In Which I Attempt To Cope With Life's Tough Passage

Okay, so it's been a rough number of months. I don't want to bellyache too much here, because, really who wants to read that crap, so I'll attempt to be brief.

Geo's Mom has been in and out of the hospital/rehab since March. What started off as surprise knee replacement surgery (from which the 87 year-old Wonder Kid kicked butt recovering), has progressed to our Bionic Baba grappling with a mystery blood loss, leukemia scare, possible bowel obstruction, low blood sugar and general fear of living alone. And just as she was starting to manage the tide of physical therapists, occupational therapists and nurse visitations, she's back in the hospital due to dehydration and possible gall stones.

That poor thing. Her entire quiet, controlled world has been turned upside down. She's a worrier by nature anyway, and now she is overwhelmed. Adding to the pot, she has contracted the Mother of all staph infections, C-Diff which has kept her isolated from the general populace in her rehab facility. As if that isn't enough to contend with, she is having a particularly awful side effect from a new medication which may or may not be the source of her current psychotic break. There seems to be no end in sight. Heartbreaking.

Growing old is not for the weak.

Needless to say, between my schedule, Geo's busy season at work and his steady trips to visit his Mom in the hospital/rehab, we have had little time together. But, boy howdy, we found time to have a ginormous, knock-down, drag out fight, the intensity of which has not been seen since we were newlyweds and the heat of our shouting melted the wallpaper.*

Then the Pens squandered a 3-1 game lead to lose to the FUCKING RANGERS!! ACK! Only booze helps.*

(*Note of full disclosure: in my ongoing inability to finish what I start, this post was begun months ago, hence the hockey reference. The Pens went on to squander the series, resulting in an early golf season and a major personnel shake down. Blerg.)



Sprinkled amidst the stress has been a number of high points which have helped keep me sane. Meanwhile, it's my stoic Geo who really needs the distraction as he tries to come to terms with this newfound sense of helplessness regarding his Mother's care and general well-being. Alas, there lies the rub of our current situation. In any case, here's a brief round up:

Mother's Day was a boisterous house full of family and friends. It gives me great joy to watch Big Mar sparkle and come to life in her social element surrounded by those she loves.

Photobombing guests with the classic Pitt Cheerleader move. Bonus: Ricky didn't snap his spine and Murray didn't pee her pants.

YOLO, MoFos!

I took four days off to travel to visit my sister-friend, Steph and her adorable cherub, Melody. We hung out, spent a day at Ocean City eating every deliciously unhealthy thing we could get our hand on and were immersed in bouffants, boas and animal print at Hon Fest in Balmer. Her hubby even made us dinner one night. HOLLA! So much fun!

baby's first carousel ride

little mj could not get enough of the beach

stimulus overload décor only acceptable at the beach

a plethora of kites

Honfest, doggie style
wait... that doesn't sound right

my favorite Hons of the day
men in frocks... gotta love it

honfest mascot

priceless

The following week was Pelino Sisters Week At Long Beach Island. June proved to be unintentionally busy. I pinkie swear to Baby Jesus I did not plan to travel so much that month. Anywho, this year my brother's wife, Leslie braved the incessant talking and joined us. It was as heavenly as usual. Cocktails, sun, seafood, cocktails, surf, cocktails. Rinse and repeat. I have to say it was so fun having Leslie chill in the lagoon with me all afternoon. These girl weekends always rejuvenate the soul.

four.. four pelini sisters

my adorable sister

our private pool on a gorgeous shore morning

big mar and her sun-lovin' brood
partial, anyway

And then there were the outings with my spectacular niece, Regi. She introduces me to all sorts of zany stuff, like Evil Dead, The Musical. A campy, tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek musical based on the splatter horror flicks starring the one and only, Bruce Campbell. For a diminutive local, storefront theater, it was really well acted, especially the young man playing Bruce Campbell.

poor dear. i am her id

These people were hilarious. And the splatter was awesome. Gobs and gobs of it sprayed the designated splatter zone. And everywhere else, for that matter. Being the space was only five rows deep, pretty much all of the theater was a splatter zone. We all were handed ponchos, but several patrons opted to mar their cheap suits in streaks of stage blood.

front row splatter lovahs

doesn't he look like Bruce Campbell?!

