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[05 Feb 2005|03:37pm] |
Don't you love it when you have an incredibly nosy, intrusive younger sibling who breaks into your livejournal and then miscontrues everything you say and then proceeds to show it to your parents? Yeah. I love that too.
I won't be posting in this journal anymore. When I get a new name, I'll let all of you on my friends list know.
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[22 Nov 2004|05:02pm] |
I know, everyone is doing this. But help a girl out. You want me to get a free iPod, right? I need only 5 people to click here and follow the directions. Please. Please please :)
--Morgan
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[15 Jul 2004|09:43pm] |
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Hmmm. I've made my new entries friends only, starting a while ago. I thought that maybe you should know. If you aren't on my list, I'll add you. I'm really that generous. Just leave your name, bitch.
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[29 Mar 2004|05:56pm] |
Hanson. At a radio station two hours away, playing a small acoustic set for the depressingly small group of people that the station's fire code will allow. This is only a few days away. This will be amazing. They have never been to Maine before.
The only way to get one of the twelve (!) tickets is to obediently call in when the DJs tell you to and guess the number they are thinking in twenty seconds (what the FUCK). If I don't win I will be listening from my car radio--which barely picks up the frequency, which is perhaps the most depressing part of all. There are only four pairs left. I am partly Irish but hardly lucky. Pray for me.
--Morgan
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[23 Feb 2004|02:04pm] |
I am freshly back from Kentucky and it's semi-warmness and already counting the days to April vacation and my first glimpse at Colorado Springs. 7 weeks, 4 days.
This is something fascinating to me: the way that everyone loves Keven as much as I do. Not that he is loved, but to the degree of which they love him. Everyone around him--friends, parents of friends, clerks and waitresses, random captains, majors, etc.--gets sucked in by his charm and his huge blue eyes, the way he says what he thinks and what he thinks will make you laugh. I got to meet his new, army friends and for one whole night (an Italian restaurant in Louisville with smoky low lighting and roses at all of the tables) I sat back and watched how they watched him. It was mesmerizing, just watching. So funny to see other people feel how you feel.
I feel awful just saying this, but the immediate vicinity of Fort Knox is not pretty. Really. Fifteen minutes in either direction and you're safe; Elizabethtown or up the highway towards Louisvile. But driving down the main road in Radcliff (oh God I hope none of you live there), the dusty run-downness of the buildings and houses was fascinating in a terribly depressing way. I looked up once and saw a dead cat in the yard of a deserted carwash and almost cried.
So I hear that, since this was my last Kentucky run, Orlando Bloom is filming a movie nearby there in late spring. This is the story of my life.
--Morgan
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[10 Feb 2004|05:22pm] |
Bought: An antique chair with wooden arms and an upholstered seat, which blew my budget. Two quilted down jackets from the Gap (one red, one orange), $10 a piece, which did nothing but make me insanely happy in an "I'm so frugal" kind of way.
Three Recent Accomplishments of the Brag-Worthy Variety: Today I ran (!) 1.5 miles, no stops needed; managed to go a whole morning without screaming at my resident Satan (i.e., the boy who spits in my face every time I tell him to take my toy cars out of his pocket and can not, under any circumstances, become sick in order to give me a day off); walked through the entire mall without spending more than my preset budget (see Gap purchases, above).
?: Why is Hanson on tour again? Can anyone explain this to me? This question would, of course, not even enter my mind if it was possible for me to go. Add a Boston show, please?
--Morgan
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[28 Jan 2004|07:22pm] |
Life: Right now I have a newsletter to write, an observation to prepare for. I should be thinking of an appropriate art activity to keep 10 preschoolers busy and calm for 25 minutes before lunch tomorrow morning. I have to print out the lyrics of "How Sweet It Is," because that's what we're singing for the Valentine's Day assembly, because 4 year old's shaking it to James Taylor lyrics is just so damn cute. Plus I'm a crazy perfectionist, and I was out done by kindergarten at the Christmas assembly. Never again. I have no idea what I'm going to wear tomorrow and I have to pick out flowers before the florist interview, directly after school, and I have no idea what I want. Roses? Delphinium? Wax Flower or Baby's Breath? I don't know if I want to opt for the messy paint project at center time, because it is directly before music class, and my best friend just called with her new unit ideas for her preschool class and I'm such a damn lazy and uncreative teacher (bird seed on starfish cutouts??), and all I want to do is sit down and watch American Idol and the Bachlorette, because they are trashy and hugely relaxing. I want to relax. My mind never slows down.
