Saturday
LIES! There will be no sweeping critiques of the American South today, for instead I will arbitrate the case presented by The Electric Six last night at the Double Door.
Now, I had been having a Bad Day. I had been working on my project for Networks, an IM server, and I was a little stressed about it. Then a good friend accosted me angrily for blowing off her party for the concert. This was a bit hard to take, as I had told her about the concert a month ago, and she herself had even considered going, whereas the party had been organised earlier in the week. I left that conversation somewhat cranky. Next, about four hours before the concert, I got an e-mail from someone who had been planning to come to the concert, telling me she was going out with friends instead. I was severely non-plussed by this, but assumed it would be easy enough to find someone else eager to attend. It was not. Everyone was either out of town, had family visiting town, or unresponsive in the short window between my offer and the time I left for the concert.
On my way to the concert, I was thinking, "At least the day can't get any worse." I was, in fact, running through scenarios in my mind, trying to find one that would make the day worse. Get mugged and tickets get stolen? No prob, just go to the party. Get mugged and killed? No prob, I'm ready for that. But there was one possibility I hadn't even considered: Crappy opening band. This band, We Are the Fury, almost tipped me over the edge. A little prayer and the promise of the rockening to come keep me going, though. But this band. This band. Their instrumentation was actually pretty tight, but the songs themselves were uninspiring. The vocalist was no good, and the band's showmanship was bland when it was not outright disturbing. Maybe Brian and I just weren't their target audience, but we agreed on all these points.
Not so with the next band, the Gore Gore Girls. They were tight all around, from their tight riffs to their tight black vinyl dresses. Instumentation, stage banter, vocals, lyrical content, the Gore Gore Girls were spot on for their niche. It just happened to be a niche that I wasn't interested in. They were wedged tightly into the type of hard fast classic rock that lies directly in the gap between "classic rock that I like" and "classic rock that I like". Brian had no such disaffection, but we were able to agree that what they did, they did well. We disagreed, however, about whether the bassist or the lead guitar was cuter.
Then came a fast, efficient set change followed by an extremely long wait for the Electric Six to arrive on stage. I finally resorted to the cigarette trick to get them up and in action. Brian was skeptical on this method, but was proven correct. Within a minute, the band was onstage and jamming, the frontman wearing a purple cape with gold lettering spelling out SHOWTIME. They ripped straight into the lead-off track on the new album, "Showtime". Almost needless to say, their set was fantastic, full of energy. They played a well-formed mix of new songs and hits, keeping the crowd enthusiasm high. All the water in my body was gradually replaced with pure unleaded rockoline (0.08% ethanol). This lead to being pretty dehydrated, which, combined with the great heat of the packed venue and an especially vigourous and prolonged bout of headbanging, almost caused me to pass out at one point. Thankfully, I recovered and reined myself back just a little bit, since (a) I didn't want to miss the rest of the show and (b) I had by that point worked myself forward in the crowd to an area where the floor seemed to be covered in broken glass. Also, (c) I've never had to drink Pedialyte, and I don't intend to start at this point in my life. But, gasp, the set ended with a few hits still unplayed? How could this be?
Well, since they were obviously fishing for an encore, the crowd tried to do their part and cheer, hollar, and otherwise demand one. But, much like their original enterance to the stage, they were much delayed, to the point where the crowd had mostly given up and were starting to move away when the stage door re-opened. But what an encore it was! They took us to a gay bar and infected us with a dance epidemic, and warned us of the dire germanic threat to our southern neighbors. The chorus of "Sing, everybody, Deutsche Deutsche, vaya con Dios, amigos!" went on for almost five minutes, and I loved every second of it. When the four song encore (one from each album so far) was over, the crowd dispersed and I drank about a litre of water. With a copy of the new CD in my hand, I walked out into the night. Brian, Meredith, Hudak, and Nicolle were nowhere to be seen. I made my way home (after stopping to talk with some friend who I happened to run into) hung up the clothes I'd been wearing to dry, and took a shower. The only articles of clothing (including, I may point out, my necktie) not soaked through were my socks, and even those somehow smelled like cigarette smoke.
So, certainly not the best concert I've ever been to, but the Electric Six, at least, were exactly what I needed and wanted. As the arbiter of justice, I find in their favor.
Friday, eighteenth week after Pentecost
Reviews! Because what what, you probably couldn't stop me if you tried.
First review: Alligator! Results: Delicious! Chickeny texture, but much more flavorful. Good in stir fries for sure, I imagine gumbos also.
Next! Teach Yourself PHP with MySQL, by Nat MacBride. Loved it! Well-laid out, well-written. Amusing, educational, I read it like I read novels, barely put it down. Picture of adorable kitten on cover. Mad cheaps, too. Perhaps I should czech out more in the series. (NB: Changes ensuing! Some already here, what's the address of this page?)
