Saturday, November 15, 2014


     Last week while I was sick, we went to see front-man for the Old 97's, Rhett Miller, perform at a great restaurant/bar in Somerville, MA called Johnny D's.  A dear friend of mine had been suggesting I check the music scene out there for several years, and this was our first trip.  It was my birthday present, and I was ecstatic to go.  I also brought along a pocket full of cough drops.
     This is the third time I've seen him play live, and he gets better each time.  I have this long running fantasy that I'll go to see him, and he'll pull me out of the audience to sing a song with him.  He'll be so impressed that we'll exchange numbers.  In a month or so, the phone will ring.  It'll be Rhett.  He'll tell me that he'd love it if we could collaborate on a song or two.  I take some vacation time, make sure the freezer is full and fly off to sing with him and the band.  We all hit it off.  This leads to hooking up at nearby gigs when I can get time off from work.  Then other bands want to work with me, and eventually, the work is coming so often that I leave my full time job and get to sing for a living.  The fantasy is even more involved, like I plan out the dinners that the family will have while I'm gone.  As you can see, I'm fully invested.
     There's another fantasy that involves Rhett, but my daughter sometimes reads this blog, so I'll leave that one unspoken.  Suffice to say, here's a picture of Mr. Miller:

     Here's a picture of him working:

     And one more:

     One might say he's dreamy.  My husband is very understanding, and obviously, not worried.  I didn't have enough guts to get a picture with him after the show, because I know me too well.  I was afraid I'd say something ridiculous to him like ... we named two of our cats after you and Murry (another member of the Old 97's) - but you're the pretty, long haired one.
     There's no coming back from a comment like that.   

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