Artist’s Date: Reggae at Noon

I’ve been skipping the artist’s dates, or half-assing them, or bringing people along lately. It’s my mental block, I guess, that idea that my time is only important if someone ELSE is using it. That’s not true – and in fact, it’s one of the reasons/boundary issues I have: I’m constantly getting myself in situations where someone else decides to suck me into their creative agenda, and being “professional” and liking the attention, I go along, only to get angry/unhappy that I’m not working on my own stuff. This isn’t to say I can’t collaborate – I want to! I just need to collaborate with the right people, ones who understand that indeed I do have my own projects underway, and while those projects don’t need to be understood, they do need to be accepted as they would my children.

This date was a two parter: I went to an outdoor reggae concert at noon over at the University of Minnesota. It was the last of their summer concert series, and while grieving and lack of bus money has kept me indoors I am kind of kicking myself for that. Then I went to the Bell Museum of Natural History.

Today’s post is about the reggae concert. I’m not overly concerned with the pot smoking aesthetic, although the women who were at the table I was at (I apparently claimed “their” table – they were those kind of office workers, and a powerful reminder from GOD why I am not to go back to traditional office work) thought it was cute to take cell phone pictures of each other miming having a joint. They left after they saw the look of disgust I gave them.

That narrowmindedness got killed by the sheer joy of the rest of the audience. There were day camps there, so teenagers were running up and dancing in a sort of coordinated mosh pit, and of course there was the one man limbo guy – I was curious as to his story but I suspected a conversation would not have been fruitful. His behavior, while unusual, was definitely with purpose and I saw him later leaving the university with a guitar in his hand.

My favorite person to watch was a girl who may or may not have been with a camp for the developmentally disabled. She got out and danced, played air guitar, jumped up and down and had herself the best time. I am totally her fangirl.

And yes, after the office bitches left, I got up and danced. The bass player had been pointing to me and waving and flirting, but I think he was surprised to see a woman over twenty dance where people could see her.

Advertisements