Concert Time Is Here Again . . .

Woohoo! On March 7, Jonathan Coulton and Paul and Storm are coming back to the Birchmere and we are geeked (and rightly so). IP rolls his eyes at the mention of this, but March 7 is something of an anniversary for us—you could say it’s when we first became aware of each other’s existence on this earth though our dating anniversary doesn’t occur until March 31. I suppose this is an anniversary date activity—a happy coincidence. Left to our own devices, we would’ve hit the gym and then had a homemade dinner accompanied by some beer. Nice, but I’ll put up with the greasy food at the Birchmere for this concert. I finally got around to buying tickets on Thursday (damn, Ticketmaster, way to tack on $10 to each ticket). We shall relive the intensely funny experience of last August’s concert, which I summed up below (but never posted because I am, if nothing else, lazy):

A few months ago, IP and I were engaged in one of our favorite Saturday afternoon things—no, not that, perverts. We sometimes kill time before or after going to the gym by surfing about the Internets, trying to find something funny and/or interesting. While on YouTube, looking for god only knows what, we came across the still image of a very white man performing what was, it said in the video’s title, “Baby Got Back”. The song was already an in-joke with us; IP admires a nice butt and is quite happy to say that, yeah, his girlfriend’s got the butt. He also says that he’s going to become President of the United States one day and make the song the new national anthem. It’s all about reaching for the stars.

Anyway, we clicked on the video. We were treated to Jonathan Coulton performing a very soulful rendition of the classic ode to packing much back. We thought it was hilarious, and clicked on the videos linked to that particular one. So we got a dose of “Tom Cruise Crazy”, “Creepy Doll”, and of course, “Re: Your Brains”. The zombie song was definitely my favorite, being the zombie fanatic that I am (especially when in the company of my older brother A). We checked out Coulton’s website and other music, absolutely delighted. IP nearly bust a gut, he was laughing so hard.

While checking out his “Shows” link, I saw that Coulton would be coming to the Birchmere. Wonderful! I thought it would be a nice departure from the norm for IP and I—we usually end up at a bar or at the gym on Friday nights—why not do something different? We’re an odd couple to begin with, never having gone to the movies once in our dating lives; why not mix it up a bit with a concert?

So I bought the tickets, I even invited friends along, but in the end, just IP and I went to the show. It was a blast. There’s no other way to put it. Performing with Coulton were Paul and Storm, who actually hail from the DC area; before the show, we checked out their music and knew we were on track for a funny evening. Among the highlights were:

• A concert-goer asking Jonathan Coulton via stuffed animal to perform at his bachelor party in Vegas; turns out that Coulton was second choice to Neil Diamond. Which led to an impromptu rendition of “Sweet Caroline” with Paul and Storm. And fun audience participation.
• A female fan shouting that she wanted to have Coulton’s babies. He paused and then asked: “Wait, did you say that you have my baby or you want to have my babies? Because one is good news and the other is bad news.”
• Coulton singing “I Crush Everything” and using the line “And now, I’d like to sing another song about a cephalopod” before launching into “Octopus”. This was IP’s favorite joke of the night.
• Paul and Storm asking for a show of hands from people on dates. IP and I looked at each other, sort of confused—sure, we guess we’re on a date, but we almost feel like we’re past the term “date” since it’s been nearly six ye–, uh, seven months. I’m sure the couple sitting at our table were confused by our hesitance.
• Coulton encouraging the audience to make the zombie chorus in “Re: Your Brains” sound a bit more zombie-ish; he mentioned the general decay that zombies experience would prevent them from singing the lyrics “all we want to do is eat your brains” with the clarity that the audience had on its first rehearsal of the line. Except for castrati zombies, that is, which apparently have very lovely voices according to him.

. . . And that’s all she wrote at the beginning of September. There wasn’t much to add at that point except that IP actually thanked me for getting the tickets. As I mentioned above, movies and concerts aren’t things we do as a couple so he thought it was going to be an immense hassle. However, given the good time we had, he thanked me for making him go to the concert. Sure, the Birchmere isn’t right by the Metro, but it’s worth the semi-trek. IP and I saw that there would be a return performance about three weeks ago. Not a week has gone by without IP asking me if I had procured the tickets. When he asked last night, I was able to say that I had. “Sweet,” said IP before downing his Corona Light.

So we’ll be at the Birchmere on March 7 enjoying the dulcet sounds of zombies, They Might Be Giants selling ice cream, a panegyric on the virtues of Ikea, a lesson on Easter (raised Catholic, I’d say this song about sums it up), and a creepy doll that likes snacks. To end on a sappy note, not only will I go home laughing, but I’ll go home knowing that it’s been six wonderful ye—I means, seven wonderful months spent with the man who initially thought that my liking “Med/Ren” meant I was doing medicine with a focus on kidneys (nephrology) when I was in fact reading Geary’s Readings in Medieval History in order to keep my mind tuned for grad school that fall. (I must parenthetically admit that I wish IP had been right—I love my medieval readings but I wouldn’t have spent a horrible year in Toronto nor would I be banging my head against the wall as an event planner.)