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An open letter to Gerard Way
Jul. 24th, 2007 12:50 amDear Mr. Way,
If it's possible for me to still desire rockstar makeouts with you after seeing a photo of you holding a baby, then you've got to be some kind of fucking demi-god.
Dang, boy. PHWOAR.
Love,
tara
P.S.
Could you keep this on the DL?
I don't want to upset Nick Cave.
If it's possible for me to still desire rockstar makeouts with you after seeing a photo of you holding a baby, then you've got to be some kind of fucking demi-god.
Dang, boy. PHWOAR.
Love,
tara
P.S.
Could you keep this on the DL?
I don't want to upset Nick Cave.
all the good girls go to heaven
Feb. 26th, 2007 06:49 pmTooly fangirl time, from last night's show at ( The Liacouras Center )
(no subject)
Nov. 8th, 2004 12:24 amThe Laibach show was this weekend.
I had started out Friday afternoon feeling vaguely unexcited. Sleep hasn't been coming to me very easily or very often for the past couple of weeks and I was slobbed out with no make-up on. I complained to my co-workers at various points in the day about "having to go to Philly tonight for a show".
Despite the fact that it was Laibach, who never freaking plays live, and despite the fact that I was getting to go out which hasn't been happening lately, I wasn't all that psyched.
After getting done all of my daughterly obligations, I went home and started pulling myself together to head to the city. This girl may go to work in velvet jeans and a ragged turtleneck sweater, with only her eyebrows drawn on (and that's rare, even), but she sure as shit doesn't go out into public looking like no one loves her.
I dressed psuedo-Victorian, with red and black striped stockings and black lace petticoat and riding jacket, because I knew it was going to be chilly. I haven't been able to pull that together for some months now because it's been too warm out and that particular style of dress is layer intensive. Pulled my hair up into Bjork-transmitter with two hair sticks in each. Red eyeshadow, liquid eyeliner, huge cameo pendant, and witchy platform boots.
Only then did I finally start to feel the I'm going out tonight vibe.
We picked up the Unibomber V. 2.0 and headed to the city. There was a short detour when I spotted Thee Pumpkin Girl, upon passing her place of work and spotting her hair from the front window. We convinced her to join us after playing phone tag to ensure there were still tickets available.
Who's the opening act?
I dunno, but openers usually suck. So, I'm not all that concerned.
I will never utter those words ever again.
We stepped into the venue and the first thing I heard was the deep buzzing rumble of a cello being played live. I made my way onto the floor and saw her.
Holy Mary, Mother of Mice.
In the dictionary, next to the definition of the word "transfixed", there should be a photograph of myself listening to this girl beat wail, growl and beat the snot out of her cello. Quite a few times, a lump rose in my throat and I found it hard to catch my breath. Always a good indication that I am thoroughly affected by a piece of music. I cajoled the Engineer into spotting me the money to pick up one of the albums she had for sale in the lobby.
Oh yeah, Laibach played at some point, too.
(I told Anthony, who left the realms of PussyLand to join us for the evening, that I would give him a dollar if he shouted, "PLAY DU HAUST!" in between songs. Hilarity ensued.)
(Also, I went into spasms of utter delight during the final song of their encore when I heard the first two notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" being played. My favourite song by them, fucking rock on.)
\m/
I had started out Friday afternoon feeling vaguely unexcited. Sleep hasn't been coming to me very easily or very often for the past couple of weeks and I was slobbed out with no make-up on. I complained to my co-workers at various points in the day about "having to go to Philly tonight for a show".
Despite the fact that it was Laibach, who never freaking plays live, and despite the fact that I was getting to go out which hasn't been happening lately, I wasn't all that psyched.
After getting done all of my daughterly obligations, I went home and started pulling myself together to head to the city. This girl may go to work in velvet jeans and a ragged turtleneck sweater, with only her eyebrows drawn on (and that's rare, even), but she sure as shit doesn't go out into public looking like no one loves her.
I dressed psuedo-Victorian, with red and black striped stockings and black lace petticoat and riding jacket, because I knew it was going to be chilly. I haven't been able to pull that together for some months now because it's been too warm out and that particular style of dress is layer intensive. Pulled my hair up into Bjork-transmitter with two hair sticks in each. Red eyeshadow, liquid eyeliner, huge cameo pendant, and witchy platform boots.