The laughs were often and of the belly variety.

She and I also went to see the live RiffTrax (former cast members of Mystery Science Theater 3000) performance of Sharknado. Mike Nelson and company set up shop in a theater in Minnesota in front of an audience and riff on the abundant stupidity that is Sharknado much to the delight of audiences in select theaters across the US. Uber amusing.

And then this happened.

RAAAAWR!

YOWZA!! Mr. Hunkapaloosa, Joe Manganiello (a local boy from my neighboring borough) was in town for the premiere and his directorial debut of the strip club documentary, La Bare. There was a Q & A with Alcide after the showing. He was just as delightful, charming and self-depracating as you would hope. He represents the Burgh very well. And he dates Sofia Vergara. Jebus! I can't even imagine how gorgeous those chillins would be. Their all-consuming beauty would be deadly.

Man, it's fun to hang out with a grown up niece.



On the musical front:

Went to see Alabama Shakes. The music started sounding the same after about five songs, but Holy Hell, she is quite the force. To be honest, though, the evening was as much about the camaraderie with my girlfriends and Top Cat as it was the music.

The Mavericks are a Tex Mex prescription to cure any ill, for an evening anyway. No opener, a plethora of hits and covers over two + hours, two encores including an accordion version of Boogie Shoes, and an uber animated long-haired guitar player in a white suit. Who could ask for more. Dancing and singing with friends does a heart good.

I know, I know. you can't see his face,
but I love the lighting and this is my blog so..
shut the hell up
and enjoy these videos

And then there was Neko Case backed by Kelly Hogan at the Byham Theater, where acts perform under a ceiling of boobs.

Neko did an in-studio performance at WYEP the afternoon prior to the show, singing three new songs and sharing some jarring facts about her family dynamic. The interview is streaming here. And yes, Kelly WAS playing a Garden Weasel tine. The show was incredible. She has a strict NO CAMERAS/CELLPHONE policy. She's a very strong person who demands your attention. Standing on stage in her skeleton pants, with her mane of unruly red hair, and feral intensity... she made me want to be fierce.


The ever-energetic Fitz and the Tantrums was my inaugural outdoor concert at the fabulous Stage AE on the north shore. They are just one big, non-stop party! A huge neon heart, lots of spot lights with happy face cookies, and a confetti cannon amped the evening up to eleven. The packed house willingly aped Fitz' gestures, pogoed (even me even though jumping up and down is a dangerous thing for a woman of a certain age, yo) and took over the vocals for several of their bigger hits. A sweaty, fun time was had by all.

a happy ending

Here's Nicole shadow dancing her wee heart out.





And lastly, local favorite sons, The Clarks had their CD release party for their outstanding effort, Feathers and Bones outdoors at Stage AE. Their show capped off a delightful evening with one of my favorite chica buddies, Suzanne. Deck Mojitos, barbecue and exquisite White Pear Martinis in a swanky-ass eatery was the precursor to the Clarks triumphant performance. Much like my loves, Old 97's, they've been together for 28 years. Much like Most Messed Up, Feathers and Bones is their most mature, honest and well-received album to date. Their new stuff rocks live, too! Scott, Rob, Greg and Dave could not be any nicer. Always sweet to their fan base.

In addition to a stop at WYEP, Scott and Rob always take time to stop by our little dog and pony morning show to sing a few songs and do the weather. Scott's a freak about weather. Their performances are at 11:00 and 40:00.

proud papa scott singing with his adorbs daughter

shimmy shimmy low

One of the things I love about their outdoor show is how their wives and kids sit on the side of the stage during the show. During Shimmy, Shimmy Low, Scott's little girl ran up and sang with him. So freaking SWEET!! And so wonderfully Pittsburgh.

the families bunked on the stage

the grateful local legends

Here's the band singing Map of the Stars off the new album.





