::waving::

Off to a workshop on the Oregon Coast tomorrow. I expect the "no blogging" rule will be instated, so you probably shan't hear from me 'til I return. (The workshop doesn't start until Thu evening, though, so I may check in with tales of rambling walks on the beach, interspersed with finishing a story that needs to get mailed ASAP and reading lots of nummy stories.)

Play nice! If you drink the booze, replace it! (Don't water it down to make it look like none is gone. I'm onto you.)

Because you asked so nicely

There have been requests for the tale of how my inner beast was unleashed, so in a nutshell, here it is.

Now, those of you who know me, know I’m not a confrontational person. I hate conflict. My first instinct is to avoid it altogether, although I’m slowly learning there are times when talking the issue out is appropriate (not always successful, perhaps, but sometimes you’ve got to try). That’s why this whole thing was so…unexpected.

This happened at the casino show where security made us stay at our seats until near the end of the show. (They didn’t make us sit down, but only a handful of people stood until we were allowed to go forward.) Styx’s stage manager was furious.

A little while after we got up to the stage, some asshole guy decided it would be a brilliant idea to shove me into Ken and sit his girlfriend on the stage, I assume so she could jump up and do...whatever. Grab the guys. Dance. Get busted for being an idiot. Whatever; I don't care. They were on my right; Ken was on my left. Ken reached around me and grabbed the woman and pulled her get down, as did I.

At which point we discovered something about me. Apparently I turn into a mama bear protecting her cubs, or possibly the Tasmanian Devil, when someone tries to get at my band.

I turned around and roared “No! That is not fucking appropriate! Get the fuck down!” Ken notes that the guy was about 6-3, 6-4, and when I let into him, he actually took a step back. His girlfriend took several steps back. Heh.

Then the guy made a worse mistake: He condescended to me. He started in with "Hey, calm down, we're all just having fun here."

Me, still at the top of my lungs: “It’s not fun when you’re shoving me! Back the fuck off!”

At that point, Ken was trying to calm me down. I think I had flames shooting out my ears. I turned back to the stage, but the guy was still being a little muttery, and Ken said "Hey man, be careful, she'll rip your face off." I will? This was so unlike me. I was livid.

It felt kinda good actually. :-)

I also had a big space behind me for the rest of the show. :-)

The band and security never noticed a thing.

[Note to my mother: I’m sorry. I honestly don’t use the f-word on a regular basis. That was part of what was so bizarre about the whole incident.]

Timpani mallets? Priceless.

We’re home from a mini-vacation of four Styx shows, visiting with friends, and seeing The Da Vinci Experience exhibit at the Air & Space Museum in San Diego. Woo!

Highlights:

• Lawrence taking my hands and saying “Dayle, hello,” and later remembering how to spell my name when he signed my promotional plastic “A Criminal Mind” handcuffs.
  
• Chatting with Taylor Mills, Todd Sucherman’s wife, about her CD and all manner of other things for half an hour or so.
  
• Seeing the twins get their poster signed by Lawrence and Chuck.
  
• Making Fran laugh so hard I thought she was going to hyperventilate.
  
• Learning that Keith (the stage manager) bitched about the security guards at the Harrah’s Casino show on his Facebook account during the concert.
  
• Discovering my inner “protect the band” beast. I scared a couple of idiots who did something supremely stupid. I scared Ken. I scared myself. Bottom line: Nobody gets at my boys!
  
• Coming up with a great t-shirt slogan that I might just be able to convince the merch guy to make.
  
• Reading stories for this week’s writing workshop in Oregon on my iPhone while sitting in line waiting for a show.
  
• And the pièce de la résistance: Todd tossing Ken two broken timpani mallets. He uses the mallets for “Suite Madame Blue,” and last year Ken held up a sign asking for one. Of course, mallets are reusable, and I thought that would never happen. The night after he threw them to Ken, Ken held up a sign thanking him, and Todd pointed and mouthed “Those were for you!” meaning he remembered the request and must have saved the ones he’d broken at some point. Ken is as giddy as a schoolgirl, and rightly so! Dude!
  

Now it’s heads-down working until Wed when I get on a plane to Oregon for a workshop. Can’t wait! I have a bunch of awesome stories to finish reading, and I get to hang out with some amazing writers I’m privileged to call friends.