It's been said before, but I'll temporarily confirm: I am the grossest girl in the world. My arm and neck have itchy red spots on them, and after thinking things through a bit, I've figured out that I have poison ivy. Yuck. I've tried to stay inside as much as possible (sad but slightly real fear: the day I venture out into the city, looking like hell warmed over, I will run into a certain Cusack.)
Tomorrow night, The Black Heart Procession is playing a ROCK AND ROLL SHOW. I would like to go, but I don't know how to get to the venue. Moreover, lately I feel out of place at these rock shows. Instead of fighting hipster crowds and lung-burning smoke, I wind up staying home listening to Mogwai. From time to time, I force myself to go to a show, but sometimes I can't even make it inside. When Death Cab For Cutie played Brownies, I milled around the beautiful indie rockers for about five minutes before taking the F train home. It was just too weird—me there by myself, everyone in Diesel, etc. And finally, when my big chance to see Weezer came around, the show sold out in two minutes (I had a squirrely agent in line; I know these things). Maybe some higher power doesn't want me to go to shows—or maybe I'm just settling into oldness like a well-worn sweater.
Tomorrow night, The Black Heart Procession is playing a ROCK AND ROLL SHOW. I would like to go, but I don't know how to get to the venue. Moreover, lately I feel out of place at these rock shows. Instead of fighting hipster crowds and lung-burning smoke, I wind up staying home listening to Mogwai. From time to time, I force myself to go to a show, but sometimes I can't even make it inside. When Death Cab For Cutie played Brownies, I milled around the beautiful indie rockers for about five minutes before taking the F train home. It was just too weird—me there by myself, everyone in Diesel, etc. And finally, when my big chance to see Weezer came around, the show sold out in two minutes (I had a squirrely agent in line; I know these things). Maybe some higher power doesn't want me to go to shows—or maybe I'm just settling into oldness like a well-worn sweater.
Labels: music
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