Hysteria

I'm helped out here by my dear friend Skip who has already done a superior job of describing it. I'll add some more thoughts at the end. But for now, here is what happened Saturday night.

(So, let me come to the stage set.

On entering the arena the stage was quickly located by the 3 tall skyscrapers looming above us. They were grey and black and near-silhouettes. During the breath-holding anticipation of the main act, the usual blokeys were lifted in their slings to the rafters. I stood, the atmosphere thickening, my breathing bottoming out, searching for the big screens that would save my neck.

At around 9pm, the lights faded. The cheers burgeoned and the breathing stopped.

One by one, and sometimes two by two, lights came on at the windows of the skyscrapers. Finally all were lit. There was a female commentary as the lights became white silhouettes of people climbing stairs, and then descending, all in lines. I wasn’t really listening to what was being said, only to hear her say “kill number 7” repeatedly. It jogged some sort of memory (Orwell’s 1984?) as one silhouette was shot and fell, knocking all those below him to the floor.

Then the folds of linen covering the towers slowly lowered to reveal reds. And I craned to see the stage as Uprising burst forth. And then, seconds later, with a half-laugh, I saw them. The towers had split horizontally, and there, on platforms in the gaps, were Matt, Dom, and Chris. The upper parts of the towers were now camera screens projecting each man’s image in black and red. And I no longer cared about the tall bloke just ahead of me.

Chris wore black.

Dom wore black.

Matt wore shiny sunglasses and electric blue trousers.

Matt threw his glasses into the crowd.

Uprising slipped neatly and familiarly into Resistance, and then the platforms lowered. I was mildly unsettled as I stretched to see, but not surprised. After all, there’s sliding and strutting and posturing to be done. Can’t do that on a plinth 20 feet in the air.

I don’t know the exact setlist, other than it was glorious. There was no Citizen Erased, but there was New Born, and, to my delight, after a short-but-somehow-long meeting of the band around the drums, MKUltra. Dom said, post-discussion, “Okay, now we can play the song. We’ve not done it before, and it’s a bit tricky, so….anyway….”

To me, faultless.

They played Hysteria, Mappo Problemo, Plug In Baby, Supermassive Blackhole, Starlight….oh, and so many more. Sadly none from Showbiz, happily, all but 3 from The Resistance.

During the show they went up and down on the platforms, Matt at the grand piano for Feeling Good (and yes, he hit that note again), they stood at the end of gantries over the crowd, and swapped sides once. The lighting was amazing, and dominating the reds and greens and yellows and whites and flashes of silver was the electric blue.

They finished with Unnatural Selection which was about as an immaculate performance as could ever be heard.

Frustratingly too soon, for me, they left the stage, only to return, again 20 feet up, playing Exogenesis Part 1. They came down to earth for Stockholm Syndrome and a loud and jolly Knights of Cydonia.

Even more frustratingly too soon, they had gone and the lights were up.)

I'd been spoiled by seeing Muse from the front row of smallish venues. And this time, through stubbornness and with a bit of luck, I ended up in the front row again. With my brother George by my side. My 3-time Muse companion now. This time, intimacy was replaced by a delirious garden of larger than life dreams. The stage set the same as Skip described, the set list just slightly changed. Matt wore a silver suit instead of the electric blue trousers. When he came to play in front of us, we could see his trousers had holes at the knees where Matt slid on the stage. Chris had a suit on too. A light blue shinyish ensemble. It might have been satin. He looked really good. Dom was in black, smiling as always. He and Chris had a rollicking jam session on the rotating drum platform. And I tried to absorb every minute. Towards the end, the big balloons filled with confetti floated down from the ceiling, and were batted around by the crowd popping to release the red and white strips which drifted down on us like a joy filled rain. They played their hearts out, and like Skip said, were gone too soon. But they left us an experience like no other to take with us back to our everyday.

Only the Wind

It tends to get windy out at the Test Site. But sometimes the wind is so strong that you feel like you might even be lifted off the ground. Or that the building you're in might suddenly be blown off its foundation. Yesterday was one of those days. You could hear the wind rushing around outside and into the building through the cracks in the door and window seals. You feel the draft. And every time someone opens the door to go out a gust roars in and you wonder about their safety. When they do manage to return, they tell the harrowing tale of venturing to the cafeteria. A little while later I had to go across the street to Occ Med. It seemed to have calmed down a bit by then. Still as I took each step I could feel the wind taking hold of my foot and defiantly blowing it aside. I pushed through it easily but the sensation of this force of nature that whips up seemingly out of nowhere, was thrilling as well as curious.

Update 4/28/10

Another week of blinding winds. Waiting at the bus stop has been fun!

-- Post From My iPod Touch

Army of Me

I had never used swear words before I was in the army. You'd think if I were to pick up the habit anywhere it would be there. Profanity was in the air. Soldiers breathed it in and out rather than spoke it. But somehow I held out. I felt like I had to maintain my well-educated vocabulary, my intellectual bearing. There was no reason to stoop down to the level of my fellow soldiers.

