Rock n Roll: My Not-So-Close Brushes with Fame

Good job, Team Far Flung! Thanks to many votes from many friends, our little buddies, Darling New Neighbors, made it up to the big show! -or at least to a less bushy bush league. They won the contest! Way to go, Neighbors!

The resurfacing of DNN in my thoughts, and their brush with fame long after I left the band has brought up many a reminiscence about my time spent in bands, in bars, in Austin. These little trips down memory lane into my ill-advised rock n roll history brought to the front of several friends' minds the story of my only other not-so-close brush with fame. Since the statute of limitations on shame is probably well up, and the hilarity of the story outweighs the humiliation, I will now share with you a classic and personal rock n roll moment.

When I lived in Austin the first time, over a decade ago, I was in a band called Superba. Superba the band shared names with my super-hero alter-ego, also named Superba. (This Superba has everything to do with public displays of rock and freedom and power punches and yelling, "GOOD NIGHT AUSTIN!!!", and has nothing to do with the new fangled superba that is some sort of carpet treatment. Don't confuse the two.) Superba the band was an all girl, heavy-drinking, heavy-hitting, mish-mash of little talent and tight t-shirts. We had a few noisy, high-energy train wrecks of a show at a few clubs and opened for some friends' band in Houston, and then I decided to move to San Francisco to pursue my career as a circus star.

Once in San Francisco, I satisfied not only my deep seated desire to study the circus arts, but also to work in the accounting department of JP Morgan Chase. At said job I wore grown-up office lady clothes and occasionally had to run paperwork over to the other office in the other building down the block. Both buildings are in the financial district in downtown SF, where the streets are packed with cabs and bike couriers and buses and cars and more bike couriers and more cabs.

While waiting for the light to change, I stood near a bike messenger who was adjusting his messenger satchel/dispatch radio set-up, and lo and behold, on his helmet, right in front of God and everybody, was a Superba sticker. An awesome, shimmery piece of merch from my band! My band! He had a Superba sticker on his helmet! Right in front of me!

Playing it real cool, I caught his eye and said, "Hey. Nice sticker." In my mind I was already playing out the conversation where he says it is his favourite band, I say I am the drummer, I am showered with fan adoration, both our lives seem so much more glamorous and awesome from our chance encounter on a San Francisco street. How great is that?

Well, reality ensued.

He said, "Yeah, it was this shitty band I saw once. The sticker is really cool, though."

I said nothing. I nodded nonchalantly. I looked at the walk signal. The light changed, I crossed the street, and went back to work.

That, my friends, is my other underwhelming and not-so-close brush with rock n roll greatness.

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