Four Nights, Three Cities, Two Shows, and a Solstice
A year ago I went adventuring to test my body. It got a solid C-.
I’m not a summer person, despite my love of Los Angeles and The Beach Boys. I like the summer solstice because it means the sun is on its way out.
But last year, I was excited because the first day of summer meant Summer’s Kiss, a brief tour by The Afghan Whigs (one of my favorite bands) and The Church (a band I was willing to try). The closest dates to me were Chicago and Indianapolis, concurrent with the days I was scheduled to be in the Berkshires. The tour started on June 18th in Philadelphia, took a day off, then played in Brooklyn the night of the solstice, followed by a night in Boston.
Totally doable! But … how?
First leg: I flew to Philadelphia and picked up a rental car. Since I was staying in town for two nights, it seemed like a good idea, but it really wasn’t necessary. I stayed in a row house in Fishtown, which has plenty of good stuff nearby. And the venue was way out in the ‘burbs. Since I didn’t know the parking situation, I took a Lyft.
I go to a lot of concerts, and usually, I don’t buy special fan experiences like meet and greets. But this was different. Despite being a fan since 1996, somehow I’d never seen Afghan Whigs live. Plus, their lead singer is my one lusty, teen-madness-level rock star crush. I refer to him as My Future Ex-Husband Greg Dulli. And somehow, even with having friends in common, I had never met him.
I prefer my celebrity meetings to be organic (which means they never happen because I’m ridiculously face-blind), but none of us are getting any younger so I bought meet-and-greet passes for Philly and Brooklyn.
I asked a question during the Q&A, which turned into a “not every song is autobiographical. I’m not that interesting” conversation. Not my best ex-journalist question. But he answered so we’re basically engaged.
When Holly and I talked about some of the trips she’s made for shows, it didn’t take long to get to one of the best reasons to make these trips: meeting other fans. Especially when you like somewhat obscure, niche bands with smaller, scattered fanbases.
Before and after the meet-and-greet, the handful of us got acquainted. Some people I recognized from the band’s Facebook fan group. Others who were also flying solo struck up conversations. And in one case, when I posted this photo from the show to the FB group the next day, someone said, “That was my view! I think we were next to each other.” That was Steve. We’re friends now.
My first Afghan Whigs show, with nearly 30 years of anticipation, did not disappoint. In fact, it was so thrilling that I left without seeing The Church. But with good reason.
A few weeks before this trip I was diagnosed with vestibular migraines. The gist: these migraines occur where the brain and ear canal connect. Instead of headaches, they cause vertigo which comes with dizzy spells, nausea, and exhaustion. My diagnosis followed a year of mystery dizzy spells and unexpected vomiting (the worst kind). Most likely caused by decades of undiagnosed allergies, the treatment is slow. After a year of self-administering six weekly allergy shots, I’m just now getting some relief. But a year ago I was forced into extreme cautiousness.
I felt fine after the AW set but didn’t want to risk it. At the time a heat wave gripped the East Coast, making it even more hot and humid than back home in St. Louis, which is no small feat. With my free day hitting 100 degrees, I decided to avoid the misery and enjoy the air-conditioned loveliness of my row house, along with late-night Philly food delivery.
Second leg: After the lazy day I ventured into the heat to head to Brooklyn for the second show on the summer solstice. See? Renting a car wasn’t necessary at all. I have no desire to ever drive anywhere in the greater New York City area, ever. I do fine driving in L.A. and Chicago, but it just seems absurd in New York.
Amtrak from Philadelphia to Penn Station in Manhattan is under two hours according to the schedule, but it’s Amtrak so make sure you have plenty of wiggle room. And now I can say I’ve seen more of New Jersey than just the outside of the Walt Whitman House in Camden during a past Philly trip.
Getting from Penn Station in Manhattan to my hotel in Brooklyn was almost certainly possible by public transit, but I was on a schedule and being over-cautious, so I took a Lyft. Good call, because by the time I checked in the vertigo had started. I grabbed a bottle of Coke, made a Liquid IV (electrolytes are a good thing with this condition), hydrated, ate a couple of protein bars, and got another car to the Brooklyn Paramount … and immediately hit Friday rush hour traffic. So much so that I got the, “Uh, you okay? Not kidnapped, right?” alert from Lyft. I was fine, but I was sure I was going to miss the meet-and-greet.
Don’t you love it when you’re late but the people you’re meeting are even later? This was the situation when I arrived:
I hopped in line, made friends, and found my pal Beth from the AW FB group. She’s also a Wilco fan and we know all the same people in that legion. I’m still surprised it took us so long to meet. Like me, she has some health issues that make standing in the sun and through a concert bad ideas. We buddied up to keep one another upright and feeling decent. And I forgot to get a photo of us.
This time I kept my mouth shut during the Q&A because I could only think of one question: “What is Pervis doing while you’re on tour?” That’s Greg’s cat. It seemed a little creepy to ask, so I hung back and just took it all in … until the woman in front of me asked my question and my future ex-husband beamed.
