelling, “OLA!” and “Donde Esta?” like drunk kids. Sean, meanwhile, was laughing at our total lack of restraint but he was having a good time despite not having a poncho. And I think he sang the “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!” parts at the end of Vertigo with us though I couldn’t see him through the rain.

Another memorable moment that night was during Where the Streets Have No Name. I’ve formed such an attachment to that song. Every single U2 concert I’ve been to, Streets is the song that never fails to bring the audience to its feet. If the audience isn’t the best (like it was in Vancouver), this song brings them around. If the audience has been insane all night (like Sydney and Winnipeg), the audience gets their second wind. That night as they started the song, I felt a little choked up. This was the end of a journey I had started almost 2 and a half years previous. It had rained in Vancouver for my first show and it rained in Minneapolis for my last; the rain bookended my travels. As I cheered my final time for the 360 version of Streets, I was so happy to be there.



The rain stopped for a moment after Streets was over and I laughed when I saw Sean, soaked to the skin and his clothes heavy with water. I yelled into Kerri’s ear, “Let’s head out! Sean is about to drown!”

There was a surreal moment where the band started “Hold Me Thrill Me Kiss Me Kill Me” as we tried to find a way out to the shuttle that would take us to the parking lot. We ran up the stairs into the stadium proper as yellow and green lights lit up the inside. It was like that scene in Batman Returns where Bruce Wayne is sitting in the dark of Wayne Manor when the Bat Signal ignites and it shines into his study. The light was brighter somehow because of the moisture in the air and it felt like it was following us as we went out. Before we went down the stairs leading to the area where we were to catch the shuttle, I turned to Kerri and Sean and gushed, “I love this song!”

The yellow and green light lost us so they shone skywards like true Bat Signals onto the clouds above the stadium. “It looks like they’re about to release the Smilex gas!” I joked as another lone nerd waiting in line for the shuttle giggled, hearing me. The mirror ball at the top of the Claw lit our way back to the parking lot and the sound of the show faded as we got further away.



“Thanks for coming with me,” I randomly told Kerri and Sean as we rode the shuttle. They both smiled.

The rain had finally ended as the shuttle arrived at the parking lot and my skin had a chance to dry. My shoes weren’t as lucky as both Kerri and I stepped into a deep puddle near a group of port-a-potties. Both of us hoped the puddle was just rainwater.

-----

Despite the awesome concert and the impressive show of all the rain related songs Bono knew (including Purple Rain by Minneapolis-born Prince), I was a little down that U2 didn't whip out their own rain related songs like Electrical Storm, Summer Rain, or MLK.

As we headed back to the hotel, I had MLK stuck in my head and kept humming it to myself.

If the thundercloud passes rain
so let it rain
let it rain
rain on him

Best summer ever.

This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling around

U2 7 Part 3: Montreal



My tickets to Montreal and Minneapolis had been on my fridge for little over a year. So I was a little sad to finally take my tickets for Montreal off the fridge. I slid them into my passport along with my boarding pass the evening before I left.

The morning of my flight, I was running late as I missed my bus and so I hauled buns to another bus stop 3 blocks away. On the way there, my mom called to tell me to have fun and be careful. I told her I'm always careful as I threw my luggage into a transit bus and got on.

I arrived at the airport with enough time to get through security (where a security guard giggled when he saw the Iron Man/War Machine cover I have on my Macbook). I wasn't sure if I was at the right gate until I saw a guy in a U2 shirt and a U2 hat.

"Ok, it's the right plane," I told myself.

The guy in the u2 gear was Mark. Mark was the guy that was interviewed on CTV when the u2 concert in Winnipeg was announced. I found this out when we rode the bus together from Montreal-Trudeau. I told him with a laugh the story of how a few of my friends were surprised it wasn't me that was interviewed as Winnipeg "most obsessed U2 fan".

I arrived in Montreal and got lost, spending an hour and a half navigating the metro and wandering around Old Montreal. I had a date with the awesome Akwiratékha to check out the Indiana Jones Exhibition at the Montreal Science Center and was hoping I wouldn't be that late.

