I want to be a groupie

group·ie (grp) n. Slang

1. A fan, especially a young woman, who follows a rock group around on tours.
2. An enthusiastic supporter or follower: a ballet groupie; a fashion groupie.


In Cameron Crowe's "Almost Famous," Kate Hudson plays a vibrant groupie named Penny Lane--she refers to herself as a "Band Aid"--and follows a fictitious band named Stillwater around the country as they go on their US tour, mostly because she's got a hot nut for the lead singer. I remember watching this movie and thinking, "Geez, what a crap ass life! Sure you can follow a band around in the hopes of hooking up with the lead singer/bassist/drummer/keyboardist/tambourine player, but what sort of life is that--when would you read or get your nails done or go surfing?" I guess if you picked that life, you wouldn't want to do much more than follow the band around. Sitting in the tour bus on long drives from Middle-Of-Nowhere, Iowa, to Springfield, Pick-A-State, eating Cheetos and drinking Coke, playing Grand Theft Auto 3, listening to you iPod, surfing the Net... oh, wait a minute. Surf the Net... Playstation... maybe I'm wrong, maybe I DO want to be a groupie. But who would I follow? Maybe a small band named Starsailor.

In order for a band to be groupie worthy, it needs to have some hot band members. What I never figured out is how all these bands managed to find such attractive front men--Matchbox 20, Dave Matthews Band, N'Sync... well maybe boy bands don't really count. James Walsh is no exception. Can we say dimples? Oh yes. Add to that proper English accent, lead guitarist, songwriter and you've made a recipe for the next hot lead singer. Rob Thomas may have to make room for this sweet young musician who seems tickled to be the center of attention. He looks like he'd rather just sit with a small group of folks and play. He did remark on the added number of audience members from the last time they hit Virgin, so I'm sure he doesn't mind having a big crowd. But a front man is just that--the guy in the front. He needs backup, wingmen! Enter ginger-haired keyboardist/pianist Barry Westhead, grungy drummer Ben Byrne, and the quiet yet sexy bassist James Stelfox. Barry plays a wicked piano--I think he may rival Coldplay's front man, Chris Martin--I'd love to see an Iron Pianist battle. Chris may have more charisma and energy, but I don't think you can sell Barry short--that red hair means he's got a fire in his belly. The drummer, Ben, well, I can't say much about him except I have one of the drumsticks he used while performing at Irving Plaza. The other James, however, is a quieter version of James Walsh and he plays the bass. My friend Susan has always had something for men who play bass--don't know if it is the fact that the instrument is monster and you need to have some long arms and agile fingers to work it or just the low and powerful hum it makes that is distinctive in every song, but she gets weak in the knees.

I've picked the band I wanted to join on the road (next stop, Chicago, the Windy City). I've laid out the necessities for the trip--Powerbook, CDs, books, Sour Patch Kids, change of underwear and tops (5), makeup bag. As I approached the autograph table, one by one, they signed my liner notes... first grungy Ben, then ginger Barry, and then St. Sebastian-esque James Walsh. He was smiling as he signed the notes of the person ahead of me and then smiled off to the side to someone. He takes my booklet and for a moment, he looks up at me with his deep-set eyes and smiles. We lock eyes for about 10 seconds while I smile back at him. Then, just as I had my chance to say, "I want to be your Penny Lane!" he looks back down to sign my booklet, passes it off to James Stelfox, looks back up and smiles at me, and then moves on to the next autograph. Stelfox signs and gives it back to me. I take it, put it back in the case slightly crestfallen, and taking one last photo of the four of them signing autographs, step outside into the cold as clumps of snow pelt me from the nighttime sky.

I'm not cutout to be a groupie it appears. I don't even have the balls to seductively make an ass of myself in front of 100 people at Virgin Megastores. Sigh... Well, looks like it is back to the grind. Good thing I s'pose. I'm not one to have only one pair of underwear on the road... seems slightly unsanitary to me. Yuck.