The summer was in full swing that evening, making it necessary to go home and hose off before bed, but I'm not complaining. I love this season, sticky weather and all.


Great friends, family and music are the stuff of survival when life rears up and punches you square in the nuts. I'm so grateful. I only wish Geo could have a similar release.

"Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option." - Maya Angelou

I've been thinking about these wise words a lot over the past several months. I am a lucky woman blessed with many friends located near and far. Each of them fit into a particular facet of my splintered personality. Each is a wonderful human being whose strengths, weaknesses and idiosyncrasies add brilliant colors to my life's paint box. Each is a unique spirit, whose light, kindness and humor bring unmitigated joy to this ole bag o' bones.

There are levels of closeness in relationships. Some of these outstanding humanoids have struck a chord deep within my soul. We trust each other implicitly. We have built a bond which enables us to be our true selves, warts and all, without fear of rejection. Destined to be friends forEVAH no matter the physical distance between us.

Others in this marvelous Whitman Sampler fall into more of a group designation. Kindred spirits in a specific interest, be it music, athletic activity (which is code for drinking wine in yoga pants*), or a common hobby/passion. And some I refer to as my imaginary friends**. These are the people I've befriended via social media whom I've never met, but who make me laugh, cry and think every day.

Like I said, I'm blessed.

I try to be the best friend I can to each of my peeps, and let them know how much joy they bring to my pitiful existence. I know I'm far from perfect, but I try really hard not to be an asshole.

And yet, there are several people I have been very close with who have suddenly pushed me to arm's length. Okay, not so suddenly. The signs have been there, building for a year, but I have been in foolish denial mode BECAUSE I LIKE THEM, DAMMIT!! We were really tight, or so I thought. Where once phone conversations and texts were prevalent, now my messages are generally ignored and calls put off. I mean, I can see being shunned if I had breached a trust or some other such heinous action, but to my knowledge I have done nothing to poison the well. It's the not knowing why that I abhor.

It stings.

And hurts.

A lot.

So many amazing people in my life, and I focus my sights on the ones who are done with me, like a dog in a room full of animal lovers who insists on winning over the one dissenter.

In one case, this presumed former friend is like a cat, and we all know how cats are… cold, aloof, operating on their own agenda. But we were close, you know? She was my confidant, my pragmatic sounding board. We got along well. I don't understand her 180.

In another, the contact was much more frequent. Major bonding over lots of long phone calls, happy hours and visits. Our kinship was strong. We share so much common ground, which is probably why this particular fade plagues me the most. I'm not stupid. I recognize some friendships have a shorter shelf life, but I invested a lot of time and effort into these relationships. I believe I have earned an explanation as to why I suddenly lost my usefulness. I've reached out innumerable times, only to have my hand left bobbing in the icy wind. 

I miss them, and others, however, it is clear I have become an option, not a priority. Even though my heart refuses to let go, in my head, I know it's time to cut the chord and let that balloon float away...



*totally stolen from the interwebs
**totally stolen from my buddy, Steph

In Which I Am My Own Arch Enemy In Regards To Sleep Deprivation

Okay, so you know what sucks? Extended recovery time, that's what. I'm proud (or foolish) to say I can still stay up and run with the big dogs, but G-DAMMIT it takes me days to find my equilibrium again.

That is just all kinds of WRONG!!!

I am addicted to activities that keep me up until the god forsaken time I normally am violently kicked awake by a ruthless alarm clock, only to do a complete reversal once my off days come to a close. It's brutal. And yet, I repeat the same behavior over and over. Clearly, I am a masochist. But truth be told, I enjoy being out, staying up and pushing my limits. There is no doubt in my mind I will continue in this fashion until I crumple into a disintegrating heap of oozing flesh, because basically I'm a ginormous neb-shit who insists on cramming as much as possible into her life and can't bare the thought of missing something.

