These Shoes Were Meant For Rockin'

Well, the Wilco tickets finally arrived Tuesday morning at work. Whew. Typed instructions on a sticker on the UPS envelope clearly telling the driver to take it to reception, business hours 9-5. Naturally, it was delivered to the warehouse mailroom at the back of the building. I didn't get a chance to see the driver. I was curious to find out which was lower: the knuckles, the slack jaw or the IQ.

And then, just when I thought my long, irrational nightmare was over ... sometime just before high noon ... THE SHOES CAME BACK!

Yes, poor Tracey Kelly's (no relation) wayward shoes landed back in this absurd landscape for a second tour of duty.

I escorted them back down to the mailroom and explained The Mistake II. They said they'd get the UPS guy to take them back. But they wanted to make sure that I was "rejecting" the shoes. The poor shoes. Shunted around aimlessly, and now I have to provide the final indignity -- the coup de grace -- of stating my rejection of them. But I think they could take it. They were cork soles.

Half an hour later, the guy from the mailroom calls me and says that he was talking to the people at UPS, and he wasn't able to explain the situation to them properly because he didn't have all the information -- was this woman related to me? Did I know her? He says I should call UPS and explain it to them.

Fair enough. I call UPS and explain The Mistake III. They say they'll send someone round.

(Y'know, it seems a fairly simple situation. A rather uncomplicated scenario. To wit: "These shoes are not mine. They belong to someone else. They were sent to me by mistake. Please take them away." And yet... somehow I get the feeling I would have had a breezier time explaining quantum physics to a flock of pigeons.)

A little while later, our receptionist calls me, and asks if everything was straightened away, because the guy from UPS is here (seems he's finally found his way to the reception area). I say yes, it's all straightened away, I got my package. I assumed he knew that he was to pick up the box of shoes.

As I was leaving for the day, I passed by reception and the receptionist says, "So, it's all squared away?" And I say, shaking my head and shrugging, "Yes, it looks that way. He got the shoes, did he?" Her face drops. "What shoes?"

Guess Mr. UPS will have to make another return trip. Shame.

Oh... and the Wilco show?

It was great. Getting away from his addiction to pain-killers must have done Jeff Tweedy a world of good. I've never seen the man smile so much! While he's playing and singing! Maybe the migraines are gone too. (He's been tortured for years with severe migraines, which led to the pain-killer dependence.)

Very cool venue too. It was my first time seeing a show at The Mod Club, and it was a treat. Not too big, not too small. Not sure what's up with the whole Mod thing, but anything's better than 80s nostalgia.

The set consisted only of songs from the last two albums. The new members of the band fill out the sound nicely. Sort of like The Wilco Wall Of Sound. Tweedy played a Gibson SG for most of the songs that needed guitar wankery soloing, but I was pleased to see him bring out the lovely, cherry red Epiphone Casino with the Bigsby tailpiece for "Jesus, Etc." Beauty of a guitar.

In the encores, they reached back to Summerteeth for "Via Chicago" and "I'm The Man That Loves You", and came back a couple of times, ending the night with an absolutely gorgeous-as-velvet reading of "The Lonely 1" from Being There.

Maximum soul satisfaction.