IT'S JUST A BLOG



Last night, I had the good fortune of attending one of the five historic Gorillaz shows happening at Harlem's Apollo Theater (for a short summary/review, see Jane). When I got to the venue, I went immediately to the press check-in and picked up my tickets from the publicist. Shana and I were then escorted (fancy!) to our seats, which, I assumed, was a section reserved for press.

Moments later, a brown-haired, bespectacled girl sat next to me and, assumingly, her boyfriend, bearded and stoic, sat next to her. Initially, they didn't speak much. He opened a bag of snacks that he had snuck into the theater (shame on you for not sharing!) and thereafter picked up his phone to have a conversation. Shana and I were sitting there since 8:00 PM (as instructed) and it was already 8:40 and I was getting antsy. And when I get antsy, I make conversation with random strangers.

"So, I'm assuming you guys are press too..." I said to Glasses on my right.

She smiled, shrugged and then pointed to Beard on her right.

"Oh, cool. What does he write for?" Which I too have been asked over and over again but never have I been given this response.

"You’ll have to ask him. He's pretty private about that stuff."

And then I replay the question in my head over-and-over again. Maybe she misheard my question. Or maybe Beard is really embarrassed about the publication he writes for? Maybe he writes for Quilt Magazine and feels revealing this information would make him small in my eyes. I would tell him it's okay. As long as it pays, it's all-good. And besides, I'm sure it has a high readership. People like quilts.

I'm persistent, so I persist. Beard is still on the phone, so I try Glasses again. At this point, I don't even care who he writes for. It's the principle. Withholding information is so fourth grade and my stubbornness is, umm, admittedly third grade.

"So, are you going to tell me yet? Or is it really a big secret?" I ask half-jokingly.

"I'll have to ask him," she says again with an apologizing look in her eyes. So I think, maybe she's just his arm candy and doesn't really know. Or maybe he beats her at night for talking too much in public. I want to say to her, it's okay to leave him. You are better than that. There are people who can help you. Just take that first step. Go now. Run when the lights do down!

Beard finally gets off the phone and she leans over and begins to talk while pointing to me. They exchange whispers to one another. Beard isn't looking amenable to the information leak. I feel like I should slide a suitcase of money his way to tempt him in exchange for what he knows. I can make you rich. I can make you very, very rich. I look around me to see if I was followed.

She sits back and says nothing. All of a sudden, I no longer exist. Glasses cuts off all communication like Iraq during peace talks. I start convincing myself that I don't care anymore but eventually, I accept the fact that I'm kinda annoyed. Unless this guy is the editor-in-chief of the New York Times, and I don't think he is, this is all pretty silly.

I tell Shana about our exchange. She laughs and says, "Maybe he doesn't like Jews." I consider that. I know some people that don't like Jews. Sometimes, I don't blame them. But I also consider that maybe he's a top-secret agent hiding out at a Gorillaz show. Maybe there is a team of trained government killers looking for him as we speak and the last place they would look for him was at the Apollo Theater. How sly of Beard...how cunning.

I get up to the bathroom and run into a friend of mine, and we're making small talk and he says ever so casually, "I see you're sitting next to the Brooklyn Vegan guy."

For those not familiar, Brooklyn Vegan is not a guide to vegetarian restaurants in Brooklyn. It is, essentially, a compilation of links featuring upcoming indie rock shows and streams of upcoming releases. It will not save lives. It is not a secret weapon. It is not the New York Times. Heck, it rarely has content.

I am bummed. That's the big secret? The dude sitting next to me is a blogger? How very anti-climactic. I feel let down like I was watching M. Night's The Village all over again. Had Glasses just told me, I would have said, "cool" and leaned back into my seat and thought, eh, I never check that website any way. But why would they not tell me? Was it because Beard knew I had meatballs for dinner and that truly offended his vegan sensibilities? Was it because of my secureness in realizing that I too was merely a blogger in this crazy mixed-up world but felt free about revealing it to those who asked? Was it because he was embarrassed about his chosen URL? We would have regaled in the hilarity of our unfortunate website names (I mean, "Bring Back Sincerity"? If anyone could understand...). Another round of drinks for the two bloggers with silly blog names, bartender!

At the end of the night, after the show, I leaned over to Glasses and said with great, childish satisfaction, "I'll be sure to check out that Vegan website of his tomorrow for a review." But what I really wanted to say was, it's just a blog, dude.