Only then did I finally start to feel the I'm going out tonight vibe.
We picked up the Unibomber V. 2.0 and headed to the city. There was a short detour when I spotted Thee Pumpkin Girl, upon passing her place of work and spotting her hair from the front window. We convinced her to join us after playing phone tag to ensure there were still tickets available.
Who's the opening act?
I dunno, but openers usually suck. So, I'm not all that concerned.
I will never utter those words ever again.
We stepped into the venue and the first thing I heard was the deep buzzing rumble of a cello being played live. I made my way onto the floor and saw her.
Holy Mary, Mother of Mice.
In the dictionary, next to the definition of the word "transfixed", there should be a photograph of myself listening to this girl beat wail, growl and beat the snot out of her cello. Quite a few times, a lump rose in my throat and I found it hard to catch my breath. Always a good indication that I am thoroughly affected by a piece of music. I cajoled the Engineer into spotting me the money to pick up one of the albums she had for sale in the lobby.
Oh yeah, Laibach played at some point, too.
(I told Anthony, who left the realms of PussyLand to join us for the evening, that I would give him a dollar if he shouted, "PLAY DU HAUST!" in between songs. Hilarity ensued.)
(Also, I went into spasms of utter delight during the final song of their encore when I heard the first two notes of "Sympathy for the Devil" being played. My favourite song by them, fucking rock on.)
\m/
Okay. How I spent my trip to Manhatten, by Tara Maguire age 29. 28. Shit! How old am I? 28.
I had stayed up practically the entire night on Tuesday, despite the fact that I was going to breakfast with Wemble. Wednesday came early and bright, with a phone call from Wemble to tell me she was running a bit late. 10:20 am. My alarm has been going off for half an hour? argh. Fuck this.
Wemble arrived at my apartment shortly before 11 am and I remained in bed. I stayed in bed as she sat at the foot and talked to me, as I talked much sleepy shit. I finally rolled out at around noon, after she left my bedside in pursuit of talking to my brother.
We gotbreakfast lunch on the fly, before she dropped me off at the train station. And miraculously, I boarded the correct train. This is something I do on a never basis. You'd think that after YEARS of taking this train to Philadelphia, I'd have gotten it down by now? Hah!
Thee Pumpkin Girl and I were set to meet at 2 o'clock at 8th and Market. I stood out in the hot sun, berating the season, and smoking a cigarette while listening to a cop and some random schmuck shoot the breeze.
She shows up, I lose my book (and discover this fact three blocks away. It was my copy of the Tooth Fairy by Graham Joyce. BLAR!), we buy myself a new book, and we're on our way.
I'd like to present to the jury Evidence A, a documentation of the idiocy that TPG and I get into when we're trapped on a train for an hour and a half with a digital camera.
( the magpies being magpies! )
( Conductor! )
She's yet to send me the rest of the photos, which involve me peeping over the seats at her. hrmph.
We switch trains in Trenton, involve ourselves in more camera wackiness, and arrive in Manhatten only slightly flustered and kind of hot.
Roseland Ballroom, twenty some blocks away. It's pushing degress of GOD IT'S FUCKING HOT, so we decide on taking a taxi to the venue. This, however, is easier said then done. I've never had so much trouble hailing a taxi in NYC. Not once. By the time we actually caught one, I was about ready to throw down to the next motherfucker who took the one that slowed down when I stuck my hand in the air. We also had the honour of seeing some yahoo in a convertible make a U-turn in the middle of the intersection around 33rd. Fucking wow!
Roseland has a line stretching from the door to mostly all the way down the block. We planted ourselves at the tail end and settle down to smoking cigarettes and reading our books. Rawr!
Slow moving line and some bit of time later, we're inside the venue after having shucked our water bottles and snuffed our cigarettes. This New NYC shit is irritating, I tell you. These jackoffs are going to tell me that I can't smoke at a NICK CAVE SHOW?! Umm. Hi. Nick Cave /is/ the epitome of smoking. Okthxbye.
Haters.
Nice venue, by the way. I wasn't expecting it to be so big. And there's no seats! Which means TPG and I mark our territory towards the front and center, where we plan on doing no moving whatsoever.
Opening act is a two piece: girl with low pigtails on drums, looking mighty bored to be alive and girl in bad pants with a guitar, looking like she was channeling Joey Ramone. This does not bode well for your narrator and her faithful Pumpkin Girl. I had bad feelings of SUCKY BAND ALERT, kind of like a Spidey Sense. I'm frequently right on the mark with them, as well.
