Requiem for a Crustacean
For those of you who read my away messages on AIM religiously, you know that this past week saw the passing away of the Gimp. For the uninitiated, the Gimp was a green crab that I had been keeping in a fish tank at the apartment. He died of complications apparently resulting from a botched molting, or to be more accurate he died from having to be euthanized because of said complications (side note: knowing how to properly euthanize a crab is actually a fairly useful skill, especially if you're cooking a lot of them and don't want them to drop their claws in the pot).
The Gimp earned his name when he was caught in the giant tide pool at Black Point. At the time he was in possession of only one claw and four legs. Over the course of his six-month stay at Boondocks Headquarters (that's what I've decided I'm naming the apartment, as of right now) he delighted all with his willingness to eat just about anything thrown in the tank and his tendency to try to attack onlookers through the aquarium glass. He outlasted Ben the goby (who was probably quickly devoured after his demise, since no trace of the little fish's remains were ever found) and is survived by a bag of fish sticks that are going to have to be thrown out because no one else will be willing to eat them.
To be perfectly truthful, the death of the Gimp hit me a bit harder than expected. I attribute that to my rapidly shrinking universe now that I'm out of college. In school, I had legions of people I was interacting with every day; people from class, people in the coffeehouse, people at the pool, people I hung out with in my spare time, girls I tried unsuccessfully to date, and guys I bitched about girls with. Now, I wake up, eat breakfast, shower, eat lunch, go to work, come home after 10, watch TV or screw around on the internet for a couple hours, and go to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. My daily companions are the handful of people in my lab and the occasional visitor from another lab, a housemate with a daily schedule that is the exact opposite of mine, and whichever friends I can manage to catch up with on the weekends. Having the Gimp around was nice because at least there was another living thing in the house with me during the day. Now the aquarium has been taken down and I only have the ghost for companionship (and the ghost is even worse of a conversationalist than the crab was). Somehow, less than two months out of college I've already become some crazy old fart who needs a bunch of cats around for company.
It's a good thing I'm applying to grad school, because life after college pretty much blows so far.
But since I can't stand to let an entry about the death of a beloved pet end on a depressing note, I've got some music stuff for you.
When the chips are down, I start buying cd's, and here's my latest batch of reccomendations. The Good, The Bad, and The Queen is just what the doctor ordered for those of us who can always use another Damon Albarn side project, and boasts some of Danger Mouse's best production since Gnarls Barkley. It's also got the guitarist from the Verve and the bassist from the Clash. The Hold Steady are quickly becoming a favorite band of mine. They sound like what Bruce Springsteen would sound like if he made more references to substance abuse, and have a talent for making me feel nostalgic about all the drugs I didn't do and all the stupid things I did do while I was a teenager. Finally, for those feeling a bit retro, Throwing the Game is a strong offering from Lucky Boys Confusion, a pop-punk band that was (or perhaps still is?) much smarter and more musically diverse than their early-2000's peers. "Fred Astaire" is an even better song than you remember it being.
And this should count as upbeat: in the next few weeks I'll be playing not one, but two shows. The first is with FlareGunSuicide at KC's Tap in Pawtucket on the 8th (that's this Thursday, suckas). The second is my triumphant solo return to the 193 degrees coffeehouse, supporting A Troop of Echoes (straight out of my old hometown of North Kingstown). That'll go down on the 17th. You should probably show up for both of those, because seriously, what else were you going to do on those days?
Now if I could just get more rock and roll and less work in my life, I might actually start to enjoy being a legitimate adult.
The Gimp earned his name when he was caught in the giant tide pool at Black Point. At the time he was in possession of only one claw and four legs. Over the course of his six-month stay at Boondocks Headquarters (that's what I've decided I'm naming the apartment, as of right now) he delighted all with his willingness to eat just about anything thrown in the tank and his tendency to try to attack onlookers through the aquarium glass. He outlasted Ben the goby (who was probably quickly devoured after his demise, since no trace of the little fish's remains were ever found) and is survived by a bag of fish sticks that are going to have to be thrown out because no one else will be willing to eat them.
To be perfectly truthful, the death of the Gimp hit me a bit harder than expected. I attribute that to my rapidly shrinking universe now that I'm out of college. In school, I had legions of people I was interacting with every day; people from class, people in the coffeehouse, people at the pool, people I hung out with in my spare time, girls I tried unsuccessfully to date, and guys I bitched about girls with. Now, I wake up, eat breakfast, shower, eat lunch, go to work, come home after 10, watch TV or screw around on the internet for a couple hours, and go to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. My daily companions are the handful of people in my lab and the occasional visitor from another lab, a housemate with a daily schedule that is the exact opposite of mine, and whichever friends I can manage to catch up with on the weekends. Having the Gimp around was nice because at least there was another living thing in the house with me during the day. Now the aquarium has been taken down and I only have the ghost for companionship (and the ghost is even worse of a conversationalist than the crab was). Somehow, less than two months out of college I've already become some crazy old fart who needs a bunch of cats around for company.
It's a good thing I'm applying to grad school, because life after college pretty much blows so far.
But since I can't stand to let an entry about the death of a beloved pet end on a depressing note, I've got some music stuff for you.
When the chips are down, I start buying cd's, and here's my latest batch of reccomendations. The Good, The Bad, and The Queen is just what the doctor ordered for those of us who can always use another Damon Albarn side project, and boasts some of Danger Mouse's best production since Gnarls Barkley. It's also got the guitarist from the Verve and the bassist from the Clash. The Hold Steady are quickly becoming a favorite band of mine. They sound like what Bruce Springsteen would sound like if he made more references to substance abuse, and have a talent for making me feel nostalgic about all the drugs I didn't do and all the stupid things I did do while I was a teenager. Finally, for those feeling a bit retro, Throwing the Game is a strong offering from Lucky Boys Confusion, a pop-punk band that was (or perhaps still is?) much smarter and more musically diverse than their early-2000's peers. "Fred Astaire" is an even better song than you remember it being.
And this should count as upbeat: in the next few weeks I'll be playing not one, but two shows. The first is with FlareGunSuicide at KC's Tap in Pawtucket on the 8th (that's this Thursday, suckas). The second is my triumphant solo return to the 193 degrees coffeehouse, supporting A Troop of Echoes (straight out of my old hometown of North Kingstown). That'll go down on the 17th. You should probably show up for both of those, because seriously, what else were you going to do on those days?
Now if I could just get more rock and roll and less work in my life, I might actually start to enjoy being a legitimate adult.