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The Frequency
Nov. 21st, 2012 09:30 pmI want to write to capture the experience of going to the Amanda Palmer show last week. On Saturday night, there was lots of traffic and no parking. I spent an hour driving around and was very frustrated. I almost gave up and went home. I almost went home and parked and walked. Finally, I found something, ticket be damned. I had been looking forward to this show for months and nothing was going to stop me.
As I approached the club and joined the line, I relaxed and started to feel bubbles of elation. But where was my husband? How could I get to him? Any friends around? Was coat check still open? As I went deeper into the club, into the crowd, I felt it: the Frequency. Tuning into the experience, my anxiety was replaced by the feeling that I was in the exact right spot on the planet for me. My happy place. My husband's place is Disney World. I have two: Provincetown and Amandaland. I suppose this is normal for someone who has a hobby or a niche interest to experience when they go to a con. I wonder if cons are popular because people live isolated in cultures of their own creation.
Unless I'm at a show or on the internet, I never encounter anyone else who enjoys the same things I do. The people in my office have never even heard of Amanda or Neil. Forget about Jason or Walter or anyone in the Boston theater/music/art scene. My Jewish upper middle class friends? No way. I belong to a subculture, and what's harder, a subculture which is primarily composed of people younger than me. So I'm in a sub-sub-culture of middle-aged AFP fans with kids. The good thing is that I perceive this more than anyone else. This is an accepting group, which is why I'm in it!
The show? The music made me feel like Doctor Who when he regenerates and light come shooting out of his limbs and face. The music totally filled me, blasted through me, scorching and scouring my insides. There is no higher plane for me that to be dancing at an Amanda Palmer show. Surrounded by friends and fellow-travelers, full of fierce joy.
As I approached the club and joined the line, I relaxed and started to feel bubbles of elation. But where was my husband? How could I get to him? Any friends around? Was coat check still open? As I went deeper into the club, into the crowd, I felt it: the Frequency. Tuning into the experience, my anxiety was replaced by the feeling that I was in the exact right spot on the planet for me. My happy place. My husband's place is Disney World. I have two: Provincetown and Amandaland. I suppose this is normal for someone who has a hobby or a niche interest to experience when they go to a con. I wonder if cons are popular because people live isolated in cultures of their own creation.
Unless I'm at a show or on the internet, I never encounter anyone else who enjoys the same things I do. The people in my office have never even heard of Amanda or Neil. Forget about Jason or Walter or anyone in the Boston theater/music/art scene. My Jewish upper middle class friends? No way. I belong to a subculture, and what's harder, a subculture which is primarily composed of people younger than me. So I'm in a sub-sub-culture of middle-aged AFP fans with kids. The good thing is that I perceive this more than anyone else. This is an accepting group, which is why I'm in it!
The show? The music made me feel like Doctor Who when he regenerates and light come shooting out of his limbs and face. The music totally filled me, blasted through me, scorching and scouring my insides. There is no higher plane for me that to be dancing at an Amanda Palmer show. Surrounded by friends and fellow-travelers, full of fierce joy.