Love: Last week at this time, I was one phone call away from staying single on into this September and beyond. I don't know why I didn't call, but I also can't really remember why I wanted to in the first place.
Happiness: I am fantastically in love with my puppy. He sleeps on my pillow at night, curled around my head, and, in the last seven weeks, has gained one tenth of a pound. The grand total is two.
I was rifling through this week's In Touch magazine in line at the Walmart checkout today; on page 91, bizarrely, is the building a mile from my house that burned down about a week ago. The picture is gorgeous--16 below, 10 inches of ice and three feet of frozen mist on the ground--but what I saw that day was better: the same coat of ice, the same spray, only nighttime and orangey-red tongues of fire curling from all of the windows. It was horribly beautiful.
--Morgan
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[28 Jan 2004|07:22pm] |
Life: Right now I have a newsletter to write, an observation to prepare for. I should be thinking of an appropriate art activity to keep 10 preschoolers busy and calm for 25 minutes before lunch tomorrow morning. I have to print out the lyrics of "How Sweet It Is," because that's what we're singing for the Valentine's Day assembly, because 4 year old's shaking it to James Taylor lyrics is just so damn cute. Plus I'm a crazy perfectionist, and I was out done by kindergarten at the Christmas assembly. Never again. I have no idea what I'm going to wear tomorrow and I have to pick out flowers before the florist interview, directly after school, and I have no idea what I want. Roses? Delphinium? Wax Flower or Baby's Breath? I don't know if I want to opt for the messy paint project at center time, because it is directly before music class, and my best friend just called with her new unit ideas for her preschool class and I'm such a damn lazy and uncreative teacher (bird seed on starfish cutouts??), and all I want to do is sit down and watch American Idol and the Bachlorette, because they are trashy and hugely relaxing. I want to relax. My mind never slows down.
Love: Last week at this time, I was one phone call away from staying single on into this September and beyond. I don't know why I didn't call, but I also can't really remember why I wanted to in the first place.
Happiness: I am fantastically in love with my puppy. He sleeps on my pillow at night, curled around my head, and, in the last seven weeks, has gained one tenth of a pound. The grand total is two.
I was rifling through this week's In Touch magazine in line at the Walmart checkout today; on page 91, bizzarely, is the building a mile from my house that burned down about a week ago. The picture is gorgeous--16 below, 10 inches of ice and three feet of frozen mist on the ground--but what I saw that day was better: the same coat of ice, the same spray, only nighttime and orangey-red tongues of fire curling from all of the windows. It was horribly beautiful.
--Morgan
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[10 Jan 2004|07:04pm] |
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Happenings of Minor Concern:
Seventh Grade Girl: Who are you?
Me: Me? I'm the preschool teacher.
Seventh Grade Girl: Are you sure?
Me: What do you mean, am I sure? Yes, I am.
Seventh Grade Girl: ...Because you look too young to be a real teacher. A helper, maybe.
Me: Actually I'm 22.
Seventh Grade Girl: No way! You look like you're twelve!
Me: Yeah? So do you.
Seventh Grade Girl: But I am twelve.
Me: Oh.
Weight: I think I'm getting fat. Well, not think. Am. I gained 5 pounds over Christmas break, which is both hugely disturbing and fascinating all at the same time. I have a new softness around the back of my hips and my lawn-mowing arms are long gone. Which isn't good, considering I have umpteen wedding dresses to try on next weekend and can't deal with the emotional repercussions of look paste-white and flabby in every. Single. Dress. Which brings me to:
Morgan's New Year's Resolutions (1 Week Late):
1. Lose aforementioned 5 pounds.
2. Become better preschool teacher. Read Mailbox magazine, draw more smiley faces on worksheets, don't roll eyes when asked questions such as, "Is it time for recess yet?" fourteen times in a row between 8:00 and 8:20. By the same kid.
3. Save money. Lots and lots of money.
4. Pilates: twice a week. Gym: five times.
5. Let fiance make minor decisions in wedding planning (even if it causes you to grind teeth in frustration, and as long as said decisions do not include axing the photographer.)