Not Jeff Buckley's Starsailor

It is rare that I ever discover a band that I love that isn't already so heavily in the mainstream, I'm just another zombie following the crowd. So in 2001, when I came upon Starsailor, I was surprised I liked a band that wasn't so over-processed that I was just being drugged with the masses. They are often compared to Coldplay, but are definitely very different. Maybe people think that because they are both from across the pond and their lyrics have much more poetry than anything from the overdone songs of America's pop idols and pianos are pretty heavy. I'll add that I love the guitar--probably my favorite instrument that I am interested in learning to play--and the two James' are great guitarist/bassist. Perfect way to make me swoon! Regardless, they are an amazing band with their own sound and when I heard they were playing at Irving Plaza on January 22, five days before their sophomore album is released in the states, I bought tickets the moment they went on sale. Who doesn't want to listen to one of their favorite bands in a small and intimate venue?

Irving Plaza is a super small venue that I really enjoyed being at for a change from MSG. The bar was small, the vendors friendly (they even saved me a t-shirt at the end of the show when everyone else was asking for one--they rocked!), and the sound amazing.

Their opening act was a Johnathan Rice who I liked before I heard him go on a political tirade about getting the "demons" out of the Oval office--musicians shouldn't use their platform to try and become political experts--he should have just asked everyone to vote and make sure they have their opinions and voices heard. After an intermission, the lights go out and a few purple spots come up and we see James Walsh and his fellow Starsailor bandmates come on stage. James Walsh has been compared to a cherub, but I liken his face more to a painting of St. Sebastian that my friend Dolores completely concurs with. Sweet and innocent, yet wise beyond his years. They played from their first album, "Love Is Here," as well as their forthcoming, "Silence Is Easy." The title track was produced by Phil Spector before he was charged with murder--apparently working with him is likened to that as well. The title track is what is going to break Starsailor in the states--I think it should be their first single and I'm sure it will be. It is catchy and has a dancey tune you just want to jump up and down for. I love the first album and it is hard to pick them, but my favorite Starsailor songs from their first album at this time are "Love Is Here," "Lullaby," "Alcoholic," "Good Souls," and "Tie Up My Hands." The last song is my anthem for the moment. The idea that no matter what you want to do, whatever you desire, there isn't anything that can be done--your hands are tied and you don't have a say one way or the other:

I wanna love you but my hands are tied
I wanna stay here but I've been denied
Lets watch the clock until the morning sun does rise
-----
I wanna hold you but my hands are tied
I wanna sleep here but I've been denied
I wanna lie here 'til we've killed this bitter doubt

Yeah, kinda sad and pathetic of me, but honestly, the best way to describe every situation I've gone through in the past 6 months. But I love "Silence Is Easy" and you'll hear it soon enough if you haven't checked it out at the Starsailor website.

It is usually nice to go to a concert where everyone enjoys being there, but you always have a few people I think were dragged by their SO because they didn't want to go alone. So this person ends up onery and someone you want to hit on the head. Granted, I was standing behind him screaming like a banshee, but once he left, we had a great encore of "Fever" and "Good Souls." As the lights came back up and people started to leave, I ventured to the stage with Dolores and asked a roadie (I forgot to ask his name! but he's a tall Brit with black spikey hair wearing a black long sleeve tee) if there were any lingering setlists. Not only did he produce one of the setlists for me, but he also gave me a drumstick. I was so elated, I didn't think to ask to crash the VIP party even though I might have had an 80% chance of getting to go after I hugged him a thank you. But who wants to be harassed by fans? Then, I got my shirt which the vendor was so kind to put aside for me even though 5 girls were standing there wanting one and that was the last. God bless you t-shirt vendor man! God bless you roadie with a heart! So, if you missed them at Irving Plaza, they will be playing at the Virgin Megastore at Union Square in New York on Tuesday, January 27 when their album, "Silence Is Easy," is released. Check 'em out!


Official Setlist - Irving Plaza, NY, January 22, 2004
Sharkfood
Music Was Saved
Alcoholic
Poor Misguided Fool
Fidelity
Lullaby
Telling Them
Love Is Here
Four To The Floor
Born Again
Tie Up My Hands
Silence Is Easy
-------
Fever
Good Souls

Unofficially, James soloed two covers: Bruce Springsteen's "Thunder Road" and U2's "Where The Streets Have No Name" as well as a snippet of a song he's working on. The covers were very popular and we enjoyed a taste of a new song. Happy New Year all, or as the Cantonese say, Gung hay fat choy! It is the year of the monkey and I think it is going to be a great year--thanks Starsailor!

