Started writing this at the beginning of the day, finished at the end.
Hmm. MCR. MCR wants to save your life. They want you to become a band for the right reason, because you have a message to get out to the world. And I wonder, why isn't just making music reason enough? It's such a unique thing, deeply satisfying in a way that nothing else is, so why isn't that enough? I just think, they say it with such overwhelming surety, no wiggle room or allowance that there could be other reasons that are equally valid for making music your life, and it confuses me.
-
This comic, every time I see it, my face goes through an involuntary contortion, eyebrows lifting, mouth softening down into a silly smile. It just makes me happy. But it was quite certain it didn't care! Some sort of eternal truth about that soppy silly state of being in love.
-
Did you know that if you should happen to be standing in the middle of a music store, staring at the CD racks and pondering potential music purchases, and you decide to call up gigantic and ask her, "Ceej, if you had to pick one Counting Crows CD to buy, which would it be?" she will answer as promptly as if she's been waiting her entire life for someone to ask her that question? My friends are pretty much awesome.
-
Dear Patrick Stump: On this occasion of the anniversary of your birth, I would like to give you this ficlet:
Patrick didn't notice right away, because rumors of wild parties and girls notwithstanding, touring in an all-male band actually tended to make you sort of surrounded by guys, from the roadies on up. So his first inkling that something weird was going on began when he unlocked his hotel room door, dragging his suitcase behind him, and some girl was in his bed, naked. Or. He assumed she was naked, because the sheet kind of was slipping down, and--
"Oh, Jesus!" Patrick said, closing his eyes and turning away. "I'm so, so sorry, God, the front desk must have made a mistake with the room and the key, and, okay, I'll just be going now--"
"No, wait," she said, and then Patrick was out the room and fleeing down the corridor to the lobby, stabbing Korean Tom Cruise's number on his cell phone.
Dan shook his head when they were down in the lobby, and handed Patrick the new key he'd just gotten from the clerk. "I don't know what to tell you, man. The room number looks right. Are you sure you went to the right door?"
"I thought so," Patrick mumbled, though when he thought back on it, he wasn't quite certain. It was a hotel. He sometimes had dreams where he just wandered through hotel corridors, endlessly, they were that similar. "That would be, like, a really weird coincidence, though, right? To get the wrong door and the wrong key, and then have the key fit the door? I mean, right?"
"I don't know what to tell you," Dan repeated. "Do you want me to check the room? I can."
"Um," Patrick said.
"I'll check the room," Dan said.
Patrick tipped his shoe sideways, scuffing at the carpet. "Okay."
"...And I won't tell the other guys."
"Thanks," Patrick said gratefully, and sat down on the uncomfortable sofa just off the foyer to wait.
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. "How does it look?" Patrick whispered, cupping his hand over his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder. The woman running the gift shop kept staring at him, and it was making the skin on his shoulderblades prickle. He wished she'd just come over and ask, really. Though she was about twenty years over their demographic. Well, maybe she had kids.
"Um," Dan said, and then there was a long silence on the phone. "So. There was a girl. She's gone now."
"Oh, wow, really?" Patrick said. "So. But."
"But, she's gone, so, you can come up."
"That's so fucking weird," Patrick said. "Thanks, man."
"Well, I guess you are a rockstar," Dan said, sounding doubtful.
"Um. Uh huh," Patrick said.
"Yeah," Dan said.
"Yeah, okay, let's never talk of this again," Patrick said.
"Awesome," Dan said. "See you tomorrow."
"Later," Patrick said, and scooted for the elevator right as the giftshop lady started walking toward the entrance.
*
"Dude, so, that was weird," Joe said after the show.
"What?" Patrick said, still sliding his monitors off.
"The crowd?" Joe said.
"What?" Patrick asked.
"Dude," Charlie said, holding his hand up for a high-five. Patrick raised his hand automatically. "I had to go in and defend your part of the stage for a couple songs, venue security was having trouble keeping up."
