More Estrogen-Fueled Josh Craziness: St. Paul Edition

Just so you know, this will be long. And rambling. And probably not too interesting. First, pictures. Album one. And album two. Enjoy.




So, Minnesota was amazing. Josh was amazing. The Steely Dan/Toby Keith/Halo music/Dana stuff we were forced to listen to the entire way there? Not so much. But I digress.


It took us forever to get there, probably because we stopped at every single bathroom between Milwaukee and St. Paul, and then drove around the UW-La Crosse campus for awhile. One of Colleen's prospective-but-can't-afford-it schools. There are a lot of those for us in the middle class.





We got to the hotel really late on Thursday, and were all cranky and tired and quiet (probably good because of the aformentioned crankiness), and just ate and stared in horror at the shower.

Oh. Was that just me?

Let's just say I came home and scrubbed out my shower. Yeah. Not pretty.


Friday we tooled around Minneapolis/St. Paul, crossing bridges despite my fervent protests that if God had wanted us to go to the other side of the river he would have put a nice little path of land across it and not expected us to come up with other hopelessly inadaquete ways to get across.


Went to a cathedral that was supposed to be like St. Peter's. Um. Except it's totally not.


I've had an issue with churchs based on European landmarks since I was forced to go to a Mass at the crack of dawn in Cincinnatti at one that was supposed JUST LIKE NOTRE DAME, OMG. Except IT WAS IN FREAKING CINCINNATTI. Does no one realize that all gothic and classical architecture is essentially the same? That in most ways, a gothic cathedral is of course going to resemble another gothic cathedral? That the whole thing that makes Notre Dame so amazing is that it's NOTRE DAME AND YOU'RE IN FRANCE? Not crazy, bloated, and ready to kill your family somewhere in Ohio (true story)???


Ugh. So in conclusion? St. Peter's without the Bernini/Michelangelo stuff but with a Hooters right around the corner? Yeah. Not as good.





The concert, however, was absolutely freaking amazing. Like I can't even begin to describe how amazing it was. It made walking four blocks in the 100 degree heat only to return to our original dinner choice, seated facing the wall like we'd been naughty and given a choice between a burger and calamari at some faux Irish place and then standing outside in the aformentioned 100 degree heat for forty minutes until they finally let us in totally okay.


And for those of you who know how I feel about a carefully constructed makeup face (because, you know, I was in the 10th row, he could totally see me!!!) melting, is quite a lot.


Imladris and I obsconded with with good tickets, of course, after carefully trying both sets out to make sure that they were not, in fact, in the back row and would not get to touch him during In Her Eyes, thus making me mad. They weren't, so we took the closer ones. I'd forgotten in the two years since I've had really good seats how much fun it is to really watch a performer (especially one as pretty as Josh) during a concert, and not just the general thing. You could see faces. And flap during the hand-clapping part of Weeping, which is when I lost the capability to speak.


He sounded great, and the whole audience banter thing was mostly the same (at least all the canned stuff, obviously). The "learning to dance" part was a little different, with Angelique asking if they could get dirty now, and then putting dollar bills down his shirt.


Yes. I know.


I almost died.


And the karaoke??? So funny.




I got home and checked the boards (immediately, because that's just he kind of crazy I am), and actually, the Grobanites are not too amused the turn these concerts have taken. He's gotten way more popular, the fan base in younger (for the first time, I wasn't the youngest in my section), and they're far more aggressive. They rush the stage like all the time, and apparently disturb things.


This is kind of a load of crap. Yeah, the women in front of me kept jumping up every time he came over, which was massively distracting, and I wish people would just sit down because it's way easier for everybody to see. But it's not that big a deal. And certaintly not as big a deal as some people make it out to be. Really, totally not a reason to not think the concerts are God's gift to people.


Some people are even whining existentially about how Josh is taking a new direction and it's different, and this just smacks of old women who are incapable of processing new information (as my sister, the AP Psych student, would say). Like when he did an interview and joked about booty calls and they all went batshit crazy.


No, really, that happened. It was freaking hilarious.


Also a load of crap. It was awesome. He was awesome. I want to go back. How far to Winnipeg??? I have a passport...



The final part of the trip merits it's own estrogen-fueled section, but estrogen-fueled for a totally different reason.


We stopped in Mankato on the way home- the Deep Valley of the Besty-Tacy books. Or, the Most Adorable Books Ever OMG. We found Betsy's house, and Tacy's (although we originally mixed them up), and what we think was Tib's, although that was privately owned so it did not have a convenient sign on it saying "Tib lived here". I would totally put one up, though, if I lived there.


We got to go into Betsy's house, which was unexpected because they're restoring it, and Tacy's had been turned into a little gift shop.


There was a bench up at the top of the Big Hill, but some rat-fink bastard vandals knocked it down. I'm sorry, but there IS A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR WHOMEVER KNOCKED OVER BETSY AND TACY'S BENCH!!! *ahem*


It was just the cutest things ever. I loved it. I'd like to move there. I'm totally naming my first daughter Tacy.


I even let Mom take my picture. *That's* how into it I was.


Whew. I'm tired. And I need to go school-supply shopping. I'll do a real update, not just ranting, tomorrow.