Goddamnit.
But he did hear me tell her afterward that she asked my question and he asked if I’m a cat person, too. This time with much more enthusiasm.
We’re married now.
Afterward, Beth and I got information about the venue’s ADA seating—Did you know that every venue, even standing-room ones, is supposed to have seating available for people with disabilities? This makes going to shows possible for me these days—the migraines make me get woozy and wonky when standing in a big crowd. The Paramount had one of the best set-ups I’ve seen—a taped-off cluster of chairs in front of stage left. Their staff is also top-notch and helped Beth and me set up a spot in the lobby to sit and visit until show time. They’re definitely on my list of venues to revisit.
Yet another stellar show, not much different than the one before, but plenty good and worth the trip.
Still, Beth and I opted out of The Church’s set after collecting hugs from our friend Natalia (again, why no photos?). Beth and I were in the lobby when the nausea hit me. Since she had driven in from Long Island, Beth offered me a ride back to my hotel, but I knew that my chances of not throwing up if we did that were slim. So I made a hasty exit, ordered a ride, and had a seat in a folding chair by the exit to try to get myself in order.
So, of course, that’s when I had a big sweaty hot flash.
I’m sure the usher/security person nearby thought I was really drunk or on drugs (not this time—concerts are expensive and I like to experience them fully). She brought me water and called a medic. Which I swore wasn’t necessary. While the medic was off getting I-don’t-know-what for me, my ride arrived. I left against his orders because I know this condition and knew what I needed: quiet, dark, water, and protein.
Sure enough, back at the hotel after cranking the a/c down to 66, drinking a quart of water, and eating some tacos and ice cream with the lights off, I was fine and went to sleep.
Third leg: I woke up feeling much better but knew I would need to conserve my energy, stay hydrated, and eat regularly during the four-hour Amtrak ride to Boston if I was going to be in any condition to make it to that night’s show. I didn’t have a meet-and-greet ticket because I knew I’d be cutting it close on time. At that point, I would have likely asked follow-up questions from the previous sessions: Where in L.A. did your car wreck happen? Did you shop online today to replace your clothes dryer that caught fire the other day? Can I see the Pervis Cam?
None of that needed to happen.
The train ride to Boston cut through the most picture-perfect New England scenery I could imagine. Aside from the Berkshires in western Massachusetts and a day in Vermont when I was 17, I haven’t spent time in that part of the country. I need to rectify that, especially since I have friends scattered throughout the region. I will say that it took me a bit to acclimate to the brevity and abruptness of the Northeastern communication style. I didn’t dislike it—it was nice to not entertain small talk when I was trying to conserve my resources.
It was also nice to not feel like I had to hide my irritated grimace when a mom, bless her heart, plopped her tween son into the seat next to me and ignored him for the full trip. It was a sold-out train, and I would have been fine sitting with him but her curtness and lack of attention left me feeling like an unpaid babysitter.
I don’t follow sports, so imagine my surprise when I got off at the smaller of Boston’s train stations and walked into a thundering sea of Kelly green. I’d arrived just as the victory parade for the Celtics’ championship ended.
I have two regrets: that I didn’t stop at the station’s Dunkin Donuts (of course the train station in Boston has a Dunkin) for a coffee, and then spend some time watching the crowd. Because wouldn’t that have been the most Boston thing I could have done?
Instead, I got a ride to my nearby apartment in the South End, where I ordered a coffee and snack to be delivered while I worked to relax my way out of nausea and dizziness caused by the long, crowded, hot train ride.
One sip of cold brew, though, and my body said, “Not tonight, Robin.” Yep, unexpected vomiting happened. I thought I’d dodged it by getting through all the stuff that usually triggers it. Turns out, it waits. Awesome.
I took a nap, waking up in time to go to the venue, only to find that it was raining. That’s another vestibular migraine trigger. I decided to skip the show and felt okay with the decision aside from not getting to see Natalia and Beth again.
Not all was lost in Boston. I ate three kinds of babka, got a much-needed awesome night of sleep, and spent most of the next day at a lovely coffeehouse down the block from my place, writing and people-watching until it was time to go to the airport and have my flight delayed a few times.
All told, I loved my janky, cut-and-pasted East Coast mini-tour chasing one of my favorite bands. I do wish I could have spent more time with my friends and made it to the Boston show. At home with a chronic illness, it can be difficult to tell what I’m capable of doing. As I’m learning, still, how to manage this vestibular business, traveling has helped. Not having the safety net of home makes me more independent, more proactive, and more willing to both test my limits and my discipline. It’s taught me to listen to my body in ways I’d never get at home, where I’m more inclined to sit on the couch with my cat after a couple of edibles.
Plus, my future ex-husband Greg Dulli isn’t at my house so that alone makes the trip totally worthwhile.
A year ago tonight, feeling the summer breeze and going to town.