In about a week, this page will be five years old. Perhaps that's a sign that it's time to learn some PHP and make all of this slightly more manageable and organized. In an ideal world, I'd change the name, add meta tags and search, and have a clean design. I know exactly what the page should look like; I just don't know how to do it yet.
Saw Sigur Ros with Aaron O last Thursday. I met Aaron while trying to sneak into his house years ago. He lives in Chicago now, and hanging out with him feels like home. We were to meet before the show outside of Belmont Army Surplus, which is next to the Belmont El stop. Teenagers were hanging out by the newspaper boxes, and of course, one of them had to talk about my arse, the little punk. His comments made me feel like my skirt was too tight. Anyway, Aaron and I met up around 7:30 and walked over to the Vic. After a fruitless search for his friend Jimmy, we sat on a bench and sipped Cherry Cokes. The Album Leaf played (one of their songs is called "Vermillion," which is a pretty word for a pretty song) and I suddenly realized that I must find a keyboard and start a band.
Aaron and I climbed to the balcony's nosebleed seats to watch Sigur Ros. Apparently, we were also in the Weed Section. Hoo. It seems inaccurate to call Sigur Ros a band. They're more like a four-piece modern orchestra, if that makes any sense. Every sound was clear and beautiful. Films with oversaturated color played in the background while a slow disco ball sent tiny beams swirling around the ceiling, spotting our faces with light. Sigur Ros played a song I hadn't heard before, and as I stared at the abstracted face on film, my heart hurt for my grandfather. I cried, and after another song, Aaron and I descended to the first floor. I made a bathroom run. Upon return, Aaron was talking with his now-located friend Jimmy. The three of us hopped upstairs to the side balcony, which offered a view of the stage and crowd below. There was enough cigarette smoke in the air that everything looked grainy, like a film.
After the show, I helped Aaron pass out flyers for the Godspeed You Black Emperor Exclamation Point show. I probably said hello to about 200 people, which drastically increases the chance of becoming a Missed Connection ("You were overdressed, but as you encouraged me to enjoy Canadian music, I was struck speechless. Be still my post-rock heart"). Then, about a dozen of us or so went to Berlin, which is this campy dance club on Belmont. We stayed for less than a minute before walking up to Sheffield's. There, I had the least tasty Shirley Temple in my life. Kiddy cocktail? More like shitty cocktail. I met John, who had maybe enjoyed one extra beer, because he was awfully talkative; we talked about war history and generalized gender relations. Andy and I were raggedy and laughing as he walked me home. Such a fun night.
Friday night was American Analog Set at Schubas, which does not need an apostrophe. AM/FM opened, and the woman in the band was wearing a miniskirt. That wouldn't be worth mentioning, except that her purpose seemed to be minimal in the band. Every few songs she'd do a barely audible "la la la" or jingle-jangle of some bells. Otherwise, she sat on a high stool. I saw those American thighs and did not know where to look. I know I probably sound like a sexist cochon, but honestly, it was embarrassing.
On Saturday, I went to a party in the Ukranian Village. To make a long story short and run-on, mostly because it's almost time to go home: after the po-lice broke things up, my compatriots decided to watch Dude, Ou Est Ma Voiture?, so I took a nap in Maysan's friend Zack's bed (alone! no Hughesian party hookups for me), and when I woke up, I was more lost than usual. This is more proof that I am not good at attending parties, but very good at hosting them. More stories tomorrow.
Saw Sigur Ros with Aaron O last Thursday. I met Aaron while trying to sneak into his house years ago. He lives in Chicago now, and hanging out with him feels like home. We were to meet before the show outside of Belmont Army Surplus, which is next to the Belmont El stop. Teenagers were hanging out by the newspaper boxes, and of course, one of them had to talk about my arse, the little punk. His comments made me feel like my skirt was too tight. Anyway, Aaron and I met up around 7:30 and walked over to the Vic. After a fruitless search for his friend Jimmy, we sat on a bench and sipped Cherry Cokes. The Album Leaf played (one of their songs is called "Vermillion," which is a pretty word for a pretty song) and I suddenly realized that I must find a keyboard and start a band.
Aaron and I climbed to the balcony's nosebleed seats to watch Sigur Ros. Apparently, we were also in the Weed Section. Hoo. It seems inaccurate to call Sigur Ros a band. They're more like a four-piece modern orchestra, if that makes any sense. Every sound was clear and beautiful. Films with oversaturated color played in the background while a slow disco ball sent tiny beams swirling around the ceiling, spotting our faces with light. Sigur Ros played a song I hadn't heard before, and as I stared at the abstracted face on film, my heart hurt for my grandfather. I cried, and after another song, Aaron and I descended to the first floor. I made a bathroom run. Upon return, Aaron was talking with his now-located friend Jimmy. The three of us hopped upstairs to the side balcony, which offered a view of the stage and crowd below. There was enough cigarette smoke in the air that everything looked grainy, like a film.
After the show, I helped Aaron pass out flyers for the Godspeed You Black Emperor Exclamation Point show. I probably said hello to about 200 people, which drastically increases the chance of becoming a Missed Connection ("You were overdressed, but as you encouraged me to enjoy Canadian music, I was struck speechless. Be still my post-rock heart"). Then, about a dozen of us or so went to Berlin, which is this campy dance club on Belmont. We stayed for less than a minute before walking up to Sheffield's. There, I had the least tasty Shirley Temple in my life. Kiddy cocktail? More like shitty cocktail. I met John, who had maybe enjoyed one extra beer, because he was awfully talkative; we talked about war history and generalized gender relations. Andy and I were raggedy and laughing as he walked me home. Such a fun night.
Friday night was American Analog Set at Schubas, which does not need an apostrophe. AM/FM opened, and the woman in the band was wearing a miniskirt. That wouldn't be worth mentioning, except that her purpose seemed to be minimal in the band. Every few songs she'd do a barely audible "la la la" or jingle-jangle of some bells. Otherwise, she sat on a high stool. I saw those American thighs and did not know where to look. I know I probably sound like a sexist cochon, but honestly, it was embarrassing.
On Saturday, I went to a party in the Ukranian Village. To make a long story short and run-on, mostly because it's almost time to go home: after the po-lice broke things up, my compatriots decided to watch Dude, Ou Est Ma Voiture?, so I took a nap in Maysan's friend Zack's bed (alone! no Hughesian party hookups for me), and when I woke up, I was more lost than usual. This is more proof that I am not good at attending parties, but very good at hosting them. More stories tomorrow.
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