Oh crap, not my limbs.
I've really been meaning to update this thing for the past month or so but honestly I haven't had it in me. It's strange, I sat down and tried writing on actual paper last weekend and things came out smooth and natural but right now, on the magic box, I'm not feeling as inspired. A logical conclusion would be that I should turn this thing off and whip out a notepad, but that really hasn't occurred to me yet.
Things have been pretty good lately, I've been seeing my girlfriend every weekend due to various obligations. It's kind of a pain having to put that much mileage on my car but in the long run it's much better for my sanity inasmuch as she's one of three things (see also: Rez and vodka) that can get me to fucking relax at all anymore. Spent the weekend preceding the fourth of July with her, and that was cool. Went to visit her brother in Grosse Ile, he's got like a 24-foot speedboat or something, I mean, okay, the last time I let him take me anywhere by way of an internal combustion engine I was very nearly killed to fucking death, but I was able to let it slide because hey. Fireworks on the open water. Yes. Very worth it.
Am I Getting Old?
Last weekend was pretty fucking epic too. It had been a long time in coming, but my girlfriend decided to pay me back for all the weddings I've dragged her to over the years. Everything went well, save for that I don't think I've ever so completely failed to win over a jury of my peers since high school. Everyone's getting married and popping out babies, and I'm all "what the fuck guys" but the truth is that this is what people my age are supposed to do. We had fun though, and my girlfriend got to get in touch with a ton of people she hasn't seen in years. And me, I sauntered over to the bar and drank most of it, to forget the pain of missing the Detroit Symphony Orchestra doing Video Games LIVE. The less said of that, the better. But I would get over that soon enough.
Rasputina: OH FUCK YES.
Of course, it also helped that we got to see a live show that weekend at the Magic Stick. Also known as If I Ever Go Back There Ever Again It Will Be Too Fucking Soon. It's like there's this invisible line on Woodward Avenue (also known as 8 Mile) that divides the rest of the world from this nightmarish ghetto apocalypse of chicken shacks, liquor stores, derelict buildings, and homeless people. That's where we saw Rasputina. We arrived about four hours early because we anticipated a huge crowd, we'd never been there before, and we thought the doors were an hour earlier than they actually were.
So you go to the Magic Stick and it's one of those places that have a ton of establishments under one roof; you've got a shitty cafe, you've got a Sergeant Pepperoni's (really awesome pizza), you've got a bowling alley, and upstairs is the Magic Stick, basically a dive bar with a really intimate concert setup. At one point, the security detail lines us all up and says "now it'd make my job a lot easier if all the underage people could line up outside the venue so I can card the older ticketholders first." All save for ourselves and like six other people went outside. At that point I felt really really fucking old. We met some really cool single-serving friends and talked TV and video games with them, and then we went upstairs to the bar. Then we sat there breathing cigarette smoke for the next two hours.
And I understand that bars are like the last place you can really smoke anymore, but jesus fucking christ people. I mean, I'm a caffeine addict, but occasionally my body will tell me, by way of convulsions and double vision, that I should probably lay off the Folger's for a little while. So is nicotine unlike other addictive substances in that you never really get "enough"? And if you're a smoker, do you not get the gummy eyeballs and burning sinuses feeling that the rest of us have? Like, do you not notice that. And really, since you can get nicotine from gum or a discrete patch, why do you have to light something on fire and ash all over my shoes and blow great foul puffs of smoke into the upper atmosphere so it can settle all over everything? Like, maybe instead you could get a tube, and one end fits over your penis, and the other end sticks out of your shirt collar, and you exhale your cigarette smoke into the tube, and then you get carcinoma and have to have your dick surgically excised. I think that's a much better solution than you breathing shit all over me. But I digress.
The opening act was Jana Hunter, and she was so fucking awful that (and I apologize because only five people will get this reference) she made The Mars Volta sound like System of a Down by comparison. I am serious. The worst part being that this bitch started late and played for about three hours, and Rasputina only played for about 45 minutes. "Okay guys, I think I got a few more in me" is something you never want to hear the opening act say, but invariably they will say it, always about four songs after you wish someone in the front row had rushed the stage with a machete.
