So tired. We went to the Styx concert in Ventura last night (my 11th for the year!) and then folks came over afterwards. Sheri and Karin came just to see the house, and Fran and Naoko stayed the night. Fran, Ken, and I stayed up until 5 a.m. watching videos. Ouch. See, they had to leave by 10:30 a.m. today. You do the math. Then wince with me.

That said, after a slow hour or two, I’ve been bursting with energy. Singing to myself, dancing in place. We weren’t front row at the concert and the way the tables were set up, I had more room than usual so I just went for it and danced my cute patootie off. Sang and yelled and screamed. My throat hurts a little bit, even. I lost 2 lbs. I need to go to more concerts—it’s obviously good for me!

We didn’t have the greatest seats at the concert—the Ventura Theatre, in its attempt to squeeze as much money out of patrons as possible, ran it as a dinner theatre rather than GA. The food was uninspiring, on paper plates, etc. Two glasses of wine made it much less irksome, and also made the opening bands (there were two) more palatable. (Although I went out to the lobby and hung out with people during one of them.) Anyway, despite how early we all got our tickets, we didn’t have one of the tables against the stage, but in the next row.

So I danced. I had the space to do it, and the music moved me, and I danced.

Afterwards, we all went outside and hung out by the buses, because they were parked in front of the theatre. Amazingly, most people left; I think there were only about 20 people total left behind. To make a long story short (longer version available upon request), I got Larry’s autograph on the 8x10 of him signing my shirt last December. (And yes, we got a picture of him signing the photograph, which means I could have that blown up and signed the next time…)

But here’s the best part. He signed his name, then wrote “To” and paused. “What’s your name?” I told him, with spelling. “Of course,” he said as he wrote it on the picture, “I should know that by now.”

To my credit, I managed to keep all my fan girl squealing internal. It wasn’t easy, though. He has no reason to know my name—this was only the third time he’d signed something for me, in the course of four years. But the fact was, he recognises me.

I think I have to go lie down. I’m feeling faint again. Squeal!

Keep in mind that I’ve been a fan of this band for more than 20 years, and although Larry wasn’t in it way back then, I was a fan of his solo work for nearly as long. My first concert, I had nosebleed seats—and then they broke up for eight years, and then broke up again for another five. There were times when I was resigned to never seeing them live again. I had no idea that I’d end up front row multiple times, with them handing me stuff and recognising me.

Anyway. I gave Larry a smaller copy of the same photo, signed by me to him, for his photo wall. I also got Ricky’s autograph, and therein lies a very amusing tale that is available upon request.

Hee. Larry thinks he should know my name by now…