6. Knit lots and lots of bright colored, ridiculous scarves. Give to everyone you know.
*Morgan
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[07 Jan 2004|07:42pm] |
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?:Why does the act of getting married totally make you hate the person you are getting married to? ("Look, the first thing we need to do to cut costs is get rid of all of this fluff. Like the photographer." The photographer, for Christ's sake.)
*Just finished The Da Vinci Code. Brillant, loved it, though that simple fact makes me feel suspiciously sleazy and uncultured. Probably because throughout the novel I had the sneaking sense that I was actually reading a Christopher Pike book, only with big words.
*Winter in Maine is like hell. No, not like. Is. Hell. Right now it is 5 degrees, not counting wind chill. There is a breeze running through the center of my bedroom; I am wearing my down vest, and all I really want is to be curled up on a beach somewhere with a bathing suit on and a sleazy fluff magazine, like Glamour.
Last night, my puppy was sleeping so soundly that he actually wet his bed. I have never heard of that before.
--Morgan
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[04 Jan 2004|06:09pm] |
So he's leaving again and this is something I am used to. My fingers on the steering wheel are white-knuckle tight (and this is mostly because of slick Maine-in-January roads, but not entirely) and there is an ache and hum in the back of my brain. It is airport time, airplane ticket and luggage ready time, drive home alone time, listening to his bad music because I'm afraid to change the station.
On the way we stop and eat at a place near the river, one with a parking lot clogged with water and ice; the hem of my jeans soak it in as I walk to the door slowly, slowly. His hands are warm, steady. Inside we eat clam chowder that's too hot to swallow, but I do, anyway, and I wonder if it's possible to get real Maine clam chowder anywhere else. Say, Colorado. Out loud I ask him when his plane is leaving. He says we should leave soon.
The airport is hot and steamy and the air smells thick like milk. There are children, more than I have ever seen here, harried parents. A tiny, beautiful girl in velvet pants perched on a teal green vinyl airport bench. College kids who look older than the two of us. He checks in while I stand fidgeting, leaning from foot to foot.
His plane doesn't leave for another hour but he decides to go in through security; this is what he does, always. By this time I am sad in a droopy and tired sort of way, always, and I know these next few minutes aren't worth anything anyway. I hate to cry in airports so I lean in without looking him in the eye but kiss his mouth hard. I drive home listening to his music, soft, but I don't cry.
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| Lists.... |
[29 Dec 2003|01:32pm] |
Received:
*Pirates of the Carribean DVD
*Way too many Gap clothes (sweaters, t-shirts, khaki pants, etc.)
*Various foods that will make me fat
*Stickers, hole punches, and silly scissors for scrapbooking
*Pilates hoop and band
*Three pairs of suede sneakers in various shades of blue
*Baby chandelier earrings, because I am a fashion wuss
*6 new silver charms for my bracelet (a cross, an airplane, an "M", a sneaker, a mini handmirror and a tiny book)
*Nailpolish and various other girly things
*Socks
*Gift certificates (Mall, Gap--like I need that, Border's)
*The Da Vinci Code and The Girl with the Pearl Earring
*Several kid's books, including When Sophie Gets Angry--Really, Really Angry and *No, David!--a personal favorite
*A leash and collar for Henry--click.
*From the in-laws (or soon-to-be): a pink American Eagle shirt, a silver necklace, a handmade scarf, a beautiful cooking pot and and a manicure gift certificate
*From the boy: black Calvin Klein shirt, earrings, sneakers
It's Raining: Yesterday I had my first bridal shower. Bridal showers are so completely bizzare, I can almost understand why Keven didn't want us to have any. Almost, but not quite, because we have nothing between us. NOTHING. The loot (we made a killing):
*An entire Calphalon pot and pan set
*Eight place settings of Fiestaware
*Silverware
*Toaster oven
*Towels, white
*A cookbook, set of bakeware
*Various cooking utensils
*A huge crockpot
*Glassware set
*Three Italian serving platters...gorgeous
*Dish towels, pot holders
*Cassarole dishes
*Other stuff, seeing as how I am too lazy to go downstairs and see what else is piled in the living room.
Gym calls, Morgan
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[04 Dec 2003|07:56pm] |
Things:
*Oh my gosh. My new dog. I could just eat him up, all 1.6 pounds of him.
*I survived parent/teacher conferences, but barely. After 17 I had thoroughly lost my voice (the cold didn't help), and my head felt like it was being pulled apart at the seams. Not that my head has seams.