Finally! Nobody Scores! I like the art, and I love the premise. The comics can be read in any order, as continuity of character is preserved between episodes, but continuity of causality is abandoned. Everything ends poorly for everyone, everytime. My favorite is this one about bad ideas. I also liked the one with the minions.
Stay tuned for next time, when I may or may not pass judgement on an entire geographic region! Objective standard, over and out.
Thursday, seventeenth week after Pentecost
The scenario: there are three students working in the maclab. Additionally, one computer has been password-locked by a user. The rest of the computers are unused. A few are, as usual, not working. A young man enters, a computer scientist, looks to be about second, maybe third year. He immediately walks to the one locked computer. When he realises that the screen is locked, he looks around in confusion for a moment. "I'm no fool," he says to himself. "I know what to do with a computer that isn't showing the login screen. I'll press CTRL-SHIFT-backspace and restart X!" And so he does.
As he sits down and begins to work, another young man enters. This man is somewhat older, and is casually carrying a backpack. Looking around at the lab as he enters, he stares at the first man. He begins to stride toward his target, quickly at first, and then more hesitatingly. Finally, he is standing behind the other man. He clears his throat quietly, and says, "Did you..." and pauses, as though unsure, and then continues, "...restart this computer?" A look of confusion can be seen on his face.
The first man looks up at him, his innocent expression marred by a tinge of confusion. "I thought no one else was using it."
The older man, murmuring a polite dismissal, shoulders his bag and walks away, his steps and posture unsure. In this fashion, he proceeds out the exit, shaking his head.
Tuesday, fifteenth week after Pentecost
So all summer, Brian and I have been reeducating each other, naming albums to hear and books to read. Brian's recomendated reading: I, Lucifer; Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs; Satanic Verses. My own selections: Hart's Hope; Foucault's Pendulum; Lucifer's Hammer; Oedipus the King and Antigone; Moby Dick. Sense a theme? Brian's not ready to relinquish Verses yet, and I'm still in the thick of Moby Dick and Antigone. I get involved in what I read. I nearly wept for Oedipus, and I was both affirmed and offended by Klosterman. Most of Pendulum I had to read in small chunks.
Add to this movies and music. Reality Bites, on Klostermann's recommendation. We had to pause that one, go out to the porch for cigarettes. Boys and Girls in America, alternately as flagellation and intoxicant. Señor Smoke, as warning and oracle. No, as a mirror, dimly. Before the move, Amy Ray, Aimee Man, Amy Winehouse. The Gothic Archies, also from Brian. Snow Machine, which would have made me want to weep regardless.
Tonight, I made the mistake of acquiring the rest of the The Hold Steady discography. It's too much, too dense, and I can't stop. Months ago, I read The Crying of Lot 49. Maybe you understand. I don't even know when I started anymore.
Lately, I've had a lot of people ask me about turning into a dragon. Lately, I've been reminded over and again that this might all be a dream. (Lately, I've been having lots of recurrent dreams... again.) I've had conversations about living life all over. Even the Wii asked me about erasing my past. Just now, I think, if I woke up on the floor in seventh grade, I wouldn't remember anything I've learned. Dreams always escape, leaving me hungry. I never remember the important parts, the keystones, the turning points.
I never remember anything.
Labour Day
Today I celebrated Labour Day for the first time in my life. It was very confusing. Everyone was having barbeques and other gatherings, mostly outside, right next to each other, but not together. Everyone was complaining about having to work in the morning, and I couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't thrown the parties the day before, instead. The bank was closed, but the bakery and the beer store were open. Several people insisted to me that it was the last day of summer. I don't really understand why this is.
It's a holiday to celebrate unionization, right? There must be something I'm missing.
Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
I am constantly vexed by my inability to make a proper sandwich. This inability has its roots in the fact that I don't own any bread. Constant vexation!
Furthermore, there appears to be nowhere in the immediate area where I can buy a sandwich, with the lone exception of a coffee shop that will sell me a tiny, tiny sandwich at a double-sandwich price. Accursed hipster price-gouging!
Thus I am doomed to a sandwichless existence, which, since I don't have any other food either, means I pretty much don't ever eat supper. Grr, hiss! Alas!
Internetsless IX
Four hours is always the worst. In four hours, I will once more be graced by the gifts of Hermes, will hold in these same hands the strings of the aether, which I will tug as I wish, thither and hither, just so. Our lady of earthly knowledge will hear once more my pleas, my ones, my zeros, and will deliver unto me that which I desire: music videos, php tutorials, and webcomics.
And yet the light blinks red, mocking and taunting, withholding my once and future ping. And I can really only read so much Eco in an afternoon.
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