Case in point, last week's vacation. You already know about the incredible kick-ass Old 97's road trips. Well, when I got home from Cleveland Friday, I went downtown to the Arts Festival to see Jeff Tweedy perform for FREE.

a mere sliver of the crowd in attendance

It was a tough call for me… a third night of Old 97's fueling my gas tank in Columbus, or Jeff Tweedy solo (who I've never seen live before) on a big grassy field along with thousands of people on a gorgeous night in Pittsburgh. My impression of Tweedy was he's not very dynamic. I like a handful of Wilco songs, but I'm not big into excessive jamming or a somber, sad-sack stage presence.



And c'mon, let's face it, he had a tough act to follow after the super-charged, dynamic performances my imaginary husband and his Texas buddies put out the two nights prior. In Tweedy's favor, I had seen this hilarious video of him covering the Black Eyed Peas inane song, I Gotta Feeling, and was hopeful he would be at least somewhat entertaining. And also, the aforementioned FREE part.


I just watched this again while writing. The dichotomy made me laugh out loud. That's some funny shit right there.


AAAANYWHO…

The added bonus was watching the free concert (did I mention it was FREE) with one of my favorite families, the K-Schnikes.

his wife is a saint
i kid … i kid

Bobbo is a HUGE fan. Tweedy is his Rhett Miller, so it was fun to see him get all excited with each song played.

And guess what…he was really good. I know. I know. Everyone on earth who loves Wilco knew that already, but I was surprised at how funny he was. Tweedy played about five songs from his newest solo effort with a band that included his 19 year old son on drums (such a proud poppa), before they left him alone on stage to play his hits for the rest of the evening.

cajoled into reuniting his fictional band
Land Ho! from parks and rec by audience members 

future heartbreaker
secretly wants to be a heavy metal drummer

He played California Stars, I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, Jesus and my favorite, Heavy Metal Drummer along with a fair amount of other songs I recognized, but could not name. Between songs Tweedy would quip and banter with the more vocal audience members stationed up front. He was hilarious. I wish I would have recorded more of his interactions. As it is I recorded this bit leading up to what is ironically my favorite song. (you'll understand that once you watch the video)






The concert ended around 9:30, but when I got home I spent some quality time with my ever-lovin', recounting the epic road trip and catching up in general until around 1am. Much like the nights before, I slept far less than I needed, only logging a handful of hours. Stupid, STUPID menopause clock. No rockstar I, sleeping until two on a warm afternoon. (Old 97's fans will totally get that)



BUT WAIT! The vacation of excess wasn't over yet. After running around all day, volunteering at the WYEP radio booth at the festival and working in the yard, I embarked on the final musical outing of the week, a 9pm show of Quiet Company at the Smiling Moose.

A little background about these gents. They are an Austin-based pop/rock band who primarily play the Texas circuit, but have travelled north over the last several years for a couple of tours. I became aware of them via my friend, Cindy who has known and supported them for years. They don't have label backing so when they travel outside their state, they try to find a host to put them up for the night. Last time through, they stayed with my Steel Drum buddies. This time my friend, Lizzie's mom generously agreed to let them crash at her house. She's super cool and she makes AMAZING cookies, so they scored big on this trip.

from the left
tommy, matt and taylor

Before their set, Taylor, Matt and Tommy came over to say hello and meet Lizzie. Even though they've been together for a number of years and give an energetic performance, the band are not well known here and drew a small crowd for their 30 minute set. But they are professionals and gave it their all. I know in other cities like Cincinnati, Chicago, and New York they have a much larger fan base to chat up and sell merch to after the show. Being relative unknowns left them with time to actually hang out and explore the South Side for a bit.

