Shee-it, y’all.
I had to go read my last update to see where I left off. Right, work. I’ve been working a lot. I haven’t minded it so much because it’s just more time to hang with Micci before she goes off to other-contract-land forever (a year). And Michael, well… the biggest Michael news today was that his socks matched. I congratulated him on his achievement. Work’s gonna be really strange when I’m the only one there. I don’t know how I’m going to manage that being-quiet thing. It’ll be rough. So last Saturday I went willingly, yet not excitedly, to see Incubus at RiverCenter in that other city which is not Minneapolis. My sister made me go. I figured since I knew the name of the band I’d know their music, but the sound quality made it prohibitive. I recognized a couple songs, and otherwise I zoned out and watched people and fiddled with my phone and daydreamed about sex, which is also exactly what I do when I’m bored during movies, minus the people-watching and phone-fiddling. There were two things I found interesting about the show: First, why haven’t they renovated Roy Wilkins? It’s like the embarrassing retarded half-brother of the sparkly RiverCenter (I’m totally guessing about that, since I’ve never actually been inside, but I’ve heard tell! Yes I have!) I saw Nirvana there back in the olden days. And Nine Inch Nails and Soundgarden, and at least once they shoved Lollapalooza in there when they arrived and found Harriet Island underwater. We’ve all heard much music at Roy Wilkins Auditorium, and therefore it’s time to knock it down. It’s had its day. Second, I’ve been driving longer than most of the kids at that show have been alive. On the way out, I told Stephanie that we’d have no trouble getting out of the parking ramp, as most everybody would be getting picked up by their moms. Second and a half, hootchies! 14-year-old girls with visible back-pudge and buttcracks, eyeliner applied a la Sharpie marker. 14-year-old boys with do-me bar t’s and that necklace. You know the one. It’s funny how you now recognize in those kids you envied in early high school the thing you wish you saw then: a painful, almost disabling lack of self-confidence. It makes you glad to be old. Last night, I saw Muse at Quest, one of the other Prince-abandoned clubs here in the only Twin City that really counts. Now, this show, my friends. Damn. I wanted to be near the front but hopefully avoid the pushing and the crowd surfing and all that, so we positioned ourselves a little off to the side near the stacks. I’m still deaf in one ear, so you’ll have to pardon the yelling. About two songs into their set, though, I realized that I did actually want to be in that crazy, writhing mass. Because I have some aggression to work out. I did end up hitting a girl, but only a little, and she was really asking for it. I left there drenched in other people’s sweat, my clothes stretched about two sizes too big, euphoric. That show was fucking great. Here’s a crappy phone photo and a little phone movie that’s a remarkably accurate depiction of the show. (Uh, that’s in 3gp format. I couldn’t find a converter without paying for QuickTime Pro, but QuickTime seems to play it fine.) Speaking of yelling, I had a really great night the other night. I woke up and saw something next to my bed, hovering over me in a truly menacing way. It looked like a patchwork stuffed animal, if I remember correctly, only about four feet tall. And did I mention menacing? So I did what anyone would do: I screamed. And screamed and screamed. Then I woke up to Heather knocking on my door asking if I was ok, what with all the screaming. Freaked me the hell out, dude. Chloe came up and laid by my head all night, staring at me. I woke up with my heart pounding over and over. I dreamt that I was punching a strange woman in the face. I dreamed about plane crashes. And then… I dreamed about work. Ha. So that was interesting. Other things, in square-bullet list format, because I’m crazy like dat:- The mystery photo has been correctly identified as one of the candles at Luce. Kevin is the grand prize winner.
- There is a new store that sells not only Sanrio, but all other over-the-top cuteness of Japanese origin. Oh god.
- If anyone else would like to tell me what a terribly bad person I am, please to do so now, so I can deal with all of it at once. I don’t really want this to go on too very long. If you’d like, I can supply you with a form letter with all the accusations, and you can just sign your name. Saves you the hassle, right?
Thank you! Good night.
Jenni