Lo and behold, I am not let down by my super powers. Half way through their second song, I think to myself: "Self. This sounds exactly like the first song. Also. She has a horse mouth and that leg lifty thing she's doing is really fucking stupid."
A quarter of the way through their fourth song and I think to myself: "Self. This too sounds exactly like the first song. It also sounds like she really wishes she was PJ Harvey. And what exactly is she trying to accomplish with the leg lifty thing? Get on a horse? God. She looks fucking stupid."
By the sixth song, I was ready to claw out my eardrums. As well as cut off this stupid bitch's leg. This band officially SUCKS. And I don't even know who they are. Also, my feet are really starting to hurt and I'd like a smoke please.
After what seems like AEONS, the first band leaves the stage. Time passes, TPG and I twitter at each other. We talk smack on the girls standing in front of us, about how they won't fucking move and the one has really annoying hair. The lights dim and we twitch and giggle and shake each other. It is time for...
...some fat guy with a guitar?
Umm. Who's that guy? And why is he on stage when this is CLEARLY a Nick Cave concert?
After a couple of agonizing songs (and a few moments of "okay, maybe this is just a joke and he's going to leave now."), I realise it's the guy who sings with Mister Cave on "Bring It On", from the newest album. This also does not excuse him for being on the stage when I have clearly only came here to see one person and one person alone.
Make the bad man go away please, mommy. And he does.
The lights dim again and I can feel the tension in the crowd rising ever higher. I lean over to TPG and whisper sotto vox, "If this is another fat guy with a guitar, I'm going to start killing people."
And it is not! There's Conway Savage! And Warren Ellis! And the guy who's name I never remember! And the guy who isn't Blixa, but is obviously his replacement! And some more people! And there's Nick Cave! And holy fucking shit, he is right the fuck in front of us and I am going to die of twitteryness!
( i'm down here for your soul. )
If I wasn't so dumbstruck, I probably would have paid more attention to the set. But, I am very bad at remembering songs played at a show unless they pimp slap me. Many of these songs from that night pimp slapped me. What I can remember from the set list is (not in play order):
West Country Girl (quite unlike the album version, this one is hard and fast and kicks my ass)
The Mercy Seat (also unlike the album version and also kicking my ass)
From Her To Eternity
Christina the Astonishing
Do You Love Me?
God Is In the House
Into My Arms
Hallelujah (I broke down and sobbed like a bitch during this. Last year, when my mother was first diagnosed with cancer and was still in the hospital, I would go out in the middle of the night and drive around. Up and down the highway, listening to the album this is on. Actually, usually just listening to this song over and over and over. He made the crowd sing the "hallelujah" parts and I got goosebumps all over.)
Henry Lee (I don't like the live version of this, which he did fast and hard. The lyrics don't jive well with the music and it feels...wrong somehow.)
Bring It On (with that fat guy, Chris Bailey. He's kind of smarmy looking. I don't like him.)
Red Right Hand (eeeee! EEEEE! See, if you've ever seen the Bad Seeds in concert, you would know about the pointing thing that Nick Cave does during certain songs. He points, out at people in the crowd. It is menacing. It is powerful. It is...hot as all get out. TPG and I have a list of things that need to happen before the end of the world can come. Being pointed at by Nick Cave is one of them. And I am very happy to report that the first seal has been broken. He pointed RIGHT THE FUCK AT US during the "...you ain't got no self respect, you feel like an insect" part of the song. We fell over against each other with the sheer...power that he wields. I tremble at the very memory of this. Yes, I'm a big dork.)
( hidden in his coat is a red, right hand. )
Deanna
Tupelo
**edit**
Wonderful Life
There's more, but like I said before, I just can't remember them all. There was two encores, though. Deanna and Into My Arms were during them.
(off topic, does anyone know what this is all about?)
(ahhh. Here is my answer.)
The show ended with the words "Thank you very much! See you in a couple of years!" TPG and I stagger out of the venue on painful feet, but with light hearts. We're hungry. We're thirsty. We're hot. We're on a mission to meet us with Miss Janette, who will be our saviour in all of these departments as our guide through the mean streets of Manhatten.
