Ben Folds, Spiderman, And A Telegram

September 14th 2012


So this one time. I was going to take a night in and relax or whatever. And then, I didn’t.




“Oh for sure! Yes, yes. Girls night sounds like a spicy ass time. I’ll bring the cheetos. Uh huh. Yeah. No you can pick whatever movie. I don’t cry during chick flicks. Unless it’s “Diary of a Mad Black Woman”  or “Sparkle.”…No, I’m being serious…literally the only 2 flicks to date that have ever made me cry….stop laughing…no I wasn’t joking. Yeah, you’re right…this is awkward. Uh huh. Yeah. Okay. Awesome. I agree. We haven’t caught up in forrrevvvverrrr. I miss you too! Wouldn’t miss this for the world. I can’t wait. Totally. Hold on there someone on the other line.”


 – boop –

– boop –


“Hey sorry I’m back. Yeah no go on the girls night. Lata!”


True, I was being flakier than a grand biscuit on a Sunday morning. But hear me out. In between “boops” I was offered


A ticket.


A VIP ticket.


To see Ben Folds 5 in concert.


That night.


Fo free.


So get off me.


We arrived on the premises of the central park venue, ready to pick up our royal treatment passes…at the plastic green tent 3 trees over from a dirt path.


And anyway


I moseyed >>>  in like a champ and within minutes found myself mildly


sandwiched                                 between

a variety of characters


That were as follows:

1. The unwarranted couple performing the ever popular “dance with you from behind whilst singing lyrics into your hair and wearing leather flip flops” combo.

2. The hairy nomad who self-inflicted a beer shower with each throwback track that was performed.

3. Some dude named Jerry.

And although I was having a rage face time with my new-found friends and only recognized one singular song…I was sort of over it…and ready to head back stage.


So I did.


I flashed my VIP pass like a boss and as it turns out, the security guard truly, truly, did not give a shit.


So whatever.


My friend who had scored us the tickets told me to play it cool. Act like I belonged there. Don’t’ draw any attention to myself. Blee blee blah blah.


Definitely had the flash on


Totally not allowed.


And after snapping multiple selfies and chatting with a janitor or 2, I looked to my right and


There he was.


Almost immediately as Ben shuffled >>>  out of his dressing room, crazed fans whipped out their hand crafted posters, homemade delights, screen printed tees and various other shiza.


And he began walking through the sea of the…8 people that were there and right into my direction>>>> Okay Olive. Tell him it was a good show, that despite the fact that he hasn’t released an album in about 17 years, people still knows he exists, some banter about our similar-level talents. He was getting



c l o s e r


And as he passed right by >>>>



I went for the “tap you on the shoulder to say hey” type deal…But in a sheer and utter panic, kind of missed and then like…did an unplanned…neck…tap…thing…


…Nothing like a good old fashioned trial and error to realize neck taps aren’t… for everyone.


He looked to his << left, perplexed at the unexpected violence.


I looked away immediately.


Fully aware that I had just traded in my one gleaming chance at a photo op for an unplanned neck tap, and would have to solely rely on the classic zoom for any sort of evidence of our close proximity:

My bad about the neck tap


If anyone asks…we locked eyes and harmonized for 8 minutes.


But the night was young.


And my chances to act a fool were only just beginning.


Stop 1: A joint named “Sweet and Vicious” in soho. I cruised into the cloudy bar ready to tell everyone about my successful meet and greet with Ben just a few hours prior, when suddenly there was a t u g on my arm.


Hello, Chip.


Chip was a clean shaven man sporting a white, graphic tee and an unwarranted piercing in his left..nostril.


A good sign.


He explained to me that he felt it was in my best interest to seduce his friend in the far corner of the bar. You see, his chap Lyle  had just broken up with his girlfriend of a year and despite the fact that he was ripping pickle back shots solo, screaming at innocent passerbys, wearing a cut off tee and only slightly weeping, he really was a nice guy!


And the best wingman award goes to…


After making a lofty flow chart of all the reasons that this was in fact, a terrible idea. I bid Chip and Lyle adieu and headed to the next location.


Stop 2: Spring Lounge.


I >>> shuffled in with a few friends en route to the bar when suddenly I felt something under my feet that was soft…no…crunchy…wait…soft…no wait it’s crunchy again…


I looked




n and witnessed 2 abandoned beanie babies sprawled onto the floor, and instead of doing the normal thing and laughing with fellow adults about the ridiculous nature of the situation. I absolutely took pictures like this instead.


Maybe I should make this my eharmony prof pic.


Eventually upon my friends persistent (begging) requests. I returned the beanie babies to their original resting places and as I stood up I felt something…warm…on my hand.


Good evening, Hector.


Hector had his hand in mine, (straight up explosions in the sky style) he looked me straight in the eyes and began to sing to me. It was like a scene out of a romance movie. Except instead of being swooned by my long lost love, I didnt know who the fuck this was. And instead of hearing a romantic love ballad about our undying chemistry, he sang me happy birthday (completely unphased that I wasn’t due to celebrate until April) And instead of falling into his arms by the end of this tune I sort of just…walked away.


But anyway


As soon as he hit his last F sharp he glanced                           over at Harper and said “Can I go now?”


As it turns out, Harper had been chatting up Hector at the bar. He was a professional telegrammer, you see. Inflicting hit and run performances at the neighborhood pubs. Wittman swindled him into serenading me on his way out the door.  Offer. Accepted. I suggested the casper beanie baby I had recently attained in exchange for his swooning ways.


Payment. Accepted.


Relieved casper had a new home and pleasantly swept off my feet by my surprise telegram, I promised my friends I would chill the fuck out and lay my random ways to rest for the remainder of the evening.


I’ve never really been good at promises.


Suddenly I noticed a fliCKering of red and blue in my peripheral vision.


The cops?

An emergency?

An acrobatic spiderman toting around a personal trolley?


This makes sense.


Lexi leaned over to me to exchange banter about the absurdity that was occurring in front of our very eyes, but when she glanced over to confirm mutual laughter.


Olive was gone.









And then she was found:

It just kind of happened.


Before I knew it I was soaring down Spring street at 10 miles per hour via trolley with a maskless spiderman. 


We flew past little Italy:



Swerved through china town:



And with no warning whatsoever Spiderman became unruly and fliPPed the trolley completely









Motherfucking wee


How to explain what I did Friday night…


And it was in this ^^^ very moment that I got a very…breezy…reminder that

I in fact, was not wearing pants.

Well…that breeze and this picture:


Thinking about blowing this up into an 8X11 with a nice mahogany frame. Thoughts?


The next day I met up with the very clan of girls I had bartered in for my night on the town…I asked about their night and then they asked about mine…needless to say brunch took a weird turn.