Luck wasn't with me on this trip as I quickly found out. Though I found Ak and later we met up with Kim (who I was staying with), I wasn't as fortunate with other people I had said I'd meet up with. Mark and I said we'd seek each other out on Night 1 but that didn't work out. My friend Caroline had been delayed on her flight out and didn't arrive until the afternoon on the day of night 1. And though I saw Maddie, I was unable to speak to her due to an event that I'll talk about in a sec.

The night before the show after Kim and I got dinner, I asked if she wanted to go with me to check out the site so I knew where I was heading.



We arrived around 10 to the Hippodrome, a horse racing track converted for the concert. A fence surrounded the area with a huge line of people already waiting for the show the next day. Officially, you weren't allowed to line up until 6am that morning.

But that was on the stadium grounds. There's no such rule at the Wal-Mart right next door. Kim was blown away by the size of the city that had gone up for the shows and surprised that people were already waiting.

I asked a few people if they were keeping a list.

For those that don't know, the list is Serious Business in the u2 fandom. I've only gone on the list once (Sydney 1) and never again as I thought it was a complete and utter waste of time. The way it works is whenever the line is started (and this can be when the 1, 2, and 3 haven't even arrived in the city of the show) everyone has to check in with the starters of the line to get assigned a number. If you sign up a day before the show, your name is put on the list and you show up at a specified time (Usually at a time before transit starts running so you'll need car) for "roll call". Your spot is saved in line and you can go to your hotel to get some sleep as long as you arrive before the roll call time.

It tends to get unfair really fast (the starters of the line signing up their friends into better spots even if they arrived later, etc) and I hate the process to be honest. It's also useless: I walked into Sydney 2 as the gates opened and got the spot I wanted, right in between numbers 23 and 212.

Now, I know that not all shows can be like Winnipeg and Sydney. I understand that things can go wrong. But that night, when I was heading back to Kim's, I began to wonder if my favourite band was worth the crap I went through that night.



After I got breakfast with Kim the morning of the show, I headed down to the Hippodrome armed with water, sunblock, a hat, an umbrella, a small stool, and reading material. As I headed in, I noticed that the line for Night 2 had already started and was 10 people strong outside the gate leading into the venue.

The area where the GA line was waiting was on gravel and there was no shade. I was glad I brought my umbrella so I sat down and waited.

Things were going well and I'm not sure what happened. I think some douche at the front jokingly yelled, "Oh, I think they're opening the doors" and 700 or so people rushed forward as a result

So after a calm and orderly queue with people nicely spaced apart, 700 or so people are standing with less than a hair's width between them in the hot sun. And the venue wasn't going to let us in for another 2 hours.

Not surprisingly, people started getting ill (me included). The line surged forward again a half hour or so later and I went with it.

I was starting to feel a little dodgy and no amount of water was helping me. I drank my 2 bottles and was still sick. My face was soaked with sweat, my head was pounding, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

Someone asked me something in French that I couldn't really understand. "What?" I asked. This shirtless dude stood next to me, concern on his face, "Are you all right?"

I shook my head, no. "Give me your umbrella," he said and opened it, blocking the sun for me. "Hey, water girl!" He yelled at one of the vendors that were snaking their way through the line. "Get your butt over here."

He bought me a water and kept an eye on me, asking me questions about Winnipeg, the shows I had seen, and making fun of this one girl.

There was this girl that had been left behind during the initial rush and lost her place near the front. She was forcing her way forward but had reached a wall near us as no one was going to let her pass. For the next half hour or so, she was screeching about how she had lost her spot in line and people should let her pass (No 'please'). She needed to find the people she was with, she kept saying. The guy holding my umbrella was trying to be helpful to her and asked, "Have you seen your friends yet?" And in the snottiest tone I've ever heard come out of someone over 9, she said, "I DIDN'T SAY THEY WERE MY FRIENDS. JUST THE PEOPLE I WAS WITH."

The guy told me later, "I guess U2 are the only friends she needs".