I had stayed up practically the entire night on Tuesday, despite the fact that I was going to breakfast with Wemble. Wednesday came early and bright, with a phone call from Wemble to tell me she was running a bit late. 10:20 am. My alarm has been going off for half an hour? argh. Fuck this.
Wemble arrived at my apartment shortly before 11 am and I remained in bed. I stayed in bed as she sat at the foot and talked to me, as I talked much sleepy shit. I finally rolled out at around noon, after she left my bedside in pursuit of talking to my brother.
We got
Thee Pumpkin Girl and I were set to meet at 2 o'clock at 8th and Market. I stood out in the hot sun, berating the season, and smoking a cigarette while listening to a cop and some random schmuck shoot the breeze.
She shows up, I lose my book (and discover this fact three blocks away. It was my copy of the Tooth Fairy by Graham Joyce. BLAR!), we buy myself a new book, and we're on our way.
I'd like to present to the jury Evidence A, a documentation of the idiocy that TPG and I get into when we're trapped on a train for an hour and a half with a digital camera.
( the magpies being magpies! )
( Conductor! )
She's yet to send me the rest of the photos, which involve me peeping over the seats at her. hrmph.
We switch trains in Trenton, involve ourselves in more camera wackiness, and arrive in Manhatten only slightly flustered and kind of hot.
Roseland Ballroom, twenty some blocks away. It's pushing degress of GOD IT'S FUCKING HOT, so we decide on taking a taxi to the venue. This, however, is easier said then done. I've never had so much trouble hailing a taxi in NYC. Not once. By the time we actually caught one, I was about ready to throw down to the next motherfucker who took the one that slowed down when I stuck my hand in the air. We also had the honour of seeing some yahoo in a convertible make a U-turn in the middle of the intersection around 33rd. Fucking wow!
Roseland has a line stretching from the door to mostly all the way down the block. We planted ourselves at the tail end and settle down to smoking cigarettes and reading our books. Rawr!
Slow moving line and some bit of time later, we're inside the venue after having shucked our water bottles and snuffed our cigarettes. This New NYC shit is irritating, I tell you. These jackoffs are going to tell me that I can't smoke at a NICK CAVE SHOW?! Umm. Hi. Nick Cave /is/ the epitome of smoking. Okthxbye.
Haters.
Nice venue, by the way. I wasn't expecting it to be so big. And there's no seats! Which means TPG and I mark our territory towards the front and center, where we plan on doing no moving whatsoever.
Opening act is a two piece: girl with low pigtails on drums, looking mighty bored to be alive and girl in bad pants with a guitar, looking like she was channeling Joey Ramone. This does not bode well for your narrator and her faithful Pumpkin Girl. I had bad feelings of SUCKY BAND ALERT, kind of like a Spidey Sense. I'm frequently right on the mark with them, as well.
Lo and behold, I am not let down by my super powers. Half way through their second song, I think to myself: "Self. This sounds exactly like the first song. Also. She has a horse mouth and that leg lifty thing she's doing is really fucking stupid."
A quarter of the way through their fourth song and I think to myself: "Self. This too sounds exactly like the first song. It also sounds like she really wishes she was PJ Harvey. And what exactly is she trying to accomplish with the leg lifty thing? Get on a horse? God. She looks fucking stupid."
By the sixth song, I was ready to claw out my eardrums. As well as cut off this stupid bitch's leg. This band officially SUCKS. And I don't even know who they are. Also, my feet are really starting to hurt and I'd like a smoke please.
After what seems like AEONS, the first band leaves the stage. Time passes, TPG and I twitter at each other. We talk smack on the girls standing in front of us, about how they won't fucking move and the one has really annoying hair. The lights dim and we twitch and giggle and shake each other. It is time for...
...some fat guy with a guitar?
Umm. Who's that guy? And why is he on stage when this is CLEARLY a Nick Cave concert?
After a couple of agonizing songs (and a few moments of "okay, maybe this is just a joke and he's going to leave now."), I realise it's the guy who sings with Mister Cave on "Bring It On", from the newest album. This also does not excuse him for being on the stage when I have clearly only came here to see one person and one person alone.
Make the bad man go away please, mommy. And he does.
The lights dim again and I can feel the tension in the crowd rising ever higher. I lean over to TPG and whisper sotto vox, "If this is another fat guy with a guitar, I'm going to start killing people."
