So I wrote that post below, wallowed for a few more minutes, then decided that fuck it, I would try to get in to the Beck show: Standing room only, buying a scalped ticket, listening outside on the sidewalk, whatever. This was the first date on his new tour, and for some reason he's playing in my town at a tiny venue that holds maybe 250 people. I had to check it out. So I went to the ATM and took out just what I wouldn't mind paying for a ticket. I went and waited online for the standby line - it was two hours before the show and the ticket-holders' line to get in was already to the end of the block of buildings. After about ten minutes a guy came by and asked us all what we would pay for his extra ticket. The poor-looking college kids near me gave kind of lame bids so I thought 'be! aggressive! b-e- aggressive!' and I ran to him and told him what I'd pay. He took it. I paid a 150 percent markup, but so what - it was still less than what I had on me. I got in!

So. The show. Beck is a pop-rock angel. An angel with a hard-on (not literally). He was all curly-blonde and deep blue eyes and thin black t-shirt and shiny jeans. A music nerd in funk-star clothing. I stood less than ten feet away from Beck for the entire show, having maneuvered my way there right before it started (be! aggressive! b-e aggressive!) to stand next to Max and Anya. He played a bunch of stuff from his current album, along with some mellow numbers from Mutations, and then went to the everybody-dance-like-there's-ass-in-your-pants favorites like Devil's Haircut, Tropicalia, Where It's At, and Sex Laws. We got to see him dance a little. He bantered with the audience. He did a call and response which used "Sergio Valente" and "Jordache Jordache Jordache" and "Ooh, La La, Sassoon." I felt a connection growing between us. When he did a little human-beat-box and then a pop-rockin' dance move where he mimed combing his hair and straightening his bangs, that's when I knew: We are to be wed. Beck, call me!