Jenny Lewis at the Angel Orensanz Foundation

It all started when I found out I was going into the city by myself as my friend had a family emergency. I mean, first off, I managed not to forget anything, which is a huge accomplishment for me. (Oh wait, I forgot to bring a pen. But I brought post-it notes for reading The Stranger so that might cancel that out.)

I had a sinking feeling it would be a bad night when I went to the bus stop on the wrong side of the road. After waiting fifteen minutes the bus to Bridgewater came, and I was all, “round trip ticket to New York, please!” and the lady driver just looked at me funny and was like, “Hon, you’re on the wrong side…” and drove me to the booth across the street. It was only a 30 second walk, but whatever, I was grateful. I smiled hesitantly to the man waiting there, wondering if I should ask him if the bus came already, and he told me, “You’re lucky, kid, it should have arrived, but it’s a few minutes late.” Sure enough, ten seconds later we see it pulling onto the street.

My navigational tactics fared slightly better, however. The bus was a little late getting into New York, but I had no problems getting onto the right subway line and then subsequently finding the venue. But here is the most extreme moment of stupidity: While I managed to brighten someone’s evening by selling my friend’s ticket to someone loitering outside, amidst the money shuffling and the maps and my wallet, my own ticket disappeared. So hell, I sold Liza’s ticket but lost my own. And I thought these things happened in movies. Or at least, to blondes. Of course I assumed the worst and thought I’d dropped it and someone had picked it up and gotten in, so I called Matt in a panic and at first he was like “You did WHAT, are you kidding me?” and then he came outside to find me, where I proceeded to pace around frantically hyperventilating.

On the way back I missed the 11 pm bus (which would get me home by midnight) because the stupid uptown F train only passes by once every half hour at this time of the night, and I’d gotten there at 10:34 pm so I ended up having to wait until 11, which meant, of course, that I’d missed the bus. But it might have been just as well, because if I left at 10 pm I probably still wouldn’t have made the 11 o’clock bus, because I couldn’t find the platform number. And I asked everyone around me—two security guards included (who were, by the way, awfully rude). Then I thought I found it, except it said 114 Clinton, which is my bus number but nowhere en route do we pass by Clinton. So I started asking the people waiting there. They either a) didn’t speak English, or b) were more confused than I was. This really nice guy called for me several times, and even told me to ask the dispatcher across the bus lot, and wouldn’t leave to find his bus until he made sure I knew where I was going. But I found out (that I’m not a complete idiot) that the “Clinton” shouldn’t be there at all, and the NJ transit people were just messing with my head.

When I finally got on the bus (at 12:10 am, the very last bus), I tried to sleep but couldn’t, afraid I would do something else stupid. Well, I didn’t disappoint. As the bus pulled onto Front St. I pressed the “request stop” button two stops early, and I didn’t have the heart to say, “never mind,” so I just got off and walked an extra 15 minutes home in the very chilly 1 am air.

I should never go into the city alone ever again. And I don’t think I can make fun of blondes anymore.

As for the lost ticket thing, I am lucky that Matt is really good at talking to people. He went up to the ticket guy and asked him to let me in, because I had, in fact, bought a ticket in earnest. The guy said I needed the credit card I ordered it with, and Matt said, well, she’s underage, she doesn’t have a credit card, it’s probably her mother’s, so he asked if it would be okay to just get the number. So I promptly called my mother, who was nice enough not to ask any embarassing questions, and gave me the number, where the ticket dude verified my purchase at Ticketmaster and let me in.

Matt had gotten there at 5 pm and saved me a front-row seat, so I was unbelievably lucky for someone who had barely gotten in. (It was general admission but they had fold chairs lined up). Everything was like, less than five feet away from me. The venue wasn’t so large, and the lighting made it seem more intimate. It was an synagogue-converted-community centre; the ribbed vaulting was still visible and there was a paint-chipped but evident gothic elements at the altar. (My favourite moment was when Conor Oberst walked out of the stairs right in front of us and started staring at the vaulting, a bemused yet fascinated expression on his face. It was oddly casual. He parked himself right on the side in our view during the openers. I had to tell Matt to stop looking that way.) I thought the place was a very fitting space for a Jenny Lewis concert, considering the subject matter of Rabbit Fur Coat.

For our openers, M. Ward is the cutest thing ever. He’s so wonderfully awkward, and not to mention a fabulous, and I mean fabulous, guitar player. You don’t pay too much attention on a recording, but when you see his fingers move a few feet away from you it makes quite an impression. Same thing must be said for Johnathan Rice, who is the second cutest thing ever. (You know he is on the Walk the Line soundtrack?) Jim James and Conor Oberst also came on for a few songs. It was quite amazing to see all twanging guys sing duets and stuff.

Anyway, Jenny and the twins came on procession-like down the central aisle with “Run Devil Run” (and exited the same way with “Born Secular”) which was v. effective because of said venue furnishings. There is really not too much to say about Jenny, she was lovely, I want to steal her hair which is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, and the whole thing was wonderful. I’m still trying to figure out which one of the Watson twins was made out of construction paper. I’m only a little disappointed she didn’t sing “Handle With Care” (they were only missing Ben Gibbard) but I bought a shirt and got a program and now I’m happy (ee-ee-ee-e). I wanted a pin too, though. Maybe next time.

Apparently, despite its star-studded cast, Norah Jones was there too? Weird. But cool.

Oh, and hahaha, while we were waiting outside and guess what one of Matt’s new friends found? My ticket. It had blown across the street.