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  Snacks Are Piling Up

10 September 2001

6:04 PM: Once again doing the Monthly Task at the very last minute. I could have had it done a month ago, I should have worked on it this weekend. The familiar refrain. I guess, it's more exciting this way. Whoo.

Oh, so yeah, I did go to a show Friday. It was OK. First act was Ursula Rucker, and I think she ended up being the best part of the evening. She's a poet backed up by a band, like the antimatter counterpart of Jim Carroll, being female, black, and not overwhelmingly stuck on herself as far as I could tell. The band was good, kind of low-key but not snoozers. It was interesting music, unexpected dissonances and other sounds I can't name. I could not quite understand all of the poetry, but what I could, again, it was interesting. That's really all I ask, you know? Be interesting.

Tipsy were all right. But apart from the drummer and guitar player - which did sound good, I grant - I wondered, why am I listening to this in a club? OK, loud, that's good. But, stupid fucking chatty cathy club kids, that's not good. Got the all-time classic quote on that matter:

Me: "If you don't like the music, could you maybe go to the back of the room and talk?" He: "No, we love the music! That's why we can't stop talking about it!"
Our nation's youth, ladies and gentlemen, the hope of tomorrow. Suicide tablets will be distributed shortly.

The headliner, Herbert, was just boring. Phish techno. Reminded me of St. Germain. When the crowd goes Whooo! and acts like it's a big deal when you turn up the volume, for god's sakes... Just dull.

Oh, and this was fun. They did that thing again at the Great American Music Hall where they close off the balconies and bring all the tables down to the main floor. Since now all the tables can see the stage, and they're right in front of you when you walk in so no painful brain activity is required, they all get filled up right away. I didn't know they would do that, so I got there late. No seats. 40 pound backpack (OK, probably 3, I'm a wuss, sue me). NG.

I see a single vacant seat at one of the tables towards the back. Wait a while, to make sure it's not someone who's at the bar or the bathroom or whatever. Nope, still vacant. Go over, ask the girl sitting at the table, "Is that seat free?" She says, "Wordless interrogative noise?" "Do you mind if I sit there?" "Oh, no no, go right ahead."

So I sit down.

So she gets up and leaves.

I get the fucking point, all right? I have let my cowpie conditioner sit long enough. It's not bad enough that I can't seem to persuade anyone to take free tickets to these shows, now I'm driving people out of them? Oy.

Anyways, so the show started around 8:30, and as I had nothing to do between acts, I ended up having ... 3 beers I think. Yes, 3. Then, show gets out - well, I leave the show, it's still going on but who cares - around 12, 12:30. So I go to the bar. At, whoops, about the time I normally get there. Which means I end up with my normal beergutfull Plus the three previous ones. Then I decide that the best thing to do, really, is to go hang out for another hour or two, and hey, there's that case of Budweiser in the refrigerator, let's have a couple of those.

Need I say that I did very little moving about on Saturday?

Sunday too. Cleared enough space in the front room to unfold the couch, which made video watching much more comfortable. I'm back in another video swing, don't know why. I saw Traffik, the original UK 6-part TV series upon which the American movie was based. Much, much better than Soderbergh's film. Didn't pussyfoot around, and the greater depth to the story line made the developments more believable.

Some other crap too. Mission to Mars, hey, that was really a pretty OK flick. I don't know why it got so trashed. A movie about spaceships and none of them go Whooosh! A few actual science-based plot events. That's probably what did it in. Philistines. Stigmata, on the other hand, not so good. Patricia Arquette made it more interesting than the direct-to-video cop thriller that was on HBO. That's about it.

Today I just walked around with no pants on at home and finished the typing part of my work, and then came down here to the building - with pants, I did remember - to do the Photoshop part. And, hey! It loaded!

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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