set list? set list.
Friends and lovers, I cannot even explain the past week. I am a leaf blown on the winds of fortune. I have been abused, and I have been thankful.
My computer is fried, like, done. Half an hour after I posted Part IV, it just... stopped. I do not know when it will be fixed, or if it will - an ingenious argument for not going back to school next year, I think. And then I flew to Vancouver, and dropped my bag on my own face on the plane, and couldn't work the elevator in the hotel, and tried to walk into someone else's hotel room. And then I spent a million interminable hours at this library conference - which, yeah. Who's propagating that library-chic hipness myth? And can you please fuck yourself? And I was blown off by my boss at the trade show, and my professional partner at the mixer, and about eight hundred different professionals who got roped into networking with me by the other professionals as they smoothly blew me off. Although the ninety year old Professor Emeritus from Dal bought me a 7$ beer, saintly old guybrarian he is. And I saw Iron Man again. And then I was really early to the airport for my plane, which was late. And then when I finally arrived in Calgary, to smooch my partner and receive his thousand hugs, he was beside himself, teary-eyed because he's a motherfucking moron who locked his keys in the car and left it running in the parkade. So we waited for a million interminable hours for AMA to come and break into our car and I didn't cry or yell because I would take a thousand times as much inconvenience and bad luck for another trip like this one. Because karma fucking PULLED IT TOGETHER for me:
I didn't film this, but they opened with Nantes, and I lost my shit:
They also did THREE encores, the sexy bitches. Mount Wroclai:
Seriously, his only date in Canada, it was sold out for three months beforehand, and I arrive to catch an interview in the Straight on Wednesday morning while I'm scanning for Iron Man movie times and eating 3$ sushi in the drizzle. Yeah, I dropped the ball. And yeah, I fucking got in. Things are looking up for old Liz Lemon.
On top of that, I hung out with some hipster hotties who had it even worse for Zach than I did. I mean that in the most hetero way imaginable. One had a handlebar moustache, and the other looked like some heartbreaking cross between Cillian Murphy and Tobey Maguire. I told them I was a librarian and through some magical connection between fate, the universe, and my innate worth as a human being, I was not forced to remind myself that men hate me even once! A conversation with two strange men in a bar and we talked about our favourite dinosaurs and retarded music our neighbours listen to. I KNOW. alsdjfadf. I give all credit for this miracle of postfeminism to it being National Zach Condon day in Canada.
Anyway, here's a song I've never heard before that he played. Did I mention the three encores, including the song he sang in Portuguese and forgot the words to?
LIFE = OVER.
Except for Shia LaBeouf's comb and switchblade combo, which I will attend to on Tuesday. Where is my pitchforkslash where Zach's show in LA is a gongshow because some drunken starlet shows up with his Echo Park posse and frightens the hipsters and then there is mad lovin? WHERE?
My computer is fried, like, done. Half an hour after I posted Part IV, it just... stopped. I do not know when it will be fixed, or if it will - an ingenious argument for not going back to school next year, I think. And then I flew to Vancouver, and dropped my bag on my own face on the plane, and couldn't work the elevator in the hotel, and tried to walk into someone else's hotel room. And then I spent a million interminable hours at this library conference - which, yeah. Who's propagating that library-chic hipness myth? And can you please fuck yourself? And I was blown off by my boss at the trade show, and my professional partner at the mixer, and about eight hundred different professionals who got roped into networking with me by the other professionals as they smoothly blew me off. Although the ninety year old Professor Emeritus from Dal bought me a 7$ beer, saintly old guybrarian he is. And I saw Iron Man again. And then I was really early to the airport for my plane, which was late. And then when I finally arrived in Calgary, to smooch my partner and receive his thousand hugs, he was beside himself, teary-eyed because he's a motherfucking moron who locked his keys in the car and left it running in the parkade. So we waited for a million interminable hours for AMA to come and break into our car and I didn't cry or yell because I would take a thousand times as much inconvenience and bad luck for another trip like this one. Because karma fucking PULLED IT TOGETHER for me:
I didn't film this, but they opened with Nantes, and I lost my shit:
Click to viewThey also did THREE encores, the sexy bitches. Mount Wroclai:
Seriously, his only date in Canada, it was sold out for three months beforehand, and I arrive to catch an interview in the Straight on Wednesday morning while I'm scanning for Iron Man movie times and eating 3$ sushi in the drizzle. Yeah, I dropped the ball. And yeah, I fucking got in. Things are looking up for old Liz Lemon.
On top of that, I hung out with some hipster hotties who had it even worse for Zach than I did. I mean that in the most hetero way imaginable. One had a handlebar moustache, and the other looked like some heartbreaking cross between Cillian Murphy and Tobey Maguire. I told them I was a librarian and through some magical connection between fate, the universe, and my innate worth as a human being, I was not forced to remind myself that men hate me even once! A conversation with two strange men in a bar and we talked about our favourite dinosaurs and retarded music our neighbours listen to. I KNOW. alsdjfadf. I give all credit for this miracle of postfeminism to it being National Zach Condon day in Canada.
Anyway, here's a song I've never heard before that he played. Did I mention the three encores, including the song he sang in Portuguese and forgot the words to?
LIFE = OVER.
Except for Shia LaBeouf's comb and switchblade combo, which I will attend to on Tuesday. Where is my pitchforkslash where Zach's show in LA is a gongshow because some drunken starlet shows up with his Echo Park posse and frightens the hipsters and then there is mad lovin? WHERE?