(Yes, we were that close! No zoom action needed! Photo taken by Erika Peterson.)

   May 9th, 2007 marked my and Erika's second Theymas; a new ritual of gigantic proportions. My sister, Allison,
tagged along, new to the greatness that can only be explained as the fabulous John duo. We went for a round
of Pina Colada Italian ices at the nearest Rita's (Erika got passion fruit; always wanting to be different, y'know)
and slurped them quickly as we saw a trickle of people beginning to fill in the portal between the sweet, sultry
sights of Millvale (...) and the Gothic beauty within - hee, get it? - so we hupped-to up that lengthy staircase
and I felt the excitement mount up in me again remembering every detail of last year's They Might Be Giant's
concert where we just got in before the show sold out. Luckily, this year we bought our tickets online -
and, trust me, it was worth the $10.50 "service fee" (bullocks). We arrived at Mr. Smalls around 6:30, received
a complimentary drug-check, and maybe actually entered the doors around 7:10, so all-in-all not too
shabby. We were somewhere in limbo between being in the middle of the line and the beginning of the line.

   We went, we saw, I had to pee. Erika and Allison humbly held my spot at the right-front of the stage (next to
the amplifier) and shuffled to the little alt-girl's room. I opened the door, fluffed my hair some, and stared in
horror of what was within. Drapes. No doors, just velvet-soft, blood-red drapes. I padded the one at the end of
the line softly, hoping now to hear a Satanic growling from within. Satisfied, I hustled, pulling my too-tight
jeans down in one gratifying swoop, pissed quickly, and managed to wipe every thing when I heard two rockin'
chicas enter the domain. I pulled my jeans up in another gratifying swoop and before one of two alt-girls could
enter my "stall" I tripped my way out and to the sink to relieve my skin of any germs that could have made it to
my skin (impossible! I am perfection).

   More waiting, as I returned to my spot next to the speaker; the crowd more voluminous and silky than before
and quite a handful to "excuse me; pardon me" through. Already there was a thick, underlying veil of blue
cigarette smoke of could amount to hundreds of butts. Apparently, I have not been to enough concerts.

   Waiting, waiting. And then without introduction this skinny, fuzzy-faced man, dressed in plaid and with a
relaxed air about him sat regally in a chair and crossed his long legs. For what seemed like hours, this man
played record upon spinning, wikka-wikka record of the most obscure music imaginable. I, however, recognized
one song, "Cry Baby Cry", and Erika sang along in Punjab to an Indian song about drugs. The night
just became more unreal to me after that. He would occasionally stand up to stretch and shake a tailfeather,
but then sit down as proper as before. The man ended up being Nighttime Gallagher, the opening
act, which I only figured out after he didn't leave the stage after a half-hour. A long half-hour of confusion. I
certainly have not been to enough concerts.

   And then there They were! They Might Be Fucking Giants, right in front of me. Even closer to me than last
year. A band I have been listening to for the majority of my life and there they fuckin' were, man!

   I predicted the first song, which was "Ana Ng" - easily one of my favorites - and They introduced a lot of new
stuff from a soon-to-be-released album called "The Else". Ah, but of course they had to play "Mr. Smalls"! If
Pittsburgh's gateway to tourism is being "the most 'livable,'" or "city with the stairs," or "second most polluted
city" then it will be put to shame. What's more for a token of success than a They Might Be Giants song written
about your most famous venue? Shaaazam.

   I really am not crazy; I just love this band.

   I caught myself many times staring intently into the eyes of John Linnell as if I were lighting upon the face of
a god. A titan. A fucking Giant. I mean we were right there, man. We were so close I could see the outline of
Linnell's nipples. And his shoes were white Converses. Fan-tas-tic! Making love to the mic (its the best way to
describe closed-eye Linnell's performance), playing the hell out of his Main Squeeze... Standing at the pulpit of
an old church saying "I'm going to play the FUCK out of this thing." It was the most sacrilicious experience of
my life; and I've had many.

   Well, maybe I am a tad overboard here. But if I have to be crazy about one thing in my life, it would have to
be the They Might Be Giants, sorry. As I received the first handed-out water bottle of the night, I think I
deserve to feel special. However, I would've felt more special if it weren't for that yuppy bitch (ohnoz!) who
stole LINNELL'S set list away from me...

   The last song of the night was, again, "Dr. Worm". A very good note to end on, I should think! However,
something even better occurred after the show.

   For some reason, Erika, Allison, and I were walking the opposite or wrong way down Mr. Smalls' street and I
passed a familiar face, but I couldn't tell if I knew him or not. I must have been an inch away when passing and
my vision is, admittedly, not the best when close-up. I recognized the eyebrows for sure; they were my half-
sister, Autumn's. I knew it was her brother, Ian, who used to be my stepbrother. Due to our families' conflicting
past, I did not if it'd be kosher to go and say "hey" or not... I don't know what forced his name out of my
throat, but when Ian's friends were pulling him away I called to him. At first he didn't recognize me, and who
could blame him? I was twelve or thirteen when he last saw Allison and I and he has to be over twenty-five
now. Another strange thing about all this, Ian was the one who introduced me to the They Might Be Giants
when I was around seven (to nine) years old! We BSed for a while. It was great to see him again. He's a lot
shorter than I remember, yet again I'm a lot taller, aren't I?

   But, yeah, that definitely made my night.

   Besides Erika being hit on by this creepin' bicyclist.