*There's this Christmas assembly, right? On the 19th. And every class, from preschool up to eighth grade, has to do some type of performance, which is just ridiculous to begin with. Entertainment by force. And no one seems to realize that, yeah, I have 20 4-year-olds, 19 of which seem to come to school shot up with straight heroin every morning, and there is no way I can squeeze them into raindeer headbands for some fucking stupid pageant, which is basically just a glorified picture-taking session anyway. Christ.
*While I'm swearing and getting angry, I am packing the damn weight on lately. Thanksgiving Day alone, I gained 4 pounds. This is a true story.
The night before Christmas break there is a staff party at my superintendent's house. As soon as I heard, all I could think about was sitting behind that very house in a bikini, circa 1994, gabbing and eating Cheetos with the super's daughter. And now he is my colleague. That is. Too. Weird.
*Mark your calendars, boys and girls. Next August 28, Morgan is getting married.
--Morgan
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| Um. |
[15 Nov 2003|11:04pm] |
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A puppy. Questionable parentage. Cream-colored, sad eyes. Fit-in-your-palm tiny. Ready to go home in two weeks. My fiance is going to kill me.
--Morgan
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[12 Nov 2003|04:15pm] |
In Retrospect: No, this has nothing to do with my ridiculous rambling of a story. But it is about Hanson.
*I think that seeing Hanson in concert really fucks me up emotionally, even if said concert was viewed through blurry contacts from the dress circle, heard through the haze of the shrieking bouncing wonder that is Hanson's mass audience. I mean, every time I thought about the show this weekend, I cried.
*I feel bad for acting cranky about the show in my last entry. I think this has more to do with the fact that this show (the performance itself; we aren't talking holy amazing concert hall, here) was startlingly regular, for me, compared to the Buffalo show (aka, The High Point of Morgan's Life. Well, nearly). I mean, it was great, yeah. But it didn't touch me; I felt like I was watching the whole thing from outside of a huge glass bubble. And I was, sort of. After the whole thing was over with, I felt like it hadn't even happened in the first place.
*I feel the need to mention this, because I think I was rather ambiguous in my last entry. After the show we went back to the hotel, dropped off merchandise, got more money, then went to the Hard Rock Cafe. The Hanson family was there. We didn't know this beforehand; we were just hungry, we went to eat and there they were. Alright.
Worth Mentioning:
*Taylor. Are you wearing a dirty t-shirt? At Carnegie Hall?
*Tightrope. Holy amazing song. And when he played, Zac had his right foot in front of him, his left leg bent off the side so his knee was almost touching the ground. This amused me like nothing else.
*Uh, Isaac really rocked out at the end of Hand in Hand, huh? Like, almost too much. Almost enough so you were embarrassed to look at him, like you were witnessing this private emotional breakdown. Closed eyes, rhythmic rocking, near collapse over guitar at conclusion. Mikaela laughed out loud.
Dust: I have to say this. If you live in Radcliff, Kentucky, I am very, very sorry. Cause your town sucks, and that's too bad. What is even worse is the prospect of me living there, circa 2005.
*That said, I had a great weekend in Kentucky. This has a lot to do with the fact that it was the longest amount of time I have spent with Keven since late July. That's four days, folks. How freaking sad.
*The Detroit airport is my new favorite place. I can't wait to visit Kentucky, again, just to switch planes in Detroit and walk through that great blue-lit tunnel and ride the tram through the sleek glass and metal terminal.
*We took a lantern tour of the Mammoth Caves, somewhere in Kentucky. About a quarter of a mile in there are little stone huts, the remnants of a tuberculosis 'hospital' from the early 1800's, right there in the cold and dark and dust. They all died--the patients. It was creepy and fascinating and wonderful. I loved it the same way I love cemeteries; I wanted to crawl into the nearest little house and think about it, read the 1820's graffiti and let the dark seep in and think and think and think.