Bridget Jones's Nightmare

When you reach your later 20s, you find most of your friends start pairing off and marrying. They sacrifice their single days of drunkenness and debauchery for stability and responsibility--unless you are Britney Spears of course. Over the long weekend, I flew to California to witness one of my dearest friends who traveled to Paris and got lost in Wales with me marry one of her work colleagues on the beautiful California coast of Huntington Beach. I was immensely looking forward to this event and at the same time, slightly dreaded it. It was to be the weekend of couples.

Upon arriving Saturday evening, I went to stay with my friend Mimi and her husband Eitan in Los Angeles. I hadn't seen either of them since the World Series. Mimi and I had also spent much time in England together in our younger, more care free and stupid days. So when we moved to NYC together and she met Eitan, literally, 2 weeks after we moved into our apartment, I didn't think that she would be married to him. I mean, aren't you supposed to go off and date lots of people until you get that out of your system? Well, 4 years later, they were married and are very happy. (If she wasn't, he'd be in big effing trouble!) They are the picture of marital bliss: 2 bedroom apartment in the Palisades and a dog they rescued and named Kansas. You gotta love a dog that survived living under a SUV and having had most of her teeth broken in some freak car accident, still runs about like a happy puppy, enjoying the pampered life she never dreamed of having.

I'm not interested in being married in the near future--as a matter of fact, I don't have any plans to get the marriage rash for a few more years. But it is rather hard to maintain that perspective when most of your friends go off and find life partners. Case in point: Susan, another friend from my England days who would sit on the porch of Columbae with me drinking tea from jars, made a pact, a promise even, that she and I would remain devoutly single until we're at least 30. She betrayed me, shamelessly, by finding a nice young man that she plans on marrying one of these days. I can't fault her for it--he's a super great guy in comparison to the numerous schizophrenics that could have happened upon her--but I'm finding myself in that greater minority of Singletons. I don't mind the single life--I mind the lack of Singletons to enjoy it with.

What better place to meet many other Singletons than at a wedding, right? Oh no. You're more likely to meet Jimmy Hoffa than solo flyers. I was properly seated at a table with couples. What that usually means is I'm the entertainment for the evening--the brash single New York girl who is half a dozen Manolos away from being Carrie Bradshaw. I wore the Dragon shoes to inch myself a wee bit closer to being a proper Sex and the City girl. After numerous cocktails, I had to compose myself to take photos with the bride and groom and the other couples so they can remember me as "that drunken girl who made all those really funny comments. Tsk tsk."

Literally, it was Bridget Jones's worst nightmare--she'd describe it as an evening with lots of "smug married couples" and have to suffer through the "why don't you have a boyfriend" question about a hundred times. And since I've started reading "The Edge of Reason" which is the sequel to the first Jones novel, I was in quite that state of Bridget Jones-ing but without my urban family for support. Instead, I made a few drunken calls including one to Shenan who has grounded me from combining weddings, alcohol, and winter. She nearly banned me from weddings all together until we remembered we have friends getting married in the near future and I have to go. Honestly, though, it is true what they say about people who suddenly feel that urge to pair off--it is because all their friends are doing it and they don't have anymore single buddies to go on a pub crawl with ending up at Scores or karaoke until 4am when you hail a cab home, stumble into your tiny apartment and pass out with your cat. This isn't to say I have the itch though. I'm more reticent about it now than I was a year ago. I keep reminding myself about (1) the high divorce rate among those married in their 20s and (2) my Chinese fortune teller telling me not to get married before I am 29 or else I'll be divorced. Divorces are expensive--more so than any wedding and 29 seems to be a really sensible age, no? I mean, I think my eggs will still be good enough to pass my genes. Yeah, best not to mess with my Chinese fortune teller--he successfully predicts floods and acne breakouts too.

Year of the Dragon Footwear

In the Chinese zodiac, being born in the Year of the Dragon is supposed to be very lucky, blessing that person with all the charisma and power the spirits can afford. Then, there are a few exceptions like myself. After about 15 years of thinking I was actually a Snake, I came to find out being born early in January just sneaks me into the YOD. While I usually have my birthday forgotten or overlooked or just plain noboday is in town to celebrate it, my dear friends were kind enough to toss me a leetel partee. I had people come from the city of Manhattan and others from as far away as the coast of San Francisco to celebrate my aging process with chocolate fondue, a large-ass cup cake, and my Giuseppe Zanotti Dragon shoes. I've been drooling over these shoes for months and was ECSTATIC to get them.