We lead them out of the chaotic fray of the teen blocks of E. Carson to a calmer pub with happy hour drinks, a pool table and darts. It was really cool to talk at length with these sweet musicians about family, old jobs (turns out the lead singer, Taylor worked the morning shift at a television station early on), tour life, label negotiations, guilty pleasure TV shows (specifically American Ninja Warrior) and what's next for them. Much like Spring Standards, they are trying to figure out how to get to the next level and if it's worth the time away from their wives and kids.

We had a really nice time with the five of them. Before you knew it, it was nearing 1:30am. They headed off with Lizzie and I dragged my tired, old arse home praying I could turn my self-imposed sleep deprivation pattern around the next night in preparation for my hours-before-the-buttcrack-of-dawn return to the Special K.

I AM my own arch enemy.


Up until 3am Wednesday, 2am Thursday, 1:00am Friday and 1:30am Saturday… you best believe that 2:30am wake up Monday morning stung like a Muthafucka, but you know what? Even though I am tired as SHIT and still feel like the walking dead, the prolonged exhaustion was worth it. If I had to do it again, I'd totally put that bad boy on repeat.

YOLO!

Friends, Fans And My Favorite Foursome

Okay, so this past week brought my four favorite Texans to town in a big, shiny tour bus. You know what that means…

EEEEEEEEeeeeeeee!!

Yes, obnoxious fangirlie screams and all that goes with it. Poor Geo. He suffers my obsession with quiet dignity. And booze. Or he should anyway. Say a prayer for him, and for my newer friends who have finally witnessed my full-on crazy love zone for this band. I hope I have't frightened them to the point of giving me a wide berth.

Anywho, for this go-round my Missouri bud, Leslie flew out for the Pittsburgh/Cleveland dates. Leslie has been here before, but not in the warmer climes. The weather was gorgeous. The only exception being the evening rain of the Pittsburgh show. Even that was a welcomed relief after a sweaty concert of dancing and scream-singing.

When she arrived, we dropped off her luggage and headed to town for lunch, the Warhol Museum and a walk on the picturesque North Shore. It was perfect. Even the sprinkling of raindrops conveniently coincided with Happy Hour.

Kismet.

lunch on the patio of Marty's Market

north shore selfie

warhol pillows shot on the sly
shhhhhh...

one gorgeous-ass day

resting in the lap of a excessively creepy Fred Rodgers
his face will haunt you in your dreams

encountering the baby goslings
or as i call them, the Shitters

these babies have no fear

photo from above image

"Hey, hey we're the Shitters…"

Jumping ahead, Cleveland was surprisingly lovely! And much bigger than I imagined. Being a Burgher, we have instilled in us a life-long hatred for all things Cleveland. As local-comedian-made-big (no pun intended, you know, because of his ample stature), Billy Gardel says, "We hate them for spite!" It's futile to try to rationalize the reciprocal loathing. It's just easier to accept it and realize the animosity will live on in perpetuity, not unlike the Arab/Israeli conflict. It just.. is.

But I digress…

We stayed across from Progressive Field, home of the Indians baseball club in a decidedly cleaned up area near Playhouse Square, trendy eateries and the scenic Lake Shore area featuring the Browns stadium (BOO, infinity! See, there's that crazy hatred again), the Science Center and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Noreen joined us and played tour guide for the afternoon.

at our hotel

waiting for grub at the house of blues

you knew this had to happen somewhere along the way

my love for big ass stuff continues

FREEdom… revoked

412 representin' in the 216

we played a little Old 97's game
finding references to their songs on our travels
these guys are all over Cleveland
(4 Leaf Clover)

"do you want to meet up at the Pickwick Bowl…"
okay, it's really PickWOOD Bowl, but close enough
shut up. our game. our rules

TRIFECTA!!
this fan was all-too happy to oblige

war memorial 

detail of the war memorial

public ahrt selfie avec buttocks

rock and roll hall of fame on the lake

science center, windmill and asshat stadium

But enough of the sights, let's get to the raison d'être… the concerts.

mike sauter taking on the interview duties
(love the vibrant sneakers)
many thanks to Gary D for the professional photos

My friend, Abby is the GM for our public radio station, WYEP. She used to work in Texas and has known the Old 97's for a long time. She was instrumental in getting them to do an in-studio for members only the morning of the show at Mr. Small's. That meant they would have to bust ass from New York City to make it on time. New York shows are always big events with lots of notable people in the audience and I suspect gatherings backstage that run late into the night. Both Murry and Rhett were visibly tired from the journey, but you couldn't tell it from the interview. They were their ever-charming selves, telling anecdotes, sharing backstory and singing songs as if they weren't dead on their feet. God bless their exhausted hearts.