--Morgan
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| Views From the Dress Circle: |
[06 Nov 2003|06:07pm] |
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I want to be brimming over with slick sparkly Hanson wonderfulness. I want to be raving about the energy, the amazing moments, the details and funny things they said and the way they owned the place. But I'm not, and I can't. Because there really isn't anything much to say about Carnegie Hall. I mean, from the dress circle--still relatively close, if you paw back through Hanson history, and compare it to sitting in nose-bleed seats at Hershey Park where I could just make them out, specks of blond nearly swallowed by black stage--there was very little magic. The music was still wonderful, harmonies right on, everything tight and perfect (except for one teensy mis-clash of the piano keys midway through Zac's utterly gorgeous solo--Tightrope??). That said, the atmosphere was stiff, too formal, even if it was Carnegie Hall. If I am not mistaken, Hanson psyched themselves out with all of this, "biggest show of our career" stuff. It was beautiful, but it was impersonal; there was very little interaction with the crowd, not much of anything for pre-song Hanson banter. The one time Taylor really ventured to say anything besides "Are you guys having a good time?" or "Let's bring it down a little", he lost where he was going and had to be saved, midsentence, by Isaac ("So many amazing musicians have played at this...this..." "...Amazing place!").
That said, I wish I had have had seats close enough to see their faces. I think it would have felt different.
You know those fans that you wish didn't even show up at Hanson concerts, let alone sit in front of you at Carnegie Hall? The ones that are screaming, "I love you, Zac!" at all the wrong moments (is there really a right moment, anymore?), standing in the aisles where they are completely blocking the view of your little sister--and then don't move when you inform them of this fact--and constantly bounce, braless and hands swinging above their heads, through the whole show, even when Taylor was spilling his very guts on the piano keys during his solo. This is the reality of my Hanson concert experience--seven shows strong now. I look around where everyone else is behaving, and I think to myself, why? Why am I surrounded by inconsiderate fifteen-year-old weirdos at EVERY SINGLE SHOW???
After the show, we bought our merchandise from Jessica Hanson--who is startingly tall and beautiful and has Taylor's eyes exactly--and headed down to the Hard Rock Cafe for dessert. They did too. Hanson's family, I mean. They took up three or four tables, counting friends (and two black-robed ladies who were involved in deep conversation with Diana the entire time--nuns? Muslims?), and by the time the waiter came I had noticed who they were, and when he asked, "Are you with this party, over here?" I nearly said yes. From my vantange point the only one I could really see was Ezra, and he is so wide-eyed and serious looking I almost felt bad for even occasionally glancing at him. He looks nearly nothing like Taylor, or Natalie, for that matter--his hair is bright red, his eyebrows are not visible, but he has Taylor's nose. Everytime a song came on with a good beat, he starting dancing in his highchair. Mackenzie made eyes at my sister Mikaela, and then announced loudly to a late-coming friend, pointing to two tables near ours, "That table and that table are fans." He was right, of course. They were all very normal, regular people--loud, excited, the younger kids up and skirting around tables and waiters, knocking into chairs--something like how my family is when we are all in New York together, eating dinner. I wanted their sons to show up, but they never did.
Have to pack to leave again tomorrow afternoon for Kentucky--more later.
--Morgan
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[30 Oct 2003|05:30pm] |
On My Mind: Painting paperbag pumpkins with four-year-olds is something you should never do with khaki pants on. Not only do I have orange rimmed around my fingernails and streaked through my hair, but my new Tommy Hilfiger khakis ($24.00, TJ Maxx) are ruined.
*I have one hell of a hangnail; all of my nails are broken.
*My favorite little boy at school told me he loves me.
*It was gorgeous here today. Everything golden brown, warm air, but something about how autumn light falls, its weak yellowy slant, gives me a funny sadness in the pit of my stomach. I want nothing more in fall than to be someplace other than where I happen to be.
*Wednesday night, 12:30. I am sleeping. Keven calls, even though he has to get up well before daybreak, because he wants to talk about having kids. I'm rational, even straight out of a warm sleep, and tell him we have plenty of time to talk about kids, to have them. We aren't even married yet. He says he knows, yeah, but he had to tell me that he has decided he wants three girls, two years between. He wants to dress them up in matching dresses and put their hair in braids and walk with them, in height order. He wants them to have dark hair and eyes and name them all Morgan. He is only half joking. Wouldn't that be confusing, I say, starting to fall back asleep. All of us having the same name. No, no, he says. We'd work something out. I like Grace best, for a girl. He knows this, but I say it again, anyway. He says Morgan is the most beautiful name in the world. This is the boy I am engaged to.
