2.7 Is it too late to tell you that I don’t mind

Well the Chicago callback list was posted this morning (I’ll admit I was a little obsessive in checking for it. Work. Refresh. Work Refresh. Refresh.), and my name wasn’t on it. So that means no callbacks tonight. And no show for me.

It also means that in just a few hours

I should set myself with such a sweet deal every time I audition for something! That way the opportunity cost is not so jarring. (Reaching back to 7th grade Social Studies for that one, folks.) Of course I hadn’t planned it this way; the blizzard moved the auditions up a week. But it’s a lovely little turn of events, and honestly I couldn’t be more pleased.

Twice before I’ve been set up to see The Decemberists and for various reasons (breakups, canceled trips, and the like), I’ve had to miss the show at the last minute. Barring any unforeseen snow issues between here & KC, tonight a dream 5 years in the making will be fulfilled.

It was 5 years or so ago that I first fell in love with this band. I can point to the moment exactly. I worked at a summer camp for gifted kids in 2005 (Missouri Scholars Academy at MU. I’ve sung its praises many times before, so that’s a love post for another day.), and we made an RA staff mix CD at the end of camp. (LOVE group mix CDs too!!) Matt Peterworth, or Petie as he was affectionately known, put “Red Right Ankle” on the mix, and this was the first time I’d heard of or heard The Decemberists. Petie and I had a sort of non-romance summer romance that summer, including dorkily cute moments like a matchbox with “you light up my life” written inside. Barf barf barf.

Once I got home to Springfield, I borrowed the Picaresque album from a friend, but I didn’t really listen to it for a full year. Fast forward to fall 2006. I can still remember sitting at my eMac (how archaic does that sound?) in my hall director apartment and listening to “The Engine Driver” for the first time, then putting it on my myspace page (how archaic does that sound?). And I just fell, and fell, and fell in love.

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

I mean, imagine yourself at 23, post-graduation, pre-quarter-life-crisis, mid-never-ending-on & off-relationship… It was just speaking directly to me.

And no matter how much it makes me a cliche lit hipster (or how much people ask me if I’m listening to John Denver in my car. True story. Last week.), I still love, but love, this band.