I'm Back. And It's About Time*
So. Internet connection is up and (somewhat) running. Something causes my computer to crash at inopportune times. Frequent inopportune times. But still, my mIRC program seems to work most of the time. Yay #sinister! (Yeah, I'm back to #1 in the stats as well). That's the most important thing, really, with this being a second.
I can't check my email, but I can do that at work.
So what's been up?
It was the Week of the Shows. I saw a show every night for close to a week. The Mercury Program/Mono at Go! Studios, The Weedeaters (featuring Ken Mosher of the Squirrel Nut Zippers and Robert Sledge of Ben Folds Five) at the Cave, Pedro the Lion (See below) at the Cradle, back to GO! for the Neins, Jett-Rink and Sorry About Dresden (another local show) and then back to the Cradle on Saturday for Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. It's been a bit too long to do any good reviews, but J'adore Jett-Rink. Viva (recently voted the best performer in the Triangle) is the singer of this punk band and I love, love, love them. They have Dr Who-esque keyboards... their description, not mine... and a sound all the kids adore. And as for Viva's writhing, leaping, crowd-joing performance, it's pure rawk swoonage matieral.
And Neil, the Record Shop boy was there, so I spent a great deal of time hiding. And drinking Miller High Life. Hey, yo: It's the Champagne of Beers.
So, generally, that week was smoking, drinking and being a Chapel Hill Scenester. And yeah, I did wait hours to see Stephen Malkmus after the show. Talk about your Hard Living causing Grizzled (but cute) looks.
I went home for Mother's Day and quickly repaired Elsewhere for Recovery.
That elsewhere being Hendersonville, NC, the new home of le Llew. I took Highway 64 out to visit, so I passed beautiful mountian top vistas, the gorgeous Lake Lure (where they filmed Dirty Dancing) on a perfect Spring day -- the water was a aqua-green like the ocean in high summer -- as I zipped around mountian curves at an excessive speed. I went through little towns (Bat Cave** or Chimney Rock) with the radio blasting Gloria Estefan's cover of Turn the Beat Around with the windows down and singing at the top of my voice. I realized I made the town of Chimney Rock gayer than it had ever been.
I wound up eventually at the little lake across from Laura's snoozing and watching ducks til she arrived. We mooched around her new complex casing, in essence, the entire joint. "I want /that/ chandelier!" I was pleased at the influence I've had on the girl's criminal instincts.
Then we cased the town. Nervous as I was to run into the Idiot Steve ("I'll roller blade uphill the wrong way up one-way street!") we decided to inspect the local mall. There was a little Christian book store (fish mints! scripture cookies! christian urban music! sodomizable indie-esque Xian boys!) and a disturbing kid with the mesmer stare and a lust for human blood. Well, presumably. We ran away too fast to be sure. You would, too.
We ate -- whilst it was fine pizza, alas there was no tale to tell about the waiter, Zeke -- and went to buy paint. Violet Puff. I realized it was the most domestic thing I had ever done with a girl before. This was made definite when we ran into one of Laura's acquintance, as I'd hate to say a girl with that many freckles was a friend. She peered at me like I was meat. That or a marriagible man in an Austen novel. I want to plant one on Llew just for effect, but discretion stayed my hand. Or lips, rather.
Then we went back to chez Lou's. I felt all like Hyacinth Bucket, thinking "This places has such... possibilities for entertaining!" I can't wait to see the Luv Shak, her extra bedroom kitted out as a Make Out Heaven, with velvet flock wall paper and a heart-shaped bed and red shag carpet. Sinister Spin the Bottle, here we come!
Life, since then, has been predictable dull. I work. I sleep. I practice piano and listen to the mix CD I burned and try to remember what I put on it at 3 am. I went to a really bad party (So... You're Gay. What's that like?) last night. I missed the Belle and Sebastian gig in Glasgow last night. I work early tomorrow.
That's enough for now. Tomorrow, when I'm bored and don't have weeks to catch up on, I'll return to the usual headings and supply all the links this post needs.
*For those of you (Most) who don't get this, this was the BBC Tagline for the Dr Who Telemovie with the Pertwee Logo. (Dr Who, Time, Geddit?) 'Cept the Radio Times fucked it up.
**Alas, not nearly as exciting as you'd expect. Not one single teen-aged ward named Dick clad in tights or a unitard. Or even any amusing bats. Pah.