There was one tense moment after he broke a string during the first song, Longer Than You've Been Alive in which neither Rhett nor tour manager, Mike Dalke could find a comparable string in their packs to replace it. But being the consummate professional, Rhett soldiered on and continued with the interview and performance in glorious fashion. Honestly, you couldn't tell anything was missing. It sounded fantastic in the back where we were dancing and singing. He even joked about his five-string guitar towards the end of the interview.

can you spot the missing string

an unguarded moment
so cute

You can listen to the entire interview here.

And then they were sweet enough to take the time to do this.

GREATEST. SELFIE. EVER.
*sigh*

We left before we overstayed our welcome, which I have a bad habit of doing. On the way to the car, we ran into the guitarist, Ken in big ole shorts and cap, toting a mesh bag of clean laundry looking rather pedestrian and not at all like the rock and roller he is.  After a coffee run, a couple hilarious tour tales and a trip to the magic shop for a book on card tricks (seriously. who knew.), we drove him back to the venue.  I swear to the Baby Jesus there was a point in the journey where he thought we were taking him to a dark alley or something equally untoward.

So, let's recap the amazing people who have sat in my little red Vibe(ator):

Francis Dunnery
YA author extraordinaire, John Green
Murry Hammond
Ken Bethea

Now if Rhett, Philip Peebles, Wesley Stace or OHMIEFFINGGOD PAUL RUDD ever took a spin in Rita, I would never EVER be able to sell it. I should start a Tumblr: Famous Asses Who've Been Inside Rita. No doubt the Pornbots would be all over that bad boy.


Meanwhile, back at the concert…

guitar fight during
can't get a line

it's become an unspoken competition among fans to
capture rhett's rock jumps during Time Bomb
Leslie succeeded nicely

until tomorrow...

Mr. Small's was packed with fans and soon-to-be fans revved to hear the new album live. There definitely was a palatable hum of excitement. Okay, maybe that was just our camp of devotees, but I doubt it. They started that 97's engine rolling with If My Heart Was a Car, a song usually reserved for the set closer, delivered at full-throtle.

(this is the opener from the Cleveland show, but same intensity…different night)


Holy HELL!! What a way to open a show!

And it just went feverishly on from there, particularly in Cleveland, which I'm a little bitter about. (Please refer to the aforementioned utter hatred. At least I was there to witness the awesome.) The setlist for both evenings was sprinkled with some quieter moments like Busted Afternoon, Bird in a Cage and of course Question, providing a needed breather. I mean, c'mon. Even a super human needs to catch his breath for a minute or three.

These back-to-back shows were two of the best I've seen. This new album and it's honest take on life, longing and lingering regret wrapped in a balls-to-the-wall sound has reinvigorated them and given them a license to cut the fuck loose! I have never seen a mediocre show from them EVER, but on this tour they are the very definition of hard-charging. They're performing at an astronomically higher level. They're like freaking 20 somethings up there only with better clothes, better gear and a better sense of self.

And ohmygodjesus are these new songs fun to sing!! They're fuckin' cathartic! They have tapped into my love of the f-bomb in a big way. The energy is incredible.

In Pittsburgh, we were treated to The Disconnect (so excited this made the list. love this one on so many levels, but it makes me want to hug his head), Guadalajara (best opening line in a song, a great story and ridiculously catchy), Most Messed Up (talk about f-bomb therapy) and punky Clash cover, Career Opportunities.