*I love radio interviews with Hanson. I love how they stumble over each other, trying to be the first, the best to say it. Whatever it is. I love it when Zac is just slightly, breezily obnoxious. I love to hear Taylor talk, the eagerness. You just know his hands are flailing wildly, he's spitting everywhere. I love how they bring each other back, explain for missteps in conversation the other may have took, because they really did know where their brother was going in the first place. I love Taylor for the simple fact that he had to think, in that radio station in Atlanta, who the last person he said 'I love you' to was, because you just know he says it probably every 3.5 seconds. That kid kills me.
*My trouble kid, the one I've spent the last two months trying not to slap? I'm fixing him. He really can be fixed. Thank you, Jesus.
--Morgan
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[26 Oct 2003|04:00pm] |
*I woke up this morning with a delicious ache in my shoulders and back, the direct result of 7 and a half straight hours of raking.
*Ever since I started working a 'real' job ('real' maybe being too strong a word), I am having an extremely hard time relaxing on weekends. I want to workout. I want to run errands. I would rather be going somewhere than just sitting on the computer, like I am now. I'm only doing it, now, because I don't have any money left. I need to save for a wedding.
*That being said, the only thing I want to do today was drive the two hours down to Portland (where you go when you can't get to Boston, if you live in Maine) and shop for wedding dresses. Especially, I wanted to visit David's Bridal at the mall, where--housed in ugly concrete walls, a warehouse more than a boutique, and I hate that word--there are thousands upon thousands of satiny gowns, confections, really, with foamy layers of tulle, details of baby pink and blue, glittery silver threads and bodices, tight enough to shallow your breathing ever so slightly. I really love a tight bodice on a wedding dress. It makes me feel feminine, and I'm sure that's wrong. I'm sure I have Princess Complex. But it does.
And speaking of princesses, I never wanted a gaudy wedding dress. I just didn't; I had pinned myself as the plain, sofly-flowing thin-strap type, not a sequin or embroidered flower in sight. But, well...then I actually tried some on. Picture strapless, white, with tiny blue and silver flowers.
One more thing: do you have any idea how expensive those little rhinestone crowns are? Do you? In the hundreds, and that's just for dinky ones, nothing pretty or colored. I took one look at one pricetag and am seriously considering shining up my old Homecoming crown and wearing that instead.
Carnegie Hall count: 10 days.
--Morgan
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| The now of right now... |
[21 Oct 2003|03:03pm] |
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Me, 3:04 pm:
The most depressing thing about this picture is the fact that I took approximately 20 just to get one that looked that good. And it isn't. Good, that is.
Bought: An empty charm bracelet and a diamond ring charm. Live From Albertane, used, because no one carries that new anymore and I lost mine somewhere in Erie, Pennsylvania, in October of 2000.
(An aside: I think it was Emily who mentioned in her journal that Taylor's voice was better on this cd than it is now. Ha!, I thought to myself. Silly, silly girl. But I just listened to the whole thing, start to finish, on my way home from the mall. She is right: Taylor's voice, circa 1998, two seconds post-puberty, is husky growly perfection. It made me all hot and bothered, sitting in traffic on the rainy interstate with fogged-over windows and a tension headache.)
Also: Gap pants I have wanted since birth, behavior charts for the class asshole (ahem), and Krave bars, which make my life worth living.
Itch: I need to write. Really write, and none of this nightmare-length wannabe story crap. You know the one I am referring to. I want time enough to plan one out, and the imagination to think up a plot to begin with (you'd think that being around wide-eyed and curious preschoolers for your entire waking life would cause your creativity to blossom. You would be dead wrong). As a writer, I feel like I am wasting away.
--M
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[14 Oct 2003|06:56pm] |
Thoughts:
There is something distinctly lovely about Hanson concerts, a feeling I cannot get enough of. But afterwards there is always that sort of sick empty sensation in the pit of your stomach. Sort of like you ate entirely too much--of something fabulous, like double chocolate-strawberry cheesecake--and you know today its back to low-fat Wheat Thins, and nothing else, for a very long time. Not that I have anything against low-fat Wheat Thins, because they make up about a third of my daily calorie intake. But you know what I mean. Or maybe that was just a really bad metaphor.
The last boy to squeeze my hand? Not Keven. Taylor Hanson. Yeah, that's right. And not once, either. Four times. Four.