"Oh, yeah." Patrick rubbed at his face with his towel. "I saw that," he said, muffled. "What was up with that?"
"You stud-muffin," Joe said, and wiped his sweaty forehead on Patrick's equally-sweaty shoulder.
"Maybe I should make sure to burn your towel," Charlie said thoughtfully. "Or I guess I could sell it on eBay."
"Sure," Patrick said. "Add a couple nickels to your beer fund."
"Yo, though," Charlie said. "Finding vegan beer's a bitch."
"Beer's not vegan?" Joe looked up from fiddling with his watch.
"Man, don't you know?" Pete said, taking off his shirt. "Nothing fun is vegan."
"Hey, fun is relative," Andy called from the corner.
"Maybe they just find you irresistible," Pete said, turning to Patrick.
"Hah, funny," Patrick said, and went to take a shower.
*
Patrick didn't mind meet and greets. He had his signature down pat, and it was kind of cool to say hi to the kids one on one instead of seeing a faceless mob from the stage. They'd taken a turn for the weird lately, though.
"I love you so much," a fourteen-year-old girl said intensely.
"Oh, thanks, that's, really--" Patrick started.
"Like, so much," she said, leaning forward, birdlike shoulders heaving. "I listen to you every night. Right before I go to sleep."
"Oh," Patrick said, trying not to lean back. "I, uh. I hope you have pleasant dreams."
"I do," she breathed, staring deep into his eyes. Patrick signed her ticket stub and slid it across the table. She had to be shouldered forward by the girl behind her before she would move on to Andy.
"Hey," Patrick said to the next girl, who was clutching a CD case. When he glanced over, the other girl was still staring at him, and Andy was saying, "You want me to sign anything?"
"Ohmigod you're my favorite," the new girl said.
"Well, you know, you don't need to pick favorites," Patrick said. "But, thanks."
"But you are," she insisted. "Like, I thought Pete was my favorite, but I totally changed my mind when I saw you."
"That's very sweet," Patrick said, and beside him, Andy started coughing.
Later, Pete, sorting idly through the pile of paper scraps in front of Patrick while waiting for Dan to tell them they could go backstage, said, "Hey, when did people start giving out phone numbers at meet and greets? Did I miss the memo?"
"I don't know," Patrick said helplessly. "They just kept appearing."
"Krissy wants you to call her," Joe said, peering over Pete's shoulder. "With a heart over the 'i.'"
"I didn't get any," Pete said.
"Here," Patrick said, pushing the paper toward him. "What's mine is yours."
*
The second time a girl got into his room was dealt with as quietly as the first time, though Korean Tom Cruise got a pinched look on his face and started muttering about extra security. The third time it happened Patrick went straight from his own room to Pete's.
"I'm stealing your other bed," he said, pitching his backpack at it before going to take a shower.
When he got out, Pete looked quizzically at him for a moment before saying, "Is there something wrong with your room?"
"What, can't I just want to be roomies, roomie?" Patrick said, flopping down on the bed.
"Sure, sure," Pete said. "No, but really, what's wrong with it? Strange stain? Goo coming out the pipes?"
"Stay-puft Marshmallow Man in the mirror," Patrick said, yawning.
Pete stared at him. Patrick stared back, and they got ten seconds in to a staring contest before Patrick realized what was going on. A minute later, his left eye itched uncontrollably, and he broke away, cursing.
"Hah-HAH!" Pete crowed, and threw his magazine across the room to hit Patrick in the arm. "Bow down before the lazy eye, dude."
"Ow," Patrick said.
"So, no, seriously, what's the deal?" Pete asked.
Patrick sighed. "There's a girl in my room," he mumbled.
"What?" Pete said.
"A girl," Patrick said louder. "In my room."
"You're shitting me," Pete said.
"I'm sure she'll go away eventually," Patrick said.