(via my friend, Noreen)

The set closer for this entire tour is 4 Leaf Clover with the Exene Cervenka part sung by opening act, Lydia Loveless, a wee ginger with a fair amount of punch in her voice, but her minimalistic movements were no match for their frenetic energy.

PS: her skirt made me more than a little nervous.

As great as the Pittsburgh show was, Cleveland was in a category all its own. Again, a little bitter. Every song had so much more depth, especially Longer Than You've Been Alive. Rhett gave the most impassioned performance yet. It built to an roof-busting crescendo. I was truly blown away. I spoke to Murry afterwards and he said they were tired, looser and just went for it that night. It showed. Their performance was inspired.

Of the new songs, Nashville (which continues to win me over with its cow punk rhythm) was outstanding! This is the Ballad had a discernible punch-in-the-gut feel. Give it Time (another highlight) was charging both nights. One of the many tunes on constant repeat in both Geo's and my car, Wheels Off was uber fun to sing, even if it had to be a bit restrained in order to tape it for Geo. But the biggest surprise was Intervention right out of the encore gate. If you listen closely, you can hear Leslie and me scream, "Fuck y'all! HELL NOOOOO!"


"Somebody kick him in sack just to stop his bitchin'!" remains the crowned king for funniest lyric penned.

They're still working out the outro, but I have every confidence it will kick ass in July when Tommy Stinson joins them for the beach shows. What has two thumbs and is going to Dewey Beach to see her heroes… This girl!!


Usually I dread the first chords of Time Bomb because I'm never ready for the 97's train to pull into the station (are you sick of train metaphors yet), but this time I was completely sated. The perfect topper to this two-day musical sundae was getting a chance to visit with each of these fabulous Texas men afterwards, including the infrequently sighted Sasquatch of the 97's, Philip, to tell them how much their talents save my soul. I kid with people and tell them Old 97's concerts are my church, but therein lies a truth. The world becomes much lighter after their particular brand of sermon is over.

graffiti covered backstage wall in Cleveland

rhett really needs to stop phoning it in
i swear one day he's going to burst that vein in his neck

i've got issues...
YEAH!!!

Pittsburgh

WUZZA

Streets of Where I'm From

Dance With Me

Longer 

Busted Afternoon

Ex of All You See

Bird in a Cage

Niteclub

The Disconnect 

Iron Road

Nashville

Every Night Is Friday Night

Question

Up the Devil's Pay

Give it Time

Barrier Reef

Guadalajara

Roller Skate Skinny

Can't Get a Line

Big Brown Eyes

Let's Get Drunk and Get it On

Doreen

4 Leaf Clover (with Lydia Loveless)

---

Most Messed Up

Career Opportunities

Time Bomb

Cleveland

WUZZA

Streets

Dance With Me

Longer

19

Ex of All You See

Victoria

Niteclub

This is the Ballad

Iron Road

Nashville

Every Night is Friday Night

Question

W. Texas Teardrops

Wheels Off

Barrier Reef

Give it Time

New Kid (for Norah)

Can't Get a Line

Big Brown Eyes

Let's Get Drunk

Doreen

4 Leaf (w/Lydia)

---

Intervention

Murder or a Heart Attack

Time Bomb

Side note: a very nice blonde woman was standing next to me at Mr. Small's. Unfortunately for her, I kept accidentally bumping her in my gleeful dance stupor. Her name was Doreen. Yes. THAT Doreen from the song of the same name. No shit!

Additional Side Note: An 8 y-o named Norah was at the Cleveland show. She had sung New Kid for her Rock School. Rhett dedicated the song to her. It was really sweet. She was singing along, he was singing to her. But, seriously, why. WHY would you bring your child knowing the evening will be expletive heavy. This is NOT your child's tour, people!!

Additional Side Note 2: We could not look at Lydia Loveless' bass player with out thinking Will Farrell. Go ahead. Try not to think of Will Farrell.