last nite
04.16.04 @ 8:25 p.m.
Now, while I am going to marry Julian Casablancas, I'm afraid I'm going to be forced to teach him the value of punc-tu-a-li-ty.
Yesterday, Dad left for Los Angeles. I tried to hang out with him as much as I could, but he spent most of his time outside getting the kennel ready for his absence. Martha was originally going to come by my house early to work on a songwriting assignment and let me see the work she and Amy did on the story while I wasn't around. She didn't, deciding instead to try to take a nap that she never took. I'm kind of annoyed there, I want to know what the hell happens in the story. Also, I really don't like feeling left out. That isn't really important.
(I'm watching the rerun of Survivor even though I have a tape of it downstairs on the kitchen table and caring for megapregnant corgi who has to go potty ALL THE TIME and has developed a strange sense of modesty. She keeps hiding from me to go off and poo and gets all weird if I move to make sure I can see her. I just want to keep her from wandering off and eating something she shouldn't or roll in something smelly, not that it seems like she has the dexterity. Poor girly, she keeps leaning down on her front paws with her rump in the air like she can't lie down all at once, so she'll settle for resting her front half and her ponderous belly.)
My dad left for Los Angeles for a dog show. We're all incredibly paranoid that the dog will give birth while he's gone, and I have instructions on how to midwife for her. They involve rubbing alcohol, a kiddie pool, and the kitchen scissors. I wonder if I'm supposed to take the placenta away from her. I kinda half remember something about placentas from my childhood (now THERE'S a sentence!), but I don't remember if it was the dog eating it or if it was carelessly thrown out of the whelping box. So he and my mom left to go to the airport and I waited for Martha to come pick me up. We went back to the Roseland, though this time we took the MAX and the concert started later. Fewer acts. We waited around, feeling our aches from the night before, and then the Ravonettes started. I didn't much care for them, though the crazy, twitchy moves of the guitarist amused me. The two singers, though, have this minor-key drone that just irritates the fuck out of me. I had earplugs in because why risk my hearing on music I don't like.
OH MY GOD, LEX MOHAWK! Lex with a MOTHERFUCKING MOHAWK! I am thrilled. I liked him better all stubbly, but oh, if he didn't look so much older, he'd give Julian a run for his money. Oooh, Lexie. (Hurr, how geeky is it that I just shouted (in a curiously squeaky voice) "AGGH, Lex! So smug! I love you!"? I talk to the TV far too much, especially when there isn't anyone else in the house. I dislike silence. Goddamn, Kathy, why didn't you give your immunity to Lex like you SAID you would? Pointless! Grrr.
Okay, back to the narrative of the night before and less stupid TV chatter. What drove me absolutely crazy about last night was the fact that the motherfucking Strokes kept us waiting around for an HOUR after the Ravonettes finished. The performance was pretty spectacular, but I don't know if that makes up for having to stand (painfully, Martha and I were such old women last night on the way home, inventorying our various ailments: "Oh, my hip is bruised" "My back hurts" "I had to balance on the same foot all night, I'm sure it's going to be bruised tomorrow" "That bitch last night kept elbowing me in the SPINE" etc etc) for all that time before, all through the openers, and then the long wait for them to come on. I'm just not sure if I'm more happy with the music (it was good, the Strokes manage to sound like they do on their album, which is a stretch for a lot of the acts I've seen, which is a compliment to the Strokes) or pissed at the delay.
Martha chose which side of the stage we stood on because I'm not familiar enough with the band members or their usual stage position. She chose the right side to be nearer Albert Hammond, Jr. In retrospect, this was something of a mistake, because once I saw Albert, I wasn't interested in watching him all night. Just as well. A tall German girl was in front of me and I spent all my time watching Julian. (I make out like I'm mad in love with him, but realy I just mildly fancy him.) Nick's nametag from the... uh, I think it's the "Someday" video where they're on Family Feud, was pinned to one of their amps. At the end a lot of beer was spilled (onstage, by the musicians) and Albert grabbed Fabrizio's bass drum and ripped it off the riser. Fabrizio then waggled his butt at the audience and patted it before being the last to leave the stage.
Good times.
I've been roaming around the house all day on my own, except for the dog. So boring. But kind of relaxing, too. I ought to work on my Italian, but you know that ain't happenin'.
Oh, and I get to stress for the rest of the term over what I'm going to do, living-situation-wise, because Ena has decided to go to graduate school in Tennessee, so I have to... choose living on my own in a new, smaller place or risking new people in what I consider my house and getting over my control freak tendencies enough for that not to be a problem.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why, I just don't understand WHY Ena felt like she needed to plow through college at extreme speed. I don't understand why you would want to speed out of those last few years of comfortable academia. I suspect she would have been happier at a slower pace, but I can't be sure. I don't understand her at all.
[title: The Strokes, of course.]
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
