Q: Which of the following has NOT happened in the past 24 hours?

A. I spent a record-breaking 8 hours at an American rock festival.

B. I was complimented on my black sparkly ballerina shoes with the rhinestone skull by the lead singer of Aiden.

C. I met Jimmy Eat World’s guitarist and AFI’s drummer.

Answer: B. Though I did wear the shoes, and though I did talk to the lead singer, he declined to comment on the shoes. Probably this was due to the fact that when I met him, the first words out of my mouth were "Who are those guys playing right now, they are amazing!" neglecting the unwritten ritual that, after a band’s set, if you run into them, you are obligated to compliment them on their performance, particularly if you are from the same country as them and no one else at the show is.

Yesterday the Give It A Name festival came to Paris, and I, of course, had had my ticket since February. I got to the venue around 4pm, a couple hours after it had started, but still caught all the important acts. The place was tiny– probably only holds 2000 max, all standing, but last night it held... definitely not more than 800. Which was amazing, considering the bands playing sell out at big arenas in the US. Because it was so empty and because it was veritably crawling with rock stars, every time I turned around I was looking at someone who had just been on stage. I stood close to the side, near the curtain that led backstage, and every time someone walked out from the curtain, it was a bandmember that had already played coming out to watch someone else’s set. In this way, I met Jimmy Eat World’s guitarist, who was quite nice, and surprised I was American. [Later on I was asked by several Brits if I had come from the US for this show– I’m not that obsessive.] The next time I turned around because I heard someone singing loudly behind me, it turned out it was the lead singer of the first act, who pretty much blew, so I didn’t bother giving him the time of day. I was sold a t-shirt by a band member, said hello to a few bassists, etc. Kind of intense.

Also, I realized it is likely I’ve been to too many shows in Paris: the first people I saw after I walked in were the guitarist and lead singer of my favorite French band, who were not playing last night but were just there to watch. Nobody else knew who they were, but I got all starstruck and tonguetied (it’s one thing talking to a rockstar in your OWN language, have you ever had to attempt it in a different one?) and ended up just standing back and staring at them from a distance till the moshers got in my way.

After the show, I walked outside and to the back entrance, which is, incidentally, the same one I sneaked into in October in a vain attempt to get backstage before getting kicked out by Mr. Clean himself. This time, though, proved quite worth it– the headlining band came out (one at a time) and I talked to a couple of them before I realized that it was 1230 and I was in the dead center of the worst area of Paris and had missed the last Metro home. I went flying toward the Metro stop, hoping I would be able to catch the last one, and, wonder of wonders, thanks to an "accidente technique," I made it, running through the station, onto the last one, still sweaty, hair pulled into a ponytail, new tour tee thrown over my shoulder.

(Sidenote: that new tour shirt? Yeah, I chose the one that was only 15Euro instead of the almost requisite 25... There's a good reason it was cheaper than all the others. I liked it the best, so I don't really care, but it's a shirt from Jimmy Eat World's 2005 European tour.

That was two years ago.

I mean, I guess it doesn't matter, except that they didn't even GO to Paris on that tour, so all the dates listed are in a bunch of other places... Lesson learned: If the band hasn't released an album in the last two years, check the back before you buy the merch.)

I got on the Metro, ears still ringing (I have got to buy earplugs, preferably inconspicuous ones), and thought about what a friend’s mom said to me recently:
"Blair, does it ever strike you as... you know... ODD that you, of all people, are so into the rock scene?"
"Not really, why?"
"I just mean, out of all of you girls from high school, you were always the good one, and never into anything bad, and you still aren’t– but the music world is full of all kinds of things like that that you have never stood for. How do you figure that?"
I shrugged.

That was about a month ago, and I still haven’t figured out the answer.

Don’tTalkJustDance,
B

P.S. Immediately before the festival, I had my architecture design class. We met in the gardens of Luxembourg to sketch what my prof insisted on calling the "skyline," only, pronounced with a French accent means you draw out both of the "eye" sounds as long as possible. I assumed perhaps it was one of those weird English words that have made their way into the French language, like "le week-end" or "iPod," but finally, after the end of his 20 minute explanation on what we were to do, a girl raised her hand and said, in French, "But what is this, the skyline?" At which point I realized he had only been using that term because of me. Of all my professors I’ve had since coming here, he’s the only one I’ve heard speak English, and based on the words he knows, he’s got to be either fluent or else had an English tutor like me who taught him only useless words somewhere along the line. He knows "vanishing point," "skyline," and "sunglasses," among others. He walked past my sketch once about a month ago, picked it up, showed it to the class, and critiqued: "See, here you need more of an angle, your horizon is too low, your paper is too small... This belongs to Mademoiselle Parle-Anglais." Little Miss I-Speak-English. Thanks. But, as previously mentioned, he always teases the German kid in the class too, who is much more fluent in French than I am, about being German and asks him all kinds of questions: "Oh, what is the name for the chapiteau in German?" and things like that– I think I’ve escaped the questions only because he either 1) doesn’t think I understand what’s going on or 2) doesn’t think I’d know the English translation. He’s usually wrong on the first count, right on the second.
Lately he’s taken to calling me "notre amie brittanique." "Our little English-speaking friend." Well, really, it’s more like "our little anglo friend." (Sidenote: I’ve had people ask me if there are French WASPs. Think about this one, and you’ll figure out why it is a complete impossibility.) But now I’ve gotten used to it– I’m no longer mortified because now the whole class KNOWS I am foreign, if not exactly where from. Yesterday we were trying to sketch, and I am attempting my best negative-space design (the only art project I’ve ever gotten below an A- on; 8th grade art as an elective and I almost didn’t pass the negative space assignment), and the prof walks by, takes off his sunglasses, hands them to me with a flourish, and says, "Oh, cherie, you have forgotten yours, so here, borrow mine!" I had forgotten mine... it was supposed to rain, and my eyes were killing me from all the squinting... Maybe I shouldn’t be so scared of him after all?