And it is not! There's Conway Savage! And Warren Ellis! And the guy who's name I never remember! And the guy who isn't Blixa, but is obviously his replacement! And some more people! And there's Nick Cave! And holy fucking shit, he is right the fuck in front of us and I am going to die of twitteryness!
( i'm down here for your soul. )
If I wasn't so dumbstruck, I probably would have paid more attention to the set. But, I am very bad at remembering songs played at a show unless they pimp slap me. Many of these songs from that night pimp slapped me. What I can remember from the set list is (not in play order):
West Country Girl (quite unlike the album version, this one is hard and fast and kicks my ass)
The Mercy Seat (also unlike the album version and also kicking my ass)
From Her To Eternity
Christina the Astonishing
Do You Love Me?
God Is In the House
Into My Arms
Hallelujah (I broke down and sobbed like a bitch during this. Last year, when my mother was first diagnosed with cancer and was still in the hospital, I would go out in the middle of the night and drive around. Up and down the highway, listening to the album this is on. Actually, usually just listening to this song over and over and over. He made the crowd sing the "hallelujah" parts and I got goosebumps all over.)
Henry Lee (I don't like the live version of this, which he did fast and hard. The lyrics don't jive well with the music and it feels...wrong somehow.)
Bring It On (with that fat guy, Chris Bailey. He's kind of smarmy looking. I don't like him.)
Red Right Hand (eeeee! EEEEE! See, if you've ever seen the Bad Seeds in concert, you would know about the pointing thing that Nick Cave does during certain songs. He points, out at people in the crowd. It is menacing. It is powerful. It is...hot as all get out. TPG and I have a list of things that need to happen before the end of the world can come. Being pointed at by Nick Cave is one of them. And I am very happy to report that the first seal has been broken. He pointed RIGHT THE FUCK AT US during the "...you ain't got no self respect, you feel like an insect" part of the song. We fell over against each other with the sheer...power that he wields. I tremble at the very memory of this. Yes, I'm a big dork.)
( hidden in his coat is a red, right hand. )
Deanna
Tupelo
**edit**
Wonderful Life
There's more, but like I said before, I just can't remember them all. There was two encores, though. Deanna and Into My Arms were during them.
(off topic, does anyone know what this is all about?)
(ahhh. Here is my answer.)
The show ended with the words "Thank you very much! See you in a couple of years!" TPG and I stagger out of the venue on painful feet, but with light hearts. We're hungry. We're thirsty. We're hot. We're on a mission to meet us with Miss Janette, who will be our saviour in all of these departments as our guide through the mean streets of Manhatten.
Oh, my heart...
I almost had a crisis of nigh epic proportions.
Nick Cave tickets went on sale tonight. Internet pre sale at 11pm.
Open to the general public sale at midnight.
I swindled/begged/pleaded/okay, just asked my father if I could use his credit card to buy tickets for Thee Pumpkin Girl and myself. He said yes and over the phone, gave me the information.
I went to buy the tickets (GROUND FLOOR! STANDING ROOM! GENERAL ADMISSION! THIS EQUALS 'I CAN GET UP TO THE STAGE!') and when I arrived at the actual paying for it part of the show, found that it was asking me for a three digit number located on the back of one's credit card.
A three digit number that I hadn't thought of asking for, since the last time I bought from Ticketbastard it wasn't required.
Commence freaking out, crying, profanity falling from my lips in copious amounts. General railing at the world about my stupidity for not asking for this three digit code.
The critical moment arrives, it almost midnight. I'm commiserating with TPG about our state of not having tickets, when I realise that Wemble is online. So, shot in the dark, I ask her for a REALLY big favour.
Wemble, if I hadn't mentioned before, is a kind and beautiful and gracious person.
^_^
In other words, she bought the tickets for TPG and I.
an excerpt from the ensuing wackiness, if you will:
me: Which means we can very well bulldozer our way up front.
Thee Pumpkin Girl: *faint*
me: standing room!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: that's what we got?
me: she just pasted to me.
me: yes!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: same thing?? ga??
me: LEVEL 1
FLOOR STANDING ROOM
GENERAL ADMISSION
Thee Pumpkin Girl: \M/
Thee Pumpkin Girl: dood. please espouse gutteral chitters to wemble for me!
me: oh hell yeah
Thee Pumpkin Girl: which night?
me: not sure yet.
