Not Liquor Lyle's, dammit!

Woot. Run At The Dog (shortform henceforth: R@TD) played Lee's Liquor Lounge last night, their second full-blown show with new drummer Jake.

Tuesday nights are rough for shows, as their were only 20-30 people present, most of which had been in bands with or have played with R@TD's members in some capacity. The rest of the onlookers were regular sops or other musicians on the bill, including a vaguely entertaining lecherous twit with a fake 'stache, chops, and stuffed trousers.

Downside: not enough people saw them.
Upside: everyone in attendance got a far bigger share of goodness.

I brought my neighbor, Doug, to observe the proceedings. He'd heard some of the stuff from the Song Fu sessions and was impressed enough to go to an 11:30 pm show despite work in the early am.

I've seen R@TD play enough to keep my jaw hinged properly, so when possible, I like to bring new people to their shows so I can observe how they react.

We set up a little further back, as I'd been charged with creating media documentation of the event, which really just means Jake (the new guy) handed me his videocam and Maureen handed me her camera.

Doug's reaction pleased me. He recorded about half the show on his phone. Of course, the the show's volume crisped his phone's mic, so it sounds about like any of the times I've called people from concerts to leave them voicemails of their favorite songs, but anyhow....

It means the boy was damn impressed, which makes me happy, as it was a damn impressive show.

I was too busy juggling cameras to get too specific a read, otherwise I'd be more inclusive, but a smidge of highlights will have to suffice...

Noon Moon live? There might have been a hiccup or two near the beginning, but this song blew everyone away. The lumbering tension of the first portions of the song was a little more straightforward than the Fu version, dropping a little of its faint menace. Whether that was planned or merely the result of being live and LOUD AS FUCK, I don't know. But when it turns to the shimmering finale, I wanted to engage in some epic pogoing, even though pogoing is one of the least appropriate dance steps for the occasion, especially if you're minding a DV cam that's lighter than the tripod it's on.

The closer, Two Days to Remember, typically has a gap in the middle of it where they'll improv something or medleyize another song in, but last night they opted to hand their instruments off to audience members (or invite to their rigs where applicable) and went outside and played in the snow for a bit. They came back in, finished the song, and there was much rejoicing.

I hauled Moe's keyboard out to her car so she could avoid the previously-mentioned mustachioed idjit a little bit longer, then left to drop Doug off.

It was a good night.

And now, I prep to go to work.

Oh, and a P.S., although I really don't think post scriptum applies in this situation.

I've built myself a little writing desk in my room. I'll be writing all those difficult, creepy and incriminating entries in notebooks again, as my two-year experiment in pseudo-emotional full-disclosure has either made people think I was depressed or not read my scribblings at all, so to hell with that. Also, journaling on paper provides opportunity for doodling, which, lacking classes to go to and be bored by, I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed.


Loss, Acceptance, and Reality

This is going to be a short one, as I have work to do.

For the time being, I'm done fighting myself. I've put myself in this position, so I'm going to try working with it.

I bitch because I thought the job I took three months ago was going to solve all my problems.

Well, I did help some, but it created many new ones, the most monstrous of which is a tremendous sense of isolation.

I am a social bastard, which is to say I LIKE being around people. It's why I was a damn fine bartender or record store clerk. It's why I liked living in Vermillion under the circumstances I did. There were always people around to do things with, many of them agreeable.

My big cure job, which I do enjoy, by the way, keeps me at work while all of my social contacts here in Minneapolis are actually active. The job itself is very isolated by nature. I sit with headphones on for eight hours and smoke cigarettes to talk as an excuse more to interact with people more than actual desire to smoke.

How's that for a fucking realization? Cigarettes are no longer the main reason to smoke.

Anyhow, the whole point of what I'm blathering about is that for three months, I've been trying to go to bed because no one is up past when I get home from work. The harder I try to go to bed so maybe the morning can be productive, the more likely I am to waste my life on the internet till six or seven in the morning, sleep only till ten out of guilt, resume internet uselessness, go to work underslept and repeat.

Well, goddam, son. I'm rebuilding my half of the apartment tonight. Obvious, eh?

Get shit done after work, get a sense of accomplishment, sleep at least somewhat fulfilled, and go to work a little more lively.

That's the plan, chief.

That's the plan.



Tales of a hood...

Jumping up and down on that mother fucker felt GOOD. Then I reattached it. One busted hose fitting, but it's the coolant overflow, which isn't urgent until I need AC. Quite drivable.

All in all, I came out lucky, despite the massive bad luck that put me into the position to be lucky.

And now to work.

this is a life...

Ha Ha Sob

Less than 48 hours after I got the car running again, some guy on the interstate jammed his brakes on. Squishy brakes and rainslicked pavement formed a hazardous duo.

Since his jeep was completely okay, he hopped back in and drove off as I asked about insurance. His rear-mounted spare tire had mulched my grill and crumpled my hood.

I drove it home all right, although it hisses a little. I'm a little grumpy since the humor wore off.

I've had a little trouble caring, though not in the way I usually define as good. I've now wasted nearly an entire day in which I could have been sorting things out, looking for pinched hoses or radiator leaks. It would take 15 minutes to remove the hood, walk on it till it's flat, bolt it back on and tarp-strap it back down.

I'm not even interested in that.

Saying that made me feel better. I'm gonna go tear that sucker apart and see if I can get it to at least take me to work today.



Masculinity restored...

I shall now walk less, but with great swagger.

The beast it runneth, runneth now.

Car's running and insured and I did it myself.

My balls feel larger.

Almost back to normal.