Back in the day…

There is a concert venue in downtown Minneapolis called “First Avenue”.  Attached to it is a much less assuming venue called “7th Street Entry”.  I was just sitting here trying to tally an approximate number of hours spent between these two spots and I just can’t.

It has to be hundreds, if not thousands of hours.

When I moved to Minneapolis to go to college I quickly figured out that all age concerts were great entertainment, and the more shows you went to, the more free tickets you could acquire.  First Ave made/makes a practice of handing them to you as you walk in the door.  I went to shows for bands I’d never heard of, bands I couldn’t remember if I liked, bands I knew I liked, bands I knew I loved, local artists, national artists, bands from all over the world.  I went to everything that I could drag people to go to with me… and sometimes I went alone.  After turning 21, I expanded my concert going horizons to include the 21 and over shows.  I also learned that First Avenue nearly always kept 100 tickets or so to sell at the door for those who didn’t find out about shows until they were sold out.  I’ve stood in line for bands and nearly always gotten in.

I loved the music, the excitement, the people watching, the dancing, the dark nasty smokey sweaty crappiness of it all.  I loved 2fers on premium on tap.  I loved that on a minutes notice I could have something fun to do.  I loved the anticipation of reading The City Pages and seeing what bands were coming and clammering for tickets.

It seems that my concert going has faded quite a bit in the last couple of years.  Staying in my hometown makes getting there on short notice more of an issue.  I work evenings now, so add in the rushing downtown factor.  We all seem to be busier these days as our obligations and responsibilities build up. 

I keep thinking I should dig out my ice cream pail of concert ticket stubs and write a book of sorts…

but then I think of how much work that would be and do something else.

My something else for today?

I’m playing hookie from work, driving up to Minneapolis from my dad’s house and standing in line for last minute Hold Steady tickets at First Avenue.

So if you’re driving down 7th Street towards First Ave…. drop off a sandwich and some soda. I’ll be there.

 

Says me.

Dog days of summer….

I have no idea what that means, the dog days of summer, so I just looked it up.

1 : the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere
2 : a period of stagnation or inactivity

Ok… that’s not what it’s meaning to me this year.

Dogs are not for everyone. Some people are allergic. Some people are logical and practical about the cost of keeping a dog and the ongoing maintenance of cleaning up after them and the destruction they like to create. Some people prefer the cool independence and unpredictability of cats.

I’m a dog person. I come from a family that had dogs. I have a dog. Dad has a dog. My brother and nephew dog-sit the dogs. Dogs are part of my family’s life.

We like em… except when they are dumb or expensive.

Precious moments are when they cuddle with each other or you.

Not so precious moments are like the third time you find they’ve wrestled in the house and knocked over their gallon water bucket… that you just happened to have filled.

Dad’s dog, Brixi, is the first girl dog we’ve had, and she’s endearing in surprising ways. For such a small dog she has attitude like a pro-wrestler in the ring. When you tell her to do something she always seems to cock her head in a manner that says, “Seriously?” First time response from her is unheard of. She is relentless in her pursuit of cuddles. You can be furious as she gets into the garbage in 3 seconds flat, and then an hour later she does that face where her jowls get caught on her teeth and she just looks so pathetic and adorable.

She’s had a rough summer this year having been diagnosed with two forms of blood born illness, including Lyme’s disease and then being left in my care for the summer as dad went to play in Alaska.

A few weeks ago I was still worried about her pot bellied pig look, so while taking my dog, Baxter, to the vet I dragged her along with me. X-rays revealed she had a large mass in her abdomen and surgery was scheduled for later on that week.

It turns out that our little girl has a very nasty form of ovarian cancer. It is quite rare, so they don’t have a lot of experience in treating it, and it has a high rate of metastases, meaning it is likely to spread to other areas.

Brixi’s pathology reports indicate that it has already gone into her lymph nodes, so while her surgery to remove the cancerous ovary (all 7 pounds of it!!) was very successful, we did not get all of the cancer out.

She is feeling great and back to her old self now that she is done with Lyme’s and has all that extra weight and pressure out of her belly; however, they tell us the cancer could very well run it’s course in about 6 months.

Dog days is what we’re having this summer. While I’d prefer to not associate my dad’s dog with my mother, the whole experience is bringing back a flood of memories for me.

Between common terminology and having to make heart breaking phone calls, I’m feeling like this is just too soon for illness in our family.

She’s just a dog…. but she’s our dog. Our little girl. Our princess. So we will play and romp and get into stuff. We will eat treats we’re not supposed to and go places that we might not have gone otherwise. We will maximize our time and enjoy our dog days.

She doesn’t know it yet, but her Pau-Pau is coming back tomorrow. Matt is getting dad at the airport tomorrow evening and driving him down. I’m sure the reunion will be…

well…

knowing dad it will be anti-climactic, but his little girl will be thrilled….

both his little girls, that is.

Says Sarah.