cramp my style.

"Hey, Sandra, would you mind taking pictures tonight?"

I sigh with defeat. I've been going to Josh's band's shows for over two years now, getting in free, enjoying free beer and food and backstage freedom. And yet I never have to run a merchandise table or take pictures or pass out flyers. Sometimes I have to fetch a beer, but I'm free to get one for myself along the way. Still, I knew that at some point, I would be required to earn my keep by doing more than just kissing the bassist (although I do that a lot).

It was Friday night and we were playing at the Cat's Cradle. I say "we," just like a football fan would say it, as somehow part of the band but in no real way contributing. I love playing the Cradle. To anyone who pays any attention at all to bands that play in clubs smaller than football stadiums, the Cradle is a big deal. I remember living in Boone and wishing that we had such a place where bands would be willing to come play. As it was, I made the four hour drive twice during college.

Aside from being a real club that gets real bands, the people that work there are incredibly nice to us. Every once in a while, we open up for a band at the Lincoln Theatre. They treat us like crap. They yell at us, scold us, kick us out of the green room, are generally just jerks to us because we're a podunk local band. Or maybe they treat the big acts that way, too.

But back to taking pictures. I agree to be photographer for the evening and take charge of the drummer's tiny digital camera. I don't mind it so much, except that my photographing philosophy, particularly in the digital age, is to take as many pictures as possible, so that at least five of them will be worth keeping.

The show starts, but I'm still backstage, which turns out to be the place with the best view of the band. The sound board is on a raised platform at stage right, and the technician tolerates me as I wander around taking blurry pictures. Even with a steady-cam button, it's hard to take a good shot of a drummer. I do wander out to the crowd a bit to get a couple of shots of the massive (for us) audience. I'm feeling cocky in my official position as girlfriend/picture-taker/beer-getter. I'm with the band, we're playing the Cat's Cradle, and I describe them using the first-person, plural pronoun.

At some point, the guitarist gives me the "I need a beer" signal. Actually, he gives me several, because I interpret the first few as the "I have a crick in my neck" signal, the "I like to move my neck like a duck" signal, and the "I've got something stuck in my teeth" symbol. So I make my way back to the green room to fetch a PBR, but am blocked by a mass of people I've never seen before. They number half a dozen, and are being led through by someone like me, someone with a band, but not in it. This person is different from me in that he is trying to impress one to four girls by showing them and their friends the green room.

At the tail end of the group is a dude in a leather jacket. He is no way blocking my path. Yet as I pass him to get to the fridge, he says, "I'm sorry we're back here, cramping your style." I reassure him, "It's okay. I don't really have any style." He thinks that's funny, but he would think anything I said was funny. I could have given him the "I like to move my neck like a duck" signal and he would've thought it was great.

I'm so amused. For some reason, this guy thinks I'm someone of importance. He probably realizes that I am just the girlfriend of a bassist in a local band, and yet that means I am cool and should not have my style cramped in any way. After all, I was already backstage when he arrived, and I didn't even need a tour guide.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a They Might Be Giants concert. I've been their number-n fan since I was twelve or thirteen. I stood in line with other fans while a girl my age took our money for t-shirts and albums and hats and bumper stickers. I confess that I thought this girl was so cool. She's the TMBG merch girl! Oh, what it must be like to be the merch girl for a band like TMBG! Who needs programming when you can be a merch girl? If I ran into this girl, I would apologize for cramping whatever style she had.

I should get used to being so revered. Josh has asked me to start manning a merch table.