(no subject)
My restful weekend is off to a great start. I did absolutely nothing today but drop off the sprout, rent some videos (Disney's Peter Pan and Return to Neverland . . . I know, everyone says the sequels are all awful, but Lion King 1 and 1/2 was pretty damn funny), and take a gigantic nap. Four hours later, I'm feelin' pretty good. Although my eyes are still kinda blurry. Is it bad to nap with contacts on? I'm better than I was at resisting the urge to rub my eyes, so that's a good thing.
I was supposed to go to New Yawk this weekend and spend most of it hanging out with beetiger, but my body shoved me up against a wall and tough-talked me on Thursday night.
Body: Listen, you! I've kept you sniffly and blah-feeling and occasionally too sick to get out of bed for three weeks, and you still don't get it! Slow down, take a breather!
Me: I don't need to! There are things to do and places to go and fun to have and . . .
Body: Do you want pneumonia? That's what we bodies can do to stupid inhabitors who don't listen. *shakes fist menacingly*
Me: But cancelling means I'd make beetiger sad! I think I'd rather sit behind an overperfumed womyn on a two-hour bus ride than do that!
Body: How 'bout Bronchitis? How does that sound?
Me: But . . . but . . . but . . .
Body: You can use the time to send her something nice.
Me: Yeah, I could . . .
Body: You're ridiculously overstressed. You need time off.
Me: No, I'm not! No, I don't!
Body: Don't believe me, eh? Try thinking about the mess your friends are in.
Me: Sucky situation, but- ow, chest tight, can't breathe, what the fuck?
Body: Told ya.
Me: Dammit.
So there's a lot to do around here, cleaning and Roundabout and et cetera, but I think I'll watch a movie first.
Oh, once again, 311 rocks. Nick Hexum is sex, just barely contained in flesh. If one were to prick him, blood would not come out, just the ooze of liquid sex. I think it would taste like butterscotch, but I have no idea why . . . unless memories of licking Buttershotts off of a pretty girl's breasts are surfacing again. I did that, didn't I? Kewl. I have no idea how, I don't think I drank anything that night.
Anyway, when I play Erik on Roundabout, I have to somehow emulate Nick Hexum. So that every movement, every word is a sensual one, and a casual lick of my lips would give orgasms to any who see it. Impossible, but it's what I must keep in the back of my head.
Nick didn't take off his shirt this time, though he teased us with pulling it up a few times towards the end. Rippling six-pack, mmmmmm. He's growing his hair out, it curls around the bottom of his neck. Nick with Coyote's hair? Le Sigh . . .
They sounded amazing, though I wonder if I will ever get to hear more of their non-singles . . . but that's a problem that U2 and other long-lived bands have, I'm sure. There's so many singles, there's so many hits, that there's hardly ever time for their other stuff at a concert. 311 played three songs off of Don't Tread on Me, but not even one off Soundsystem, and only one off Evolver. Still, at least they didn't spend half the concert on their first two albums, which are the only two I don't like.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could get a thousand fans to pay 311 to do a concert of Transistor, an album that they hardly play because the old-skool fans found it too mellow and ambient-sounding? It's a great album, but the only non-single they played off it this concert was "What Was I Thinking?" which is the least-mellow track on the whole thing. Ah, well.
Cool concert, great time, and it was the first I'd danced in a long while. Hopefully I'll do some more dancing today or Sunday. Dancing frees me, unties every string that binds me. If I could dance long enough, I'm sure I'd untie the string named "Gravity" and just float on up to the stars.
I was supposed to go to New Yawk this weekend and spend most of it hanging out with beetiger, but my body shoved me up against a wall and tough-talked me on Thursday night.
Body: Listen, you! I've kept you sniffly and blah-feeling and occasionally too sick to get out of bed for three weeks, and you still don't get it! Slow down, take a breather!
Me: I don't need to! There are things to do and places to go and fun to have and . . .
Body: Do you want pneumonia? That's what we bodies can do to stupid inhabitors who don't listen. *shakes fist menacingly*
Me: But cancelling means I'd make beetiger sad! I think I'd rather sit behind an overperfumed womyn on a two-hour bus ride than do that!
Body: How 'bout Bronchitis? How does that sound?
Me: But . . . but . . . but . . .
Body: You can use the time to send her something nice.
Me: Yeah, I could . . .
Body: You're ridiculously overstressed. You need time off.
Me: No, I'm not! No, I don't!
Body: Don't believe me, eh? Try thinking about the mess your friends are in.
Me: Sucky situation, but- ow, chest tight, can't breathe, what the fuck?
Body: Told ya.
Me: Dammit.
So there's a lot to do around here, cleaning and Roundabout and et cetera, but I think I'll watch a movie first.
Oh, once again, 311 rocks. Nick Hexum is sex, just barely contained in flesh. If one were to prick him, blood would not come out, just the ooze of liquid sex. I think it would taste like butterscotch, but I have no idea why . . . unless memories of licking Buttershotts off of a pretty girl's breasts are surfacing again. I did that, didn't I? Kewl. I have no idea how, I don't think I drank anything that night.
Anyway, when I play Erik on Roundabout, I have to somehow emulate Nick Hexum. So that every movement, every word is a sensual one, and a casual lick of my lips would give orgasms to any who see it. Impossible, but it's what I must keep in the back of my head.
Nick didn't take off his shirt this time, though he teased us with pulling it up a few times towards the end. Rippling six-pack, mmmmmm. He's growing his hair out, it curls around the bottom of his neck. Nick with Coyote's hair? Le Sigh . . .
They sounded amazing, though I wonder if I will ever get to hear more of their non-singles . . . but that's a problem that U2 and other long-lived bands have, I'm sure. There's so many singles, there's so many hits, that there's hardly ever time for their other stuff at a concert. 311 played three songs off of Don't Tread on Me, but not even one off Soundsystem, and only one off Evolver. Still, at least they didn't spend half the concert on their first two albums, which are the only two I don't like.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if I could get a thousand fans to pay 311 to do a concert of Transistor, an album that they hardly play because the old-skool fans found it too mellow and ambient-sounding? It's a great album, but the only non-single they played off it this concert was "What Was I Thinking?" which is the least-mellow track on the whole thing. Ah, well.
Cool concert, great time, and it was the first I'd danced in a long while. Hopefully I'll do some more dancing today or Sunday. Dancing frees me, unties every string that binds me. If I could dance long enough, I'm sure I'd untie the string named "Gravity" and just float on up to the stars.