Now, before I'm socked in that cubby hole as a Sex and the City shoe-a-holic: I buy Payless Shoes. I love Payless shoes. Okay, maybe I bought a couple Stuart Weitzman shoes. But with that exception, if the shoes cost $100, it better be a pair of tall black leather boots that'll last 5 years. I once bought a pair of Esprit sandals that I wore until there were literally holes in the soles of my shoes and I had to empty out the little pebbles that would occasionally creep inside and make me walk ridiculous enough to be admitted into the Ministry of Silly Walks. So, when I stumbled upon these pieces of art at Nieman Marcus, I almost decided to sell my ovaries for them... but after a doctor told me my eggs weren't in demand, I settled for the fact I would have to live the rest of my life having found the only shoes I ever wanted to marry go to some other lucky gal. So for months, I was in deep depression knowing my feet's sole mates weren't going to live happily ever after. That is, until my dear friends, Shenan and Lauren, threw me a birthday party and with the help of my transcontinental friends, brought my feet and those shoes together, for all eternity.

I think it is fair to say I am probably a bit hard on my friends for "forgetting" the day I popped out of my mother. I think it is more than fair to say that as much as I sometimes feel forgotten as we all sometimes do, I'm a self-victimizer. For all the times in the past when my birthday, of all days, was forgotten, I pass that fault on to all my friends now. If anything, it makes me a bad friend for not having more faith in those people who remember. Wow. I suck. Lesson learned. My friends are the most amazing people, the most thoughtful, and with the exception of a couple, the most beautiful. Here's to next year when maybe someone from Papua New Guinea will come and join us for some cake and we can represent both hemispheres.

A hui hou!

Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodbye till it be next year. One of the saddest things about returning home to a place as gloriously enchanting as Hawaii is having to leave. Two and a half weeks of my beautiful friends, my kooky family, the rolling blue waves, the warming sun, the unrelenting rain, the sweet kissing wind, the flaming stars in the pitch black sky, makes one turn into a blabbering idiot so that when you have to leave, you wax pathetic poetic. The fact is, no one wants to go from 80 degrees and sunny to 19 degrees and colder than a corpse in storage. The Honolulu International Airport doesn't make it easy on you either. As you approach the gates, you walk across a bridge that passes over the little Japanese Garden that more or less teases you: "Heh! Heh! There you go!" Hawaiians are nice, sure they are.

Once aboard, you can sit and look out the window at the last great view of the island, Diamond Head not too far off. You say to yourself, "You know, I could still leave. I could deplane and try for another flight... in a couple days." But then they do the sweetest thing to you--they shut the damn door and take off... 10 hours back to New York. Whoever invents teleportation is gonna make a killing.

Happy New Year Surfers!

Hauoli Makahiki Hou! That's Happy New Year for those who don't speak the very easy, phonetic, and beautiful Hawaiian language. New Year's in Hawaii is one of those nerve-wracking holidays... for drivers. Most people won't even venture out into the streets in a Hummer after 9pm for fear of those drunken drivers and firecracker throwing youths. Oh yes, more dangerous than any drunk driver is a lit firecracker thrown directly at your (sometimes open) window by some crazy local kids who think it is fun which have on past New Year's Eve resulted in numerous car accidents on the Pali and Likilike as you drive through Kalihi. This year, apparently, the kids behaved as I have not heard yet of any major accidents of New Year's. As a matter of fact, it was probably one of the safer ones with police officers and military patrolling every area on the island.

Dressed in black, I headed over to the W Hotel's Black Ball. Now, let me first point out that I won't wait in a line in New York City to get into any club or bar for more than about 5 minutes. So when we arrived at the W and saw a line about half a football field long with less than helpful bouncers at the door ("Say how long is the wait would you guesstimate?"--"Oh, I dunno."--"An hour?"--"Yeah, sure.") and many women dressed like, well, not like in New York City to get into a club unless it is an S&M club or they plan on working a corner, we decided to forgo waiting in a ridiculous line for a party that probably wasn't more than people trying to see who was dressed better and not having much fun. So we took our decked out selves to Tiki's Grill and Bar at the Aston Hotel on Kalakaua Avenue. We were most definitely overdressed, but who cares we were there to have a great time and watch the fireworks.

