Last week, it was my birthday. Perhaps you were aware of that, since it’s the most important day on our modern Gregorian calendar, Anyway, for my birthday, guitar virtuoso Kaki King decided to come to Burlington and play a show for me, along with some other people I didn’t invite (like that drunk guy in the red T-shirt).
Kaki King is a fave of mine. I like the way she loves her guitar into submission. And I like that she’s not your typical singer-songwriter, any-old-strummer-with-a-heartbreak-and-a-guitar kind of musician. She’s slick and witty and her guitar-playing face is what I imagine her O-face to look like. Even better.
Of course, I arrived at the show a bit late and missed the opener, a brilliant little Australian duo called An Horse (the second time I’ve missed their opening act. Apologies, Aussie friends.) When I got there, Kaki was already three songs into an ambitious two-hour set.
From the Department of Big-Ass Mea Culpas:
Well, friends, it turns out that America’s favorite scrappy-do movie star was NOT actually in Vermont over Easter. Contrary to what I wrote a little more than a week ago and what a number of online gossip sites “reported” around that time, Sandra Bullock did not dine at the Fair Haven Inn on the day Jesus rose from the dead.
Yikes! That means I was wrong. But how could that have happened? I’m never wrong.
A few days after Sandra Bullock took home the Oscar for best gal-next-door actress, it was revealed that her motorcyclist husband Jesse James was slumming it with a woman who has multiple facial tattoos and a fascination with White Power. Classy.
Naturally, our pal Sandy went into hiding after the philandering was revealed. What else do you do when your husband, whom you credit your career turnaround, has been caught engaging in a colossal act of scumbaggery?
But Sandy, sweet Sandy, didn’t bury her head under a mountain of eiderdown pillows on her California king-size bed. No, the Blind Side sasspot repaired to the Vermont countryside where she could cry on the shoulder of her sister Gesine far from the long lenses of the Hollywood paps. Gesine used to own the eponymous bakery in Montpelier and currently peddles fancy French macarons (they’re not macaroons, you philistine hayseeds) from somewhere in southern Vermont.
The other day Tim Gunn, the kindly mentor on Lifetime’s “Project Runway” and all-around dashing fellow, gave me a call. He was all like “Hi, Lauren. This is Tim Gunn. Can you get some Vermonters to audition for “Project Runway”? We’re tired of these slick city kids and their geometric, bedazzled pap. Thanks.” Then he gave me air kisses over the phone and hung up before I could say anything.