garageland
11.12.03 @ 8:24 p.m.
So my rock history teacher rocks so hard he... he should be in a The Darkness video. (Anyone who can rock a space squid to death, they are a-ok with me.) Anyway, I asked if I could borrow his Beatles Past Masters Vol. 2 CD for fifteen minutes after class to copy it and he let me have it for the whole weekend. He is the frickin' COOLEST. Then a boy (not of Who Boy caliber, though) bounded up to the front to ask the prof if Tommy was worth watching. I steered him toward the Knight Library's laserdisc of The Kids Are Alright, not as good as the DVD, but eh, free.
Being able to help out like that makes me feel like the obsession isn't in vain. Wishful thinking, yeh.
*ahem* So another feature of today was an excessive number of people from high school walking past me. What the hell? One was studying intently in the EMU (student union), and two were wandering the library. Odd.
And now E* has taken one red converse and one black one and is wearing them around the house, alternately trying to bring my attention to the fact that they're the same except for color or complaining that my feet are too small. Gah. And she says she wants to wear them if she goes to take a pie (two pumpkin pies were baked in my house today, god is she evil. We just fucking finished off the pie my dad made! How am I supposed to not get fat in this environment?!?)(obvious answer, don't eat the pies...)(but I already had a piece of one)(but the other is going away) uh, she's probably taking a pie to her friend Roxy tonight. I protested that she will get the shoes unevenly dirty. I know, that's kind of, uh, ridiculous, but the idea of one shoe in a pair being more worn than the other annoys me. Also, her wearing my clothes (and accessories) pisses me off no end.
Um. Nothing else interesting. I have to write a listening report on the album version of "Revolution 1" and we watched some Beatles Anthology DVD and a tape about the British Invasion. Oh, yeah! So suddenly Pete Townshend came up on this video talking about how Brits dug Motown and how black dance music could be so amazingly beautiful just to listen to (which nicely transitioned to Motown artists remembering how girls never used to faint at concerts before the Fab Four, etc), and I, being Queen of the Music Geeks, emitted a small, girly gasp. And stared rapt at the gigantic screen in front of me while Pete talked. Hee. The girl two seats down (WHO STOLE MY FUCKING SEAT, that bitch) leaned forward to give me a funny look, but I can't be more detailed because I only saw her out of the corner of my eye. To do anything else would necessitate taking my eyes off Mr. Townshend. He is everything wonderous. He's my guitar hero (in the words of Joe Strummer? He says "You're my guitar hero!" in a song, one of the ones with 'control' in the title, I think.) Except it's incredibly difficult to play any Who songs. At least if you suck on the level that I do. I'll stick to Beatles chords, hah.
[Title from The Clash, who are oddly enough my novel's music muse. Can hardly write without punk in the background. Strange indeed.]
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