I have never bumped into a single alum from my high school on any random given night I have been out in Honolulu in over 4 years, but on New Year's Eve, I bumped into two. Neil and Jen, both a year my senior, were there partying it up with a prime spot on the lanai (balcony) to see the fireworks. I've always complained I didn't like meeting up with alums by accident because they often think you are the same person you were in high school and it is always an awkward situation where you tried to move on from said high school years and continue to grow as a person. Some people, never leave that high school mentality and I often wonder, is there a plus to living in the years that you peaked? I mean, truly, where do you go from there? I went to New York. I have to say, however, that when you do bump into people who have changed since those agonizing years of acne and cliques, it is usually a pleasure to see where they went, what they are doing--Neil teaches Special Education at Waipahu--and dare I say, I never thought he'd go that route--then again, I never thought I'd be a programmer.

As midnight approaches, people are in anticipation of the fireworks display. I have to be brutally honest and say that having one of the largest Chinese populations in the United States (the people who invented fireworks), our displays leave much to be desired. Last year's display was a full 15 minutes of pyrotechnic eye candy. This year was about 5 minutes of sparklers. I kept waiting for the grand finale... and I still am waiting.

We ventured onto Waikiki Beach to see if they would give us something more to look at, but were only given a couple more toots and smoke. People like to celebrate in their own unique ways and on Waikiki Beach, we had a slew of night swimmers. It is actually one of the most fun and exhiliarating activities--cleansing the spirit for the New Year, or whatever they want to say it is for. Some go in their swimsuits, some fully dressed. All splishing and splashing like 6 year old children.

On New Year's Day, I rang in the New Year as promised rain or shine, with surfing. The weather was rainy (thanks) and cloudy (perfect shark weather!) , but I went out to Waikiki Beach at an area known as Canoes by the Duke Kahanamoku statue--the first man of surfing who won a silver medal at the Olympics for swimming. The C&K Beachboy Service ran surf lessons for $35. You always start on a longboard as a newbie as they are easier to maneuver and you won't fall off trying to distribute your weight properly. Corbin gave us our land lesson--how to paddles out, lie on your board, turn, pop up, yadda, yadda. That's just logistics. We were then given out longboards and paddled out to our instructor, Shane (a real surfer transplanted from SoCal who was funny and kind enough to really help us catch a wave), for our water lesson. No matter what anyone tells you about surfing, you don't get a full body workout in your legs or abs or thighs. Why? Well, mostly because you don't do much standing that requires the use of those muscles. What you do get is a total upper arm workout from paddling--what you do about 90% of the time. When not actually riding a wave, you have to paddle out to where the waves start rolling in so you can paddle towards shore and then hopefully, get onto the wave as it starts to break under you. At this point, you get to your knees, bring your left leg forward so you are kneeling on the back leg (or right forward if you are left-handed), and then pivot the front foot as you bring your back leg up for an almost perpendicular foot to the board, knees bent, and ride that wave in until it dissipates or you fall off. Then, you turn your board around and paddle back out. Lacey and I had a great time with the rain letting up enough for us to paddle out several times. I was very fortunate to get up on the very first wave I was given and I can't tell you how much of a rush it is to be standing there, on a piece of foam, with the speed of water pushing you forward and the foamy water washing over your feet. All I can say is WOW. Why in chocolate's name did I not try this sooner? Probably my fear of drowning. I can't quite compare it to anything--you just have to try it. Surfing is one of those things that, like skiing, you have to at least try once until you catch a wave. Of course, you use less equipment and get a tan while doing it.

Let me make one more note about surfing: sharks. Now everyone, for one reason or another is afraid of sharks--thanks to Jaws. I probably went on a day that was perfect for sharks to come out and grab a bite out of someone. Why? Cloudy weather. When it is cloudy, the water looks rather murky which is what the sharks like because they don't like to be seen--contrary to what you get in the movies. They eat sea turtles and seals and fish. The ones people worry about (Tiger Sharks) barely make it in to chomp on anyone because, in Waikiki, the sharks don't want to get caught between the shore and the reef--no food. And shark attacks are so rare--you are more likely to be bashed in the head by your surfboard than even glimpse a nurse shark--worry about jellyfish instead.. those you can see and avoid and they don't chase you. For those who still worry about razormouths, good note: if there are people further out than you on their boards, they are more likely to be attacked than you.