On Friday Cleo went to her first live show: Visqueen performing live at Easy Street Records on Queen Anne.
Cleo threw on her best "Johnny Cash Folsom Prison" onesie and black corduroy leggings to get ready to rock out for the evening.
It was running dangerously close to her bedtime (7pm) and the band hadn't gone on yet, but Cleo powered through because she's that big of a Visqueen fan.
Finally the band comes onstage, and Cleo's clapping her hands in that almost-clapping-more-like-finger-crunching baby-clap kinda way. Visqueen goes into their first song, and, um, it's pretty loud. Stacia's holding her hands over Cleo's ears. But Cleo wants none of this. She wants to ROCK! R. O. C. K. Exclamation point. She's shoving Stacia's hands away, but me, knowing that she needs to have the sound muffled, and, slightly nervous that she'll leave this show with permanent hearing damage, am adamant about covering her ears. She's still pushing our hands away. So we give her a few seconds of pure Visqueen bliss, until we cover her head-holes again. And then she pushes our hands away, and so on and so forth for the course of the next three songs.
As we figure out that she's less likely to throw fists if we just plug her ears with our fingers instead of cupped hands, a nice couple, who's also brought their kid to the show, brings over their chopper phones for Cleo to use. We feel like since it was such a nice gesture, we need to try. And we know what's going to happen, and, yep, the phones get yanked right off. And now it's 7:30, Cleo hates us and her ear distractions, and she wants to go to bed. So, we go.
She'll have plenty of other chances to see the band
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