I'm wicked backward
I found a grey hair last night...I think. (It may have just been a thin hair, which is kinda what I'm banking on.) I thought the situation ought to be marked with weeping, but after a few moments of staring at myself in the mirror and trying to force tears, I concluded that I am, indeed, devoid of feelings. I can't even fake emotion. I'm robotic. (Note: I'm not being wholly serious here, so if you try to be supportive, know that I'm just going to get evil.) It did occur to me that I'm way behind on experiencing the things one ought to experience before one finds grey hair, and that made me a little sad...and kinda tempted to go on a desperate, "my-hair-is-grey-and-I'm-lonely" slutty spree.
I probably won't.
By probably, I mean certainly. I'm so damn square. :)
The Shins concert was...well, it was good. The audience was a tremendous pain in the ass--and to be fair, after my Long Island iced tea I'm somewhat indicting myself, too, here: it was a mixture of emo-esque, bookish chic (Hi, MacKenzie!) and drunken Greek. It had to be the oddest conglomeration of people ever, and in my corner of the 40 Watt, the noisiest. Question: if people want to sit around and listen to themselves talk, why don't they do it at home, to the Shins album, rather than when other people are trying to experience the Shins live? And a more pertinent question: when you knock over your cheap beer on someone's pants and dry-clean-only jacket, isn't it more polite to apologize than to fake oblivious and continue dancing badly? Who ARE these people?
At least I got to hear the songs I wanted--and, since both of the soundtrack songs were played, I guess so did the sorostitutes. (Yes, I'm slightly bitter.)
I'm hardly ever here in my dreams anymore...why is that? Last night I was in Charleston briefly and then Boston.
I wonder if watching "Alias" tonight qualifies as studying for my African American history exam. Anyone able to think of a justification for that argument?
I probably won't.
By probably, I mean certainly. I'm so damn square. :)
The Shins concert was...well, it was good. The audience was a tremendous pain in the ass--and to be fair, after my Long Island iced tea I'm somewhat indicting myself, too, here: it was a mixture of emo-esque, bookish chic (Hi, MacKenzie!) and drunken Greek. It had to be the oddest conglomeration of people ever, and in my corner of the 40 Watt, the noisiest. Question: if people want to sit around and listen to themselves talk, why don't they do it at home, to the Shins album, rather than when other people are trying to experience the Shins live? And a more pertinent question: when you knock over your cheap beer on someone's pants and dry-clean-only jacket, isn't it more polite to apologize than to fake oblivious and continue dancing badly? Who ARE these people?
At least I got to hear the songs I wanted--and, since both of the soundtrack songs were played, I guess so did the sorostitutes. (Yes, I'm slightly bitter.)
I'm hardly ever here in my dreams anymore...why is that? Last night I was in Charleston briefly and then Boston.
I wonder if watching "Alias" tonight qualifies as studying for my African American history exam. Anyone able to think of a justification for that argument?