There is something terribly depressing about having Taylor Hanson touch you that I really can't describe. I think it is similar to the feeling behind the cheesecake/Wheat Thin metaphor, but I can't be sure. I would almost rather not be touched by Taylor Hanson--even if it was in as strictly a nonsexual way as possible, even then considering the fact that Taylor Hanson himself is startlingly, well, sexy--because then I wouldn't have anything like that to think about. It would just be easier.
You probably know this by now. But I am a hopelessly devout Taylor groupie.
At the Buffalo show, I did something sleazy and awful which I am about to divulge to all of you right now: we got there at about 4, right? My mom and my sisters and I. And Mikaela (who is 9), in her wide-eyed first-Hanson-concert innocence, wanted to talk to a Hanson. She wasn't picky; she peeked through the windows of the Radisson lobby, spotted Isaac in all of his tan, tight-white shirt glory, and promptly insisted that we go into the lobby. Of Hanson's hotel, and that just makes me feel dirty, you know? But I did it anyway, because I sort of wanted to talk to a Hanson, too. So we walked past him (on the hotel courtesy phone, which was strangely un-rockstar like), circled through the outer hallway, and walked back. He was in line for the elevator. He is one of the tannest people I have seen this October. Mikaela waved cheerfully and said hello. He said something regular that sounded much too smooth what it came out of his mouth, something like, "Hey, girls. How are ya." It wasn't a question. It was a polite Isaac Hanson, don't-get-too-close comment. We obeyed. I mean, we were in his hotel, after all.
I'm off track. That isn't why I felt sleazy. I mean, I did for that too. But this was worse: At about 4:15 I was let into the club to use the bathroom, because there aren't any in downtown Buffalo, because evidently people there don't have to pee, ever. So I go in the club, bar, whatever, notice people eating, mention it to my mom, who promptly makes dinner reservations. So we go in, to eat dinner. They placed us by the door to the concert hall (that term makes that big black room sound way cooler than it actually was), and we watched Jessica and Micah putter around, heard the soundcheck, saw The Wife and The Baby (the latter of which has Taylor's face, only fat-cheeked and squished in). It was like the best dinner entertainment ever. And this is the sleazy part: we could have gone back out and waited in line, because we didn't earn front row in any way, shape, or form. But our waiter told us to stay, so...we did. And we ended up in the front row, about four feet in front of Taylor Hanson. Mikaela was even closer; they let her stand in front of the barricade. It was such a perfect set up I felt bad. But not bad enough to move.
I think Taylor just got his hair frosted. Like, within the last few days. It is so perfectly highlighted, like Barbie hair.
I have his shoes.
Zac is just...so cute, in such a deliberate, calculated way. He made me smile a lot.
I hate to say this. I really do. But I think Isaac Hanson is terribly, irreversibly boring. I don't remember one thing that he did all night. Did he do anything? Okay, I lied, I remember one thing: when he came up to do "Call Me", three girls in the front row shouted his name, and he said, "Ye-es?" That was sort of cute.
Taylor said "ass", as in, "I want you to shake your ass." That was so great. Especially when Zac followed the instructions.
The Buffalo crowd was awesome. No pushing, only appropriate screaming. It was as if I had died and gone to Hanson Concert Heaven.
Natalie appeared, quietly, halfway through "Love Me". Ezra was sleeping in her arms. She kept near the door, rocking the baby, listening to Taylor with the same concentration that we all were. She stood there for a moment, head turned towards the piano and the blond boy fingering the keys, and then left, as quietly as she came.
Taylor almost fell off his stool once, watching Zac do something awesome on the drums. He also smiled at my sister a lot and threw her a pick (which she licked as soon as she got back into the car), and made a point to shake her hand at the end of This Time Around.
Mine, too. Both hands, because you really can't help reaching for a Hanson when they are within reaching distance. I mean, when would I get that chance again? I could feel his wedding band against my fingers. It was so strange.
Post show: Isaac is drinking inside, Taylor is signing autographs by the bus. I don't know what happened to Zac. I got my autograph, push Kaela forward and Taylor bends down on his knees in front of her. He asked her name. He enveloped her hand in both of his. He thanked her for coming. I told him it was her first show, because I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he said he hoped it wasn't her last. I put my hand out as he was standing up--who doesn't want to touch Taylor? Really--and he doesn't really shake hands, he squeezes. I have a picture of him hugging some other girl, but I don't have a picture of that. This would be the Story of Morgan's Life.
There will be more details. As soon as I think of them.
--Morgan
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