Concerts and Bar Owners.

Last night I got a taste of fame-- a smidgeon of the glory. Last night I was universally known as a musician.
A lady with a big puffy microphone introduced us, "Isaac Middlenon y Sonia Bauman." Yeah... she got my name wrong.
I played two songs with Sonya. Both of which the mixing was terrible. And my mic! What a mic... It kept slipping down and down and down and down until, as Mr. Willcock says, I really did look like a typical English musician, hunch-backed and bended knees with my chin glued to my chest. The microphone was my enemy.
Other than those minor setbacks, the concert went fantabulous. We sang Yesterday, by the beetles, and Fix You, by coldplay, both of which "sounded exceptionally well," so la gente says. You can never trust la gente. Sometimes it lies.
Sonya left the stage and, once I fixed my rebelious mic, I sang Viva La Vida, by Coldplay, and Hey Jude by myself. I think Viva La Vida was necessary, because it caught pretty much everybody's ear, and they started listening. Tada!
And then was the kicker... Hey Jude. At first the croud was a little unresponsive, but then they all started getting into it. By the time I got to, "Na, na, na, na...Hey Jude...", well, let's just say, the feeling was incredible. There was a group of 20 or so kids about my age in the back, swaying, all the guys trying to impress like two girls who sat trapped in the middle. All the NTM missionaries sang right along. Mr. and Mrs. Murray sat secludedly in the midst of everything and kept trying to catch my eye while they held their hands in the air and swayed back and forth. And then, of course, the old men, closing their eyes as if in prayer, feebily clapping their hands together in front of their nose, mouthing the words, "Na, na, na, na, na, na....Hey Jude..."
I ended the song with Elton John's chorus, "I hope you dont mind, I hope you dont mind, that I put down in words... How wonderful life is now you're in the world."
I left the stage.
A 30 year old guy with a 100% bald head and a painfully spiky ring on his finger met me back stage and grabbed my hand and shook it. "I have a bar," hey says. "You're good. I want you to play at it. What's your cell phone number?"

I don't remember my cell phone number.

Emily's right beside me. "Emily. What's my cell phone number?"

"Uhhhh...." says Emily. "Oh! It's *** *** *** ****"
Hah! Fooled you! Would I really give my cell phone number away to the world just like that? No. No I wouldn't.
The bar owner types the unsaid numbers swiftly into his shiny blackberry. "We'll keep in touch," hey says.

After that, everything was kind of a haze. I do remember getting pictures with... what was it...three girls? I dont remember. And I played the musician, asking the girls what their names were, shaking their hand, telling them it's good to meet them. Honestly, I only remember one of them. She was Laura. Or was it Lola? I don't remember.
Oh! and I also got to sign an autograph. Which is slightly ironic, because I don't have a signature. I decided simply to print my name, and kind of swirl everything together at the end. It looked poetic.

I promise i wont let this temporary fame get to my head. I'm one of the little people, just like you.

I'll remember the little people, I promise.