On my knees in front of the event

Chicago was wonderful. Old friends, too much food, too many jokes, not enough time. Lots of tomfoolery and breakfasts and getting lost, none of which translate too well into a dryly-written internet life story. Summary: we had fun! In the end, I both did and did not want to leave, which I suppose is an integral part of this whole "growing up and moving away" business. I'd better get used to it, since it doesn't look like we'll all be moving into a giant castle overlooking the sea anytime soon.

As you may or may not know, I flew to Chicago to see My Bloody Valentine. I've been waiting for this show for about 4 years now (when Pitchfork first posted that they were reuniting). Since less than .01% of the people reading this blog care about 90's shoegazer bands, I will keep this short: if you fly 2,000 miles to see a concert, it probably means that you love this band, that they really mean something to you, and that, yes, while standing in line you will repeatedly almost burst into tears of sheer joy and nerves and anticipation. These things are true. And if you fly 2,000 miles to see a band, people will probably want to know if it lived up to your expectations. Unfortunately, this is not a question that can really be answered, at least not with language. You might spend the entire plane ride home trying to make sense of what exactly happened. You will probably fail. What I mean to say is that it was almost nothing like I expected, and we didn't high-five and yell "awesome!" when it was over, and the noise and vibrations were so intense that we physically suffered, but the fact that I have not stopped thinking about it for even an hour since it happened means... something. I have no context for such an experience and sometimes I am terrified by the extent that I am unable to describe what it was like (trying to find even one word makes me lapse into a sort of half-trance as my mind spins its wheels in the mud), and well, it was really just a group of people playing some loud guitars and surely bodies and minds have to be expected to react to such things in new and sometimes alarming ways, but... by golly, I still maintain that it meant something!

I don't know why I ramble on, when all I need is one Harold Brodkey quote:

"I distrust summaries, any kind of gliding through time, any too great a claim that one is in control of what one recounts; I think someone who claims to understand but who is obviously calm, someone who claims to write with emotion recollected in tranquility, is a fool and a liar. To understand is to tremble. To recollect is to reenter and be riven. An acrobat after spinning through the air in a mockery of flight stands erect on his perch and mockingly takes his bow as if what he is being applauded for was easy for him and cost him nothing, although meanwhile he is covered with sweat and his smile is edged with a relief chilling to think about; he is indulging in a show-business style; he is pretending to be superhuman. I am bored with that and with where it has brought us. I admire the authority of being on one's knees in front of the event."