While I was listening to The Soundtrack of Our Lives make the air of the venue shake with an intense vibration of rhythmic thunder and complaining in my head about the beer in New York City being so damn overpriced, I casually looked to my left only to find Steven van Zandt standing right next to me. In all of his gypsy bandana glory, holy shit.
What followed was a rather ridiculous internal monologue:
'oh shit, i'm standing next to steven van zandt! don't stare. stay cool. quick, look straight ahead. no, wait, are you sure? ok, look again but keep your head still. square head, unmistakable bandana. i'll be damned, it's him. it's fuckn' silvio. bruce's right hand man. little steven van zandt. maybe some of his musician-ness will float in the small amount of air between us and absorb into my skin. unbelievable. he smells like...coconut oil. that's interesting. i wonder why he smells like coconut oil? maybe he got a massage today...maybe it's his aftershave. people don't usually smell like coconut oil unless they've been at the beach. it was way too cold to be at the beach today...why do sunscreen companies make their lotions smell like coconut oil instead of other tropical things?...'
On and on, thoughts of coconut oil for probably a good five minutes. I stopped paying attention to anything else and thought only of coconut oil.
My first time seeing a show at the Bowery Ballroom. I talked with the opening band. Got hit on by a very awkward guy who took the bus there from Pennsylvania. Walked through an unusual amount of old school big stogie type music industry execs. But all I could keep thinking about was: Little Steven van Zandt smells like coconut oil.
My brain really doesn't make sense sometimes.
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