I was really sad that in the next surge I lost the guy in the shuffle (he had given me back my umbrella when I told him I was feeling better). Whoever this guy was (who I only knew as Farnsworth Bentley after he jokingly started calling me P.Diddy), thanks to him for making sure I was ok.

Things didn't get better when we were finally let in. People were pressing forward, knocking over security gates, and just dropping their gear where it landed to trip the person behind them. I moved out of the crush and stood on the side for a few minutes to get some air. I love U2 but I promised my mother I was going to be careful. Besides, I didn't want to die for U2. I only have but one life to give for rock and roll.

I got into the inner circle in the center but quickly realized I wasn't going to last. There was still no shade (my umbrella was taken at the gate) and the show wasn't going to start for another 2 and a half hours. Though I was seated now, my head was still pounding and it was way too hot. After a few minutes I decided I would rather see the show than have to be taken out on a stretcher, so I told the people next to me they could have my spot and made my way out.

As I was navigating the people, I saw Maddie (thanks to the sign she was holding) but couldn't get nearer to her to chat. I reckon the look of my foot standing near her for too long annoyed this one girl who was sitting on the floor. She pushed me really hard in the shin screeching, "YOU'RE STEALING MY SPOT".

I was way too pissed and ill to put up with it after all I had gone through that day so I yelled in terrible French,

Va te faire foutre!

And told her if she didn't let me pass, I'd be sick all over her. She gave me a look and turned aside and I finally got out, heading towards a grassy area in the shade of the bleachers.

I spent the whole evening on the grassy area with a great view of the screen and a chance to cool down from the heat and the annoying. By the end of the show, I was still feeling a little sick so I left early. And was glad I did as I found out later that night some people waited for the Metro for 4 hours after the show was over.



-----

Night 2 was better as I didn't go until 8:30pm and spent the day hanging out with Kim.

I think my interaction with Kim was the purpose of my trip rather than the shows. I ended up learning a lot about what I wanted to write, who I wanted to write for, and got a kick in the butt when she told me I wasn't ever going to be successful if I didn't start letting people read my stuff.

Some of the people I consider good friends are mostly people I haven't ever met in person. Kim was one such person. And every time I meet an online friend I've known for years, I'm always nervous that we aren't going to get on like we do in the realms of twitter and facebook.

I was very happy to find out that Kim and I ended up getting along great and I had a fantastic time. She has an always open invitation for me to become her roommate (sorry, her current roommate) and she can always stay at my house if she ever needs to come to Winnipeg. I'm planning to attend San Diego Comic Con with her next year and can't wait.

-----

Night 2 I arrived just as the opening act was finishing and U2 were about to go on. I was trying to find a place to get a hamburger when I noticed a group gathering near the back of the Hippodrome. I went to see what was going on and it hit me that U2 were going to pass by. To confirm this, the security guards were setting up tape and telling people they had to go around.

I didn't have another u2 encounter but I did see Adam's bass.

Observe

I found another grassy area near the Red Zone 2 entrance and lounged around, drinking the biggest rum and coke I've ever had and the coldest turkey pita.

One of my favourite bits about night 2 was when Vertigo was playing and I was jumping with this group of people behind the bleachers near the Red Zone 2 entrance. One of the guys yelled, "Isn't this a race track? LET'S RACE!" And we all ran towards the end of the bleachers about 200 yards away. I was trying to kick up a dirt trail and was giggling like a mad woman (Hey, I blame the cold turkey pita). My black shoes, my feet and calves were grey from gravel when I got back to Kim's that night.

I left early that night as well after I heard Where the Streets Have No Name and made it to the Metro as they ended Ultraviolet and started With or Without You.

I caught a few Zs on the Metro and walked the rest of the way back to Kim's rather than wait for the bus. On the walk back, I wondered if I had reached my U2 limit as not even New Year's Day had amped me up. I was disillusioned by those fans I encountered acting like entitled babies over "their" spot and the GA process in general. And after 6 shows, I thought that maybe the novelty had worn off.

Luckily, Minneapolis happened.