What the hell is this?

I Can't Stand [Meeting] You is a collection of all the ridiculous things I've written to and about drummer and composer Stewart Copeland.

I actually did meet him for about five crazy seconds in 2007, again for a few exciting moments in August 2009, and my most recent (and most thrilling!) encounter took place in October 2009, where I proved myself capable of being, yet again, a total dork in the man's presence.

I can't believe what I get up to. And neither should you.

Monday, June 18, 2007

The art of being patient, or, yet another skill I do not possess

Oh, man: Saturday is sooo close. I haven't even figured out what I'm going to wear, yet. Do you hear me? No idea what to wear to the Police concert, and here it is already Tuesday, practically. I'm screwed.

Wait: black jeans, "Kiss me I'm Irish" t-shirt, black v-neck sweater, broken down black boots...? as long as it's not hot, I'm set.

We have the worst seats, ever; I think I've mentioned that already in this space? I won't even bother to point them out to you; just find the point furthest away from the stage: that's me, and Patrick.

CAN'T WAIT. Totally excited, in my sleepy, maybe a bit buzzed, own way.


I forgot to mention: I was able to glean one tidbit of interesting information from the Rolling Stone article... Stewart was comparing his "normal" life with Sting's supersized one, and was talking about only owning one home (compared to Sting's, I don't know, five), and that he drives a Jeep Cherokee (one imagines Sting being chauffeured everywhere, or driving a really, really, expensive car; was it Jaguar he did those commercials for? So: there he is in my imagination, wearing white leather gloves and aviator glasses). Still: a Cherokee is not exactly a cheap car, depending on the model - Stewart's not cruising around in a Hyundai. Anyway, Saturday night after the show, when I was walking to my car, sort of absent-minded-ly crossing the street - you know, at that time of night, there's not a whole lot of traffic; thoughts wander and feet somehow manage not to stumble - after I made it through the intersection, here comes a big black new Jeep Cherokee (all my friends who have or have had Cherokees have had the older versions; this model looked pretty new); driving the car? I know they were at Bonnaroo (and I was not); however, the man looked a LOT like Stewart Copeland (the woman looked older than his wife, a thought, I have to admit, that pleased me). OK, so I knew it couldn't be them, but still. Now I am going to be looking at every big Jeep Cherokee the way my friends and I would look at limos when we were waiting for the bus to take us into Westwood - "What if Johnny Depp's in that limo?!"

I came home and mentioned it to Patrick, and he goes, in his totally calm, logical voice:

"Irene. Every old white guy driving a Jeep Cherokee looks like Stewart Copeland."

Well. There is that. No reason to be mean about it.

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