"Wait, really?" Pete said.
"No," Patrick said. "I'm making her up. And the one before her, and the one before that. They are all figments of my imagination."
"Really?" Pete said, sounding delighted, and then he started to laugh.
"See," Patrick said to the ceiling, "this is why I didn't want to tell you."
"Oh, fuck, dude, I have to go tell Joe and Andy," Pete said, bouncing up off his bed.
"I'm stealing your other key," Patrick called after him.
*
When Patrick got mobbed at a seven-eleven, though, that was when everyone started getting a little worried.
"I had to barricade myself in the bathroom," Patrick said, shaken.
"Like, a stall?" Joe asked.
"No, it was single-occupancy," Patrick said. "Behind the stockroom."
"Whoa," Pete said.
"Okay, nobody else gets to sneak out alone," Dan commanded. "We're going to increase security, but seriously, dudes, no going out without Charlie or one of his guys."
"I just wanted an orange gatorade," Patrick muttered, but no one seemed to hear him.
"It's like there's Patrick-mania," Joe said, shaking his head.
"Hah, yeah, that's not funny." Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. He had bruises on his arms, and some woman had stolen his favorite hat. One of his favorites. He didn't actually take his favorite hat out on tour with him.
"No, but maybe it is, though," Andy said. "Like, some sort of weird mania."
Patrick squinted at him, then glanced at Pete, who was leaning against the wall, frowning at the floor.
"I don't think--" Patrick started, before being interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Room service," a matronly woman said, wheeling in a cart. Patrick slunk back against the wall, trying to hide behind Pete. "I've got a cheeseburger, a gardenburger, pasta, and--" she stopped, staring at Patrick. Two red patches appeared, high up on her cheeks.
"Thanks, that's great," Dan said, stepping between her and Patrick. He grabbed the receipt from the cart and pushed her backwards. "We'll leave the cart in the hall later, thank you."
She craned her head, still trying to look at Patrick, and Patrick felt his face heat up.
Dan finally shoved her out the door, clutching the signed bill, and there was a long silence.
"Dude," Joe said at last, sounding awed. "You're irresistible to women."
*
END
Happy Birthday, Patrick Stump!
-
This comic, every time I see it, my face goes through an involuntary contortion, eyebrows lifting, mouth softening down into a silly smile. It just makes me happy. But it was quite certain it didn't care! Some sort of eternal truth about that soppy silly state of being in love.
-
Did you know that if you should happen to be standing in the middle of a music store, staring at the CD racks and pondering potential music purchases, and you decide to call up gigantic and ask her, "Ceej, if you had to pick one Counting Crows CD to buy, which would it be?" she will answer as promptly as if she's been waiting her entire life for someone to ask her that question? My friends are pretty much awesome.
-
Dear Patrick Stump: On this occasion of the anniversary of your birth, I would like to give you this ficlet:
Patrick didn't notice right away, because rumors of wild parties and girls notwithstanding, touring in an all-male band actually tended to make you sort of surrounded by guys, from the roadies on up. So his first inkling that something weird was going on began when he unlocked his hotel room door, dragging his suitcase behind him, and some girl was in his bed, naked. Or. He assumed she was naked, because the sheet kind of was slipping down, and--
"Oh, Jesus!" Patrick said, closing his eyes and turning away. "I'm so, so sorry, God, the front desk must have made a mistake with the room and the key, and, okay, I'll just be going now--"
"No, wait," she said, and then Patrick was out the room and fleeing down the corridor to the lobby, stabbing Korean Tom Cruise's number on his cell phone.
Dan shook his head when they were down in the lobby, and handed Patrick the new key he'd just gotten from the clerk. "I don't know what to tell you, man. The room number looks right. Are you sure you went to the right door?"
