One of the problems I have with story telling is knowing where a story stops and starts. I think this story starts in the days of Napster and Grad School and ends on Thursday.
There I was, just a human navigating through new marriage, parenting, college, etc. Music mattered. Even if it was not what high brow would consider quality music. In between all the phishing Napster offerings of Bill Clinton calling out to his fellow Americans, I landed on a band called Slightly Stoopid. 100% of their songs are about the ganga. And though the ganga is not for me, the intensely chill vibe of their music was. Yadda, yadda, yadda, grad school Crystal (30’s) and her husband find themselves at the Senator in Chico watching the band.
“It’s great that people your age are here,” said some yung’n that clearly didn’t know 35 isn’t the same as “dead.”
The show included a mosh pit in which it’s great to have a 6’4” sidekick, as well as a call to encore. Most people held up their lighters. My date (Brian) held up a can of Copenhagen. Same, same.
I wanted more music of this genre. Luckily a child in our village parenting cohort let me know about Dirty Heads. Yes, this was a child who definitely had a phase that included him taking his guitar on dates and skipping the lake to praise the lord while we were out sinning, but he was on-point to let me know about the Dirty Heads. Again, “chill” that permeates the soul.
My first time to see Dirty Heads deserves it’s own separate story; but this week I was fortunate enough to head to see them for the 3rd time.
My heart was full. The company and weather were beyond perfect. I was not in a bikini prep so food was actually an option. I waited in lengthy line for a crepe that was advertised to be holy and carne asada fries. I didn’t mind that the wait was long. Some random (likely high) woman had complimented my hair, the music was on-point. It was good time.
So naturally, I landed on factory default settings that were bestowed upon me by my mom, and struck up conversations.
Chatting up with a man also clutching his pager for Holy Crepe food when I saw another man bend down to tie a woman’s shoe. I looked to my fellow crepe customer.
“Dude! I totally thought that guy was proposing to that girl!”
Random stranger: *pulls beautifully ornate box out of shorts pocket. “I haven’t told anyone else, but I’m going to propose to my girlfriend tonight!”
The box was a fancy as a Fabergé egg. My new friend looked like he was bursting at the seams to share his plot with someone. We both noted how weird it was that the universe gave the odd opening via a shoe tying man and a chatty old lady.
“Steven” or maybe “Stephen” planned to pop the question during the Dirty Heads song “Cabin by the Sea.” Excellent choice. I know his name because he asked mine adding that the food truck line conversation will be a part of the story he’ll tell about the proposal.
“It’s her favorite song by them.” As well it should be. That song soothed my soul more than anyone can know during times that were less than awesome. I don’t know that future Mrs. Steven, but I agree with her song choice.
Steven said he had introduced his partner to the band. He said that previously she’d listened primary to Nordic Rock, which he described as “angry.” For a man that looked about as peaceful as one could be, I can see where angry Nordic metal could be something to steer someone from.
Steven shared more. He’s from Seattle. Due to divine circumstances of odd coincidence he and she now run a campground in Old Station. He has an octopi tattoo on his forearm. As the social butterfly that I am, I asked if the tattoo is because of Dirty Heads (their album cover from the 2016 offering is an Octopus) No. It’s because he’s into diving. “In Old Station?” I ask. He tells me, no.
I share my excitement with him about his pending nuptials.
He shares how she almost blew the surprise by rummaging through luggage looking for a bra and almost stumbling on the beautiful box that held his commitment to her.
His pager for fries went off and I wished him well.
As soon as my crepe and I were united, I practically ran to my group to tell them about it. There were way more children at the concert than expected doing children things like “running” and “playing” around my precariously balanced plates. (Balanced as in “weight distribution” certainly not balanced in nutrition). I promptly shared everything I knew with the friends I had at the concert. Friends which, by the way, are far too amazing for me to know. We were all invested in Stephen/Steven’s night.
Some of us danced to every song and sang every word. We wondered if each next offering would be “Cabin by the Sea.”
The show wrapped up at 10:41 pm (ON A SCHOOL NIGHT!!!!!) and at no time did those unclean heads play Steven’s song.
My high quality posse all expressed hopes that Steven/phen was able to find some other way to reach his objective. We want him to be able to plot course for a future full of tattoos, diving, and odd coincidence. We hate to think he’d have to try again at a violent Viking concert. If you know Steven/phen,… we’re dying to know what happened. Please let us know.
Anyways, enjoy music, random chats, and time with great friends; and thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 