Besides, they were mostly guys. Guys can have potty mouths. Swear like a sailor is a common expression. But all the service branches are pretty handy at it. I became known for my dislike of the unsavory language. Often, the guys in my squad would be telling dirty jokes in the language that is a usual requirement. I'd silently come up behind them; one of them would see me and they'd clam up. "You should wear a bell," they used to say. Perhaps they didn't want to offend me, or perhaps they didn't want to hear me complain about their unsavory speech.

But speech was not the danger. I have since learned that a well placed swear can be necessary in life. And there's no sense in putting up a stronghold where one is not vulnerable. Protection should have been concentrated elsewhere.

My introduction to relationships with men caught me a bit unawares. And while I was curious, wondered what it would be like; I was too naive to know what I really wanted. How could I? I was 19. Ingenuous. Unrequited high school crushes did not prepare me.

Suddenly, there I was, with all these guys. Not like the ones I played baseball with in the street growing up. They were looking at me differently. Following me around. There were good things. I met some nice guys, had good relationships, however brief. But then there were those...the ones I never asked for. The ones I couldn't seem to avoid. More and more it was me against them. And for a long time it didn't occur to me that it should be any different.

The words I'd gotten used to. The comments about my gender, my body in particular, implications about my private behavior... offers to participate in those behaviors, they bothered me yes. But I could handle it. But sometimes the pressure was more than verbal. It got physical. And I felt like I was in a corner. And I broke down, wasn't strong enough. The emotional pain was just as great. I turned it inward, blamed myself and somehow came out on the other side. Not quite the same.

Years have gone by since then. A whole other lifetime it seems. But it will always stay with me. What I experienced, and what I learned. And I am strong. Stronger than I thought. Tougher than I look.

(image by Emma Davies copyright 2010 online @ Saatchi_gallery.co.uk )

Drive My Car

AMVIV 7 has come and gone, and as usually there were some memorable moments. There were a lot of differences this year. A new location, Aliante Station. And I didn't go on any of the runs. I've been on most of them already. And I worked at the event so much it kept me at the Sin City club's tables. And then there was the Dent Guy working on my car. Although everytime I said it people kept thinking I said dead guy. But, no. The Dent King in fact was working on MINIfir's boot over two days. So she had to stay put anyway.

I went to In-n-Out Motor-In with Larry Thursday night, and Friday night after the mixer I was really too tired to go anywhere. Saturday though MINIfir and I manned a poker ru
n stop, Desert MINI. When I was done I met up with Jeff and Annette at their poker run stop, the 7-11. They'd let Mark's brother Chris drive little Monty and he let them take a ride in his GP. This swapping of cars turned out to be fortuitous. We went back to Aliante to turn in our tally sheets and then Annette asked me if I wanted to come see a classic Mini Chris was thinking of buying. Plus, she said, he's got a water buffalo. This is how it happened: Chris had had such a great time in Monty. And a guy at 7-11 spotted them and said his son had a little red mini just like theirs in his garage. Would he be interested in selling it? Probably. He doesn't live far from here. So we all hopped in cars. Jeff and Chris T.'s Dad in the GP, Chris F. and his wife in Monty and Annette drove me and Chris T. in her VW (a non-mini, but mine was still being worked on). We all followed the leader to this house just a few miles from Aliante. It was in an older North Las Vegas neighborhood. There were just a couple of houses on the street. We pulled up at one and the owner greeted us along with his friendly Corgi, Lucy. He let us through the fence to come look at the car.

Sitting in his garage was a dust covered mini that turned out to be an amazing find. It was a 1964 Austin Mini Cooper S. The guys looked her over and began to assess the work she would need. But Chris was ready to buy. He took out his wad of cash and said, Let's make this deal. While they took care of it, we were invited to have a tour of the yard.

This is not a usual AMVIV weekend occurance, but there he was. Fred, the water buffalo.

He was relaxing in his pen, next to a few horses, a sheep, some goats, a pig, chickens and lots of dogs. Certainly something you don't see everyday. By the time we'd seen the entire zoo, the little mini had been rolled out onto the driveway. It was not running. It would need to be towed. And Chris had already called for a tow truck. It arrived and the driver began loading up the little mini. We all stood and watched and the owner who was selling it understandably seemed sad to see her go. Jeff said that he wished he and Annette had found such a fine mini so close to home. They'd gone up to Washington state to get Monty. Chris had scored a great classic for only $6000 cash. He had it taken to Aliante, washed and detailed. A true beauty.

All that was left to do was wait for the dent guy to finish with MINIfir's boot (it came out pretty nice) and then go off to the White Roof Radio party. The show was fun, then we went to the Mexican place in the hotel for dinner. It was the latest night out I had. And we were still in bed by midnight.

The next morning, I worked the breakfast and then we wrapped it all up. Another AMVIV had come to an end. It was hectic and exhausting but still well worth it. The attendees seemed to like the new hotel and to enjoy the activities. And we didn't stay out til all hours, but we still had a good time hosting it. And now we've got to start thinking about next year.