"I thought so," Patrick mumbled, though when he thought back on it, he wasn't quite certain. It was a hotel. He sometimes had dreams where he just wandered through hotel corridors, endlessly, they were that similar. "That would be, like, a really weird coincidence, though, right? To get the wrong door and the wrong key, and then have the key fit the door? I mean, right?"
"I don't know what to tell you," Dan repeated. "Do you want me to check the room? I can."
"Um," Patrick said.
"I'll check the room," Dan said.
Patrick tipped his shoe sideways, scuffing at the carpet. "Okay."
"...And I won't tell the other guys."
"Thanks," Patrick said gratefully, and sat down on the uncomfortable sofa just off the foyer to wait.
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. "How does it look?" Patrick whispered, cupping his hand over his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder. The woman running the gift shop kept staring at him, and it was making the skin on his shoulderblades prickle. He wished she'd just come over and ask, really. Though she was about twenty years over their demographic. Well, maybe she had kids.
"Um," Dan said, and then there was a long silence on the phone. "So. There was a girl. She's gone now."
"Oh, wow, really?" Patrick said. "So. But."
"But, she's gone, so, you can come up."
"That's so fucking weird," Patrick said. "Thanks, man."
"Well, I guess you are a rockstar," Dan said, sounding doubtful.
"Um. Uh huh," Patrick said.
"Yeah," Dan said.
"Yeah, okay, let's never talk of this again," Patrick said.
"Awesome," Dan said. "See you tomorrow."
"Later," Patrick said, and scooted for the elevator right as the giftshop lady started walking toward the entrance.
*
"Dude, so, that was weird," Joe said after the show.
"What?" Patrick said, still sliding his monitors off.
"The crowd?" Joe said.
"What?" Patrick asked.
"Dude," Charlie said, holding his hand up for a high-five. Patrick raised his hand automatically. "I had to go in and defend your part of the stage for a couple songs, venue security was having trouble keeping up."
"Oh, yeah." Patrick rubbed at his face with his towel. "I saw that," he said, muffled. "What was up with that?"
"You stud-muffin," Joe said, and wiped his sweaty forehead on Patrick's equally-sweaty shoulder.
"Maybe I should make sure to burn your towel," Charlie said thoughtfully. "Or I guess I could sell it on eBay."
"Sure," Patrick said. "Add a couple nickels to your beer fund."
"Yo, though," Charlie said. "Finding vegan beer's a bitch."
"Beer's not vegan?" Joe looked up from fiddling with his watch.
"Man, don't you know?" Pete said, taking off his shirt. "Nothing fun is vegan."
"Hey, fun is relative," Andy called from the corner.
"Maybe they just find you irresistible," Pete said, turning to Patrick.
"Hah, funny," Patrick said, and went to take a shower.
*
Patrick didn't mind meet and greets. He had his signature down pat, and it was kind of cool to say hi to the kids one on one instead of seeing a faceless mob from the stage. They'd taken a turn for the weird lately, though.
"I love you so much," a fourteen-year-old girl said intensely.
"Oh, thanks, that's, really--" Patrick started.
"Like, so much," she said, leaning forward, birdlike shoulders heaving. "I listen to you every night. Right before I go to sleep."
"Oh," Patrick said, trying not to lean back. "I, uh. I hope you have pleasant dreams."
"I do," she breathed, staring deep into his eyes. Patrick signed her ticket stub and slid it across the table. She had to be shouldered forward by the girl behind her before she would move on to Andy.
"Hey," Patrick said to the next girl, who was clutching a CD case. When he glanced over, the other girl was still staring at him, and Andy was saying, "You want me to sign anything?"
"Ohmigod you're my favorite," the new girl said.
"Well, you know, you don't need to pick favorites," Patrick said. "But, thanks."
"But you are," she insisted. "Like, I thought Pete was my favorite, but I totally changed my mind when I saw you."
"That's very sweet," Patrick said, and beside him, Andy started coughing.