But Rasputina were incredible. I mean wow. They're unbelievably intense in concert, and Melora Creager is fucking adorable. Two cellos, one drummer, some victorian period costumes, and they rock your fucking ears off.
Partial setlist (incomplete and in no particular order):
Draconian Crackdown
Transylvanian Concubine
Watch T.V.
Saline the Salt Lake Queen
The Mayor
Barracuda (originally by Heart)
Things I'm Gonna Do
Cage in a Cave
Wish You Were Here (originally by Pink Floyd)
Encore:
Rusty the Skatemaker (Melora came back onstage first and did this as a solo, fucking amazing)
If Your Kisses Can't Hold The Man You Love (this one made my girlfriend scream)
Sadly despite all the bootleggers at the show only one video made it to YouTube:
But you get the idea. Headbanging at a cello recital. As we left the venue it became once again clear to us that we had crossed the threshold of Woodward Avenue, as two homeless people began heckling us the second we got out the door. The first guy just sort of said "hey, hey man," but went no further. Slacker. The second guy followed us a bit, begging for money at first, and then he started freestyling. That was cool, if a little terrifying in the "is he going to go for my kidneys" sense. And admittedly, he was a really good rapper considering he was probably high on paint thinner at the time. I told him in all honesty that he was better than our opening act, but I had no money to give him. I did not tell him that only a complete idiot would be caught with cash money in a back alley on Woodward Avenue. I felt bad too, I wanted to give him money, or buy him a pizza, but that would have been blood in the water and every vagrant in a five-mile radius would be upon me. He gave me a high five and we parted ways, and for the rest of the night I had to exert a conscious effort to keep that hand as far from the rest of my body as possible out of fear of bacterial meningitis.
Very very sleepy
And that brings us up to 4:47 a.m. on a thursday morning. I have completely destroyed my sleep schedule. Yesterday I worked about sixteen (!) hours, passed out until 6 am, and came back today to work another nine hour shift with no break. I meant to take a light nap, like fifteen minutes, but I ended up sleeping until 2am, which is understandable, and here I am writing this. I really should get back to bed, but I don't think it will do any good. At least next week is practically guaranteed to be quiet.
Japan Countdown: 78 Days.
Things have been pretty good lately, I've been seeing my girlfriend every weekend due to various obligations. It's kind of a pain having to put that much mileage on my car but in the long run it's much better for my sanity inasmuch as she's one of three things (see also: Rez and vodka) that can get me to fucking relax at all anymore. Spent the weekend preceding the fourth of July with her, and that was cool. Went to visit her brother in Grosse Ile, he's got like a 24-foot speedboat or something, I mean, okay, the last time I let him take me anywhere by way of an internal combustion engine I was very nearly killed to fucking death, but I was able to let it slide because hey. Fireworks on the open water. Yes. Very worth it.
Am I Getting Old?
Last weekend was pretty fucking epic too. It had been a long time in coming, but my girlfriend decided to pay me back for all the weddings I've dragged her to over the years. Everything went well, save for that I don't think I've ever so completely failed to win over a jury of my peers since high school. Everyone's getting married and popping out babies, and I'm all "what the fuck guys" but the truth is that this is what people my age are supposed to do. We had fun though, and my girlfriend got to get in touch with a ton of people she hasn't seen in years. And me, I sauntered over to the bar and drank most of it, to forget the pain of missing the Detroit Symphony Orchestra doing Video Games LIVE. The less said of that, the better. But I would get over that soon enough.
Rasputina: OH FUCK YES.
Of course, it also helped that we got to see a live show that weekend at the Magic Stick. Also known as If I Ever Go Back There Ever Again It Will Be Too Fucking Soon. It's like there's this invisible line on Woodward Avenue (also known as 8 Mile) that divides the rest of the world from this nightmarish ghetto apocalypse of chicken shacks, liquor stores, derelict buildings, and homeless people. That's where we saw Rasputina. We arrived about four hours early because we anticipated a huge crowd, we'd never been there before, and we thought the doors were an hour earlier than they actually were.
