You know what you're like..?

Waterfest, week two, was last night, and it was awesome. OK, so the cover band went from "Lady Marmalade" to "Sweet Home Alabama" to "I Will Survive," and then over to Bon Jovi's "Livin' On a Prayer." So the lead singer was the stereotypical cover band guy: the sunglasses, the bare (waxed) chest, the muscles, the Superman tattoo on his shoulder. ... I mean, it was hot. (Or not.)

And so the second band, a Canadian country-ish band was just OK (not bad, though, not bad).

But the Gin Blossoms. Oh, man. I suddenly was back in Mrs. Kohls' classroom, learning how to add fractions. Oh, the memories.

There's something about listening to a band and enjoying it because they're nice people, and you know because you talked to one of them on the phone (and they're all just like him, I'm certain), and you know the words and you dance a bit (but not too much), and you people-watch.

Too bad I won't be doing that next week.

If there are any die-hard BoDeans fans, please do not read on. I don't want hate mail just because I'm about to say something slightly unpleasant about Sammy Llanas. I know he's from Waukesha. I know it's like, unamerican (or unwisconsin -ian/ -onian/ -itean) to dislike the band.

And for all of you not from Wisconsin who are also not "Party of Five" fans, and are haters of all things pop, you're scratching your head. The BoDeans sing exactly two songs you'd know off-hand (after you Google it really quickly and read over their discography): "Closer to Free." "Outside Looking In."


That's it. And, man. Talk about a horrible interview. Hor-ri-ble.

"What's your band's story?" (A question we've asked all the bands, and they've answered it with funny or factual responses.)
"We don't have a story." Silence. Crickets chirp. I cough, stare at the computer screen, waiting for him to go on. A tumbleweed blows by.

I'd go on, but I don't want to waste all three of my good quotes on this blog when I'm going to make a story out of it. You know what you're like, BoDeans?

School in the summertime.