Later, Pete, sorting idly through the pile of paper scraps in front of Patrick while waiting for Dan to tell them they could go backstage, said, "Hey, when did people start giving out phone numbers at meet and greets? Did I miss the memo?"
"I don't know," Patrick said helplessly. "They just kept appearing."
"Krissy wants you to call her," Joe said, peering over Pete's shoulder. "With a heart over the 'i.'"
"I didn't get any," Pete said.
"Here," Patrick said, pushing the paper toward him. "What's mine is yours."
*
The second time a girl got into his room was dealt with as quietly as the first time, though Korean Tom Cruise got a pinched look on his face and started muttering about extra security. The third time it happened Patrick went straight from his own room to Pete's.
"I'm stealing your other bed," he said, pitching his backpack at it before going to take a shower.
When he got out, Pete looked quizzically at him for a moment before saying, "Is there something wrong with your room?"
"What, can't I just want to be roomies, roomie?" Patrick said, flopping down on the bed.
"Sure, sure," Pete said. "No, but really, what's wrong with it? Strange stain? Goo coming out the pipes?"
"Stay-puft Marshmallow Man in the mirror," Patrick said, yawning.
Pete stared at him. Patrick stared back, and they got ten seconds in to a staring contest before Patrick realized what was going on. A minute later, his left eye itched uncontrollably, and he broke away, cursing.
"Hah-HAH!" Pete crowed, and threw his magazine across the room to hit Patrick in the arm. "Bow down before the lazy eye, dude."
"Ow," Patrick said.
"So, no, seriously, what's the deal?" Pete asked.
Patrick sighed. "There's a girl in my room," he mumbled.
"What?" Pete said.
"A girl," Patrick said louder. "In my room."
"You're shitting me," Pete said.
"I'm sure she'll go away eventually," Patrick said.
"Wait, really?" Pete said.
"No," Patrick said. "I'm making her up. And the one before her, and the one before that. They are all figments of my imagination."
"Really?" Pete said, sounding delighted, and then he started to laugh.
"See," Patrick said to the ceiling, "this is why I didn't want to tell you."
"Oh, fuck, dude, I have to go tell Joe and Andy," Pete said, bouncing up off his bed.
"I'm stealing your other key," Patrick called after him.
*
When Patrick got mobbed at a seven-eleven, though, that was when everyone started getting a little worried.
"I had to barricade myself in the bathroom," Patrick said, shaken.
"Like, a stall?" Joe asked.
"No, it was single-occupancy," Patrick said. "Behind the stockroom."
"Whoa," Pete said.
"Okay, nobody else gets to sneak out alone," Dan commanded. "We're going to increase security, but seriously, dudes, no going out without Charlie or one of his guys."
"I just wanted an orange gatorade," Patrick muttered, but no one seemed to hear him.
"It's like there's Patrick-mania," Joe said, shaking his head.
"Hah, yeah, that's not funny." Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. He had bruises on his arms, and some woman had stolen his favorite hat. One of his favorites. He didn't actually take his favorite hat out on tour with him.
"No, but maybe it is, though," Andy said. "Like, some sort of weird mania."
Patrick squinted at him, then glanced at Pete, who was leaning against the wall, frowning at the floor.
"I don't think--" Patrick started, before being interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Room service," a matronly woman said, wheeling in a cart. Patrick slunk back against the wall, trying to hide behind Pete. "I've got a cheeseburger, a gardenburger, pasta, and--" she stopped, staring at Patrick. Two red patches appeared, high up on her cheeks.
"Thanks, that's great," Dan said, stepping between her and Patrick. He grabbed the receipt from the cart and pushed her backwards. "We'll leave the cart in the hall later, thank you."
She craned her head, still trying to look at Patrick, and Patrick felt his face heat up.
Dan finally shoved her out the door, clutching the signed bill, and there was a long silence.
"Dude," Joe said at last, sounding awed. "You're irresistible to women."
*
END
Happy Birthday, Patrick Stump!