So you go to the Magic Stick and it's one of those places that have a ton of establishments under one roof; you've got a shitty cafe, you've got a Sergeant Pepperoni's (really awesome pizza), you've got a bowling alley, and upstairs is the Magic Stick, basically a dive bar with a really intimate concert setup. At one point, the security detail lines us all up and says "now it'd make my job a lot easier if all the underage people could line up outside the venue so I can card the older ticketholders first." All save for ourselves and like six other people went outside. At that point I felt really really fucking old. We met some really cool single-serving friends and talked TV and video games with them, and then we went upstairs to the bar. Then we sat there breathing cigarette smoke for the next two hours.
And I understand that bars are like the last place you can really smoke anymore, but jesus fucking christ people. I mean, I'm a caffeine addict, but occasionally my body will tell me, by way of convulsions and double vision, that I should probably lay off the Folger's for a little while. So is nicotine unlike other addictive substances in that you never really get "enough"? And if you're a smoker, do you not get the gummy eyeballs and burning sinuses feeling that the rest of us have? Like, do you not notice that. And really, since you can get nicotine from gum or a discrete patch, why do you have to light something on fire and ash all over my shoes and blow great foul puffs of smoke into the upper atmosphere so it can settle all over everything? Like, maybe instead you could get a tube, and one end fits over your penis, and the other end sticks out of your shirt collar, and you exhale your cigarette smoke into the tube, and then you get carcinoma and have to have your dick surgically excised. I think that's a much better solution than you breathing shit all over me. But I digress.
The opening act was Jana Hunter, and she was so fucking awful that (and I apologize because only five people will get this reference) she made The Mars Volta sound like System of a Down by comparison. I am serious. The worst part being that this bitch started late and played for about three hours, and Rasputina only played for about 45 minutes. "Okay guys, I think I got a few more in me" is something you never want to hear the opening act say, but invariably they will say it, always about four songs after you wish someone in the front row had rushed the stage with a machete.
But Rasputina were incredible. I mean wow. They're unbelievably intense in concert, and Melora Creager is fucking adorable. Two cellos, one drummer, some victorian period costumes, and they rock your fucking ears off.
Partial setlist (incomplete and in no particular order):
Draconian Crackdown
Transylvanian Concubine
Watch T.V.
Saline the Salt Lake Queen
The Mayor
Barracuda (originally by Heart)
Things I'm Gonna Do
Cage in a Cave
Wish You Were Here (originally by Pink Floyd)
Encore:
Rusty the Skatemaker (Melora came back onstage first and did this as a solo, fucking amazing)
If Your Kisses Can't Hold The Man You Love (this one made my girlfriend scream)
Sadly despite all the bootleggers at the show only one video made it to YouTube:
Click to viewBut you get the idea. Headbanging at a cello recital. As we left the venue it became once again clear to us that we had crossed the threshold of Woodward Avenue, as two homeless people began heckling us the second we got out the door. The first guy just sort of said "hey, hey man," but went no further. Slacker. The second guy followed us a bit, begging for money at first, and then he started freestyling. That was cool, if a little terrifying in the "is he going to go for my kidneys" sense. And admittedly, he was a really good rapper considering he was probably high on paint thinner at the time. I told him in all honesty that he was better than our opening act, but I had no money to give him. I did not tell him that only a complete idiot would be caught with cash money in a back alley on Woodward Avenue. I felt bad too, I wanted to give him money, or buy him a pizza, but that would have been blood in the water and every vagrant in a five-mile radius would be upon me. He gave me a high five and we parted ways, and for the rest of the night I had to exert a conscious effort to keep that hand as far from the rest of my body as possible out of fear of bacterial meningitis.
Very very sleepy
And that brings us up to 4:47 a.m. on a thursday morning. I have completely destroyed my sleep schedule. Yesterday I worked about sixteen (!) hours, passed out until 6 am, and came back today to work another nine hour shift with no break. I meant to take a light nap, like fifteen minutes, but I ended up sleeping until 2am, which is understandable, and here I am writing this. I really should get back to bed, but I don't think it will do any good. At least next week is practically guaranteed to be quiet.
Japan Countdown: 78 Days.