(no subject)
(I wrote all of this a few weeks ago and then lost interest and never finished. This year feels like an unfinished sentence. A blank space after an unneeded comma. In other words, it's not going well and I can really hate myself when I give myself the opportunity. And there have been plenty of those, trust me.)
It's been hard to write lately. My new year's resolution--basically, the only thing that I wanted to take seriously--was to try to write at least once a week. Not necessarily on here, but in a story, or maybe just something scribbled in the margins of a notebook...it's just weird.
That little bit you just read? I wrote those lines a few weeks ago, lost interest in the entry, and just left. So that kind of sucks.
Blahhh. I'm in a bad mood today. Just kind of pissed off for no reason. It's becoming a bit of a routine, going to Cru and leaving pissed off. That probably isn't good, considering how Cru is supposed to be joyful and welcoming and shit. But not once have I felt welcome there, to be honest. I should just stop going altogether but some weaker part of me seems convinced that I'm mysteriously going to fit in there next time, next time, always next time.
I'm sick of waiting for next time and I'm sick of being ignored.
Of course, I come back and find my roommates and all their friends smoking and drinking in my room. I kind of slammed the door behind me when I went in to grab my laptop and headphones and left to come here, to the lobby, but I don't care what they think of me anymore. I suppose the one benefit of being pissed off is the complete and utter lack of self-restraint that comes with it.
The fact that I've been listening to The Littlest Man Band all day doesn't really help my mood, either. LMB was a short-lived side project headed by Scott Klopfenstein, trumpet player and backup vocalist for Reel Big Fish (until this January, when he decided to leave the band to be with his wife and soon-to-be little girl; an honorable but still devastating decision to fans)...the group is kind of bluesy and kind of jazzy and completely wonderful. This is how all modern music should sound. And Scott has the best voice I've ever heard.
But I'm not here to talk about LMB or RBF or being pissed off. I'm here to talk about seeing Streetlight Manifesto.
Most of y'all have heard this already, but I don't care. I'm gonna write it up anyway, because I always feel better when my thoughts and memories are recorded somehow, if only because I know that if they aren't I'll forget them and lose them forever. (Is that a weird thing to actively worry about? I was so excited to have my camera at the show because of this very reason. I worry about a lot of things people, let alone people my age, worry about. I worry about MTV and reality shows and how they're corrupting society. I worry about bad spelling and stupidity. I worry about my favorite bands breaking up. Yeah, I actually stress myself out, imagining that happening.) Well, that parenthesis took me for a spin. Anywhoozles, I'm just going to let this post take me where it wants. I know I'm going to ramble on about some ridiculous aspect of the evening that I find fascinating and you, frankly, don't, and I'm not going to pretend that you do. Hell, don't even read this if you don't want to. Writing is a self-indulgent art at best and a paying gig at worst. You can quote me on that.
There's not much to say about the ride out west except that it went quickly and smoothly, except for Kalamazoo, which is an absolute maze. Then there was getting to the venue, and waiting around for a long time (doors at 6:30, show at 7:30. Why did we think we had to get there for doors?) I had my hopes low for the openers; they're supposed to suck and it only meant that there were three bands standing between me and Streetlight. So Lionize comes out and blows me away.
(Yeah, that's as far as I got. I figure I'll write about the show eventually, because photographs lie and I want to have a good account of it that I can look back on and truly remember. Looking at the way I put the words together will lend the memories that a picture won't. Just felt like posting what I have, worthless as it is, because it makes me feel good, for some reason.)
It's been hard to write lately. My new year's resolution--basically, the only thing that I wanted to take seriously--was to try to write at least once a week. Not necessarily on here, but in a story, or maybe just something scribbled in the margins of a notebook...it's just weird.
That little bit you just read? I wrote those lines a few weeks ago, lost interest in the entry, and just left. So that kind of sucks.
Blahhh. I'm in a bad mood today. Just kind of pissed off for no reason. It's becoming a bit of a routine, going to Cru and leaving pissed off. That probably isn't good, considering how Cru is supposed to be joyful and welcoming and shit. But not once have I felt welcome there, to be honest. I should just stop going altogether but some weaker part of me seems convinced that I'm mysteriously going to fit in there next time, next time, always next time.
I'm sick of waiting for next time and I'm sick of being ignored.
Of course, I come back and find my roommates and all their friends smoking and drinking in my room. I kind of slammed the door behind me when I went in to grab my laptop and headphones and left to come here, to the lobby, but I don't care what they think of me anymore. I suppose the one benefit of being pissed off is the complete and utter lack of self-restraint that comes with it.
The fact that I've been listening to The Littlest Man Band all day doesn't really help my mood, either. LMB was a short-lived side project headed by Scott Klopfenstein, trumpet player and backup vocalist for Reel Big Fish (until this January, when he decided to leave the band to be with his wife and soon-to-be little girl; an honorable but still devastating decision to fans)...the group is kind of bluesy and kind of jazzy and completely wonderful. This is how all modern music should sound. And Scott has the best voice I've ever heard.
But I'm not here to talk about LMB or RBF or being pissed off. I'm here to talk about seeing Streetlight Manifesto.
Most of y'all have heard this already, but I don't care. I'm gonna write it up anyway, because I always feel better when my thoughts and memories are recorded somehow, if only because I know that if they aren't I'll forget them and lose them forever. (Is that a weird thing to actively worry about? I was so excited to have my camera at the show because of this very reason. I worry about a lot of things people, let alone people my age, worry about. I worry about MTV and reality shows and how they're corrupting society. I worry about bad spelling and stupidity. I worry about my favorite bands breaking up. Yeah, I actually stress myself out, imagining that happening.) Well, that parenthesis took me for a spin. Anywhoozles, I'm just going to let this post take me where it wants. I know I'm going to ramble on about some ridiculous aspect of the evening that I find fascinating and you, frankly, don't, and I'm not going to pretend that you do. Hell, don't even read this if you don't want to. Writing is a self-indulgent art at best and a paying gig at worst. You can quote me on that.
There's not much to say about the ride out west except that it went quickly and smoothly, except for Kalamazoo, which is an absolute maze. Then there was getting to the venue, and waiting around for a long time (doors at 6:30, show at 7:30. Why did we think we had to get there for doors?) I had my hopes low for the openers; they're supposed to suck and it only meant that there were three bands standing between me and Streetlight. So Lionize comes out and blows me away.
(Yeah, that's as far as I got. I figure I'll write about the show eventually, because photographs lie and I want to have a good account of it that I can look back on and truly remember. Looking at the way I put the words together will lend the memories that a picture won't. Just felt like posting what I have, worthless as it is, because it makes me feel good, for some reason.)