Thee Pumpkin Girl: *slobber*
Thee Pumpkin Girl: and we will get close. you remember how i kicked that old man in the ass to get to the front of the balcony?
me: yep!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: heheheheh
me: RAWR!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: !!!!!
I almost had a crisis of nigh epic proportions.
Nick Cave tickets went on sale tonight. Internet pre sale at 11pm.
Open to the general public sale at midnight.
I swindled/begged/pleaded/okay, just asked my father if I could use his credit card to buy tickets for Thee Pumpkin Girl and myself. He said yes and over the phone, gave me the information.
I went to buy the tickets (GROUND FLOOR! STANDING ROOM! GENERAL ADMISSION! THIS EQUALS 'I CAN GET UP TO THE STAGE!') and when I arrived at the actual paying for it part of the show, found that it was asking me for a three digit number located on the back of one's credit card.
A three digit number that I hadn't thought of asking for, since the last time I bought from Ticketbastard it wasn't required.
Commence freaking out, crying, profanity falling from my lips in copious amounts. General railing at the world about my stupidity for not asking for this three digit code.
The critical moment arrives, it almost midnight. I'm commiserating with TPG about our state of not having tickets, when I realise that Wemble is online. So, shot in the dark, I ask her for a REALLY big favour.
Wemble, if I hadn't mentioned before, is a kind and beautiful and gracious person.
^_^
In other words, she bought the tickets for TPG and I.
an excerpt from the ensuing wackiness, if you will:
me: Which means we can very well bulldozer our way up front.
Thee Pumpkin Girl: *faint*
me: standing room!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: that's what we got?
me: she just pasted to me.
me: yes!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: same thing?? ga??
me: LEVEL 1
FLOOR STANDING ROOM
GENERAL ADMISSION
Thee Pumpkin Girl: \M/
Thee Pumpkin Girl: dood. please espouse gutteral chitters to wemble for me!
me: oh hell yeah
Thee Pumpkin Girl: which night?
me: not sure yet.
Thee Pumpkin Girl: *slobber*
Thee Pumpkin Girl: and we will get close. you remember how i kicked that old man in the ass to get to the front of the balcony?
me: yep!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: heheheheh
me: RAWR!
Thee Pumpkin Girl: !!!!!
scratch bass!
Feb. 4th, 2003 10:58 amTo quell my overwelming sense of disappointment last night, I went to the record store. Despite there not being any new Nick Cave cds waiting there for me.
Instead, I bought the newest Lamb cd which previously I had only found as an import and thusly, a metric fucktonne of money. The one I picked up is a limited edition, with a second disc that has a bunch of remixes and live stuff on it. And for CHEAPER then the other one, despite the fact that it has two cds and is limited edition.
I also bought a Nick Cave cd that I didn't previously own (yeah, believe it or not there's a couple of them out there). From Her To Eternity. Whee! The Engineer kept teasing me about how I was just determined to buy ANY Bad Seeds music at that point.
He got the apartment in my building, by the way. #13. Fucker. Signs the lease tonight and moves in on Saturday. Anybody want to help lug boxes? I'll buy beer. ;)
I'm sitting on pins this morning because there was a notice on our door yesterday when I got home from work that today, at eleven a.m. there was going to be the five year building inspection on the apartments. And that they'd need access to all the apartments. What if they tell me I can't have my little closet bedroom anymore? Or that we have too many cats? Or...or...or...
I keep thinking of frightening options. My mother hollered at me last night about it, saying that we'll worry about those things only if they happen. *sigh* I just don't have that sort of personality.
grr.
Oh, the Krispies started with their shit again this morning and I got riled up. This time, it was all about people who read tarot cards and such like. And how it's in the Bible that you shouldn't do this (it's not, especially as how TAROT CARDS DIDN'T EXIST BACK THEN). Fucking idiots. I am wisely keeping my mouth shut as I really do NOT need a confrontation at work.Especially a confrontation that revolves around religion.
Every time they start yapping, I turn my stereo up louder. I think I may bring in headphones tomorrow.
Instead, I bought the newest Lamb cd which previously I had only found as an import and thusly, a metric fucktonne of money. The one I picked up is a limited edition, with a second disc that has a bunch of remixes and live stuff on it. And for CHEAPER then the other one, despite the fact that it has two cds and is limited edition.
I also bought a Nick Cave cd that I didn't previously own (yeah, believe it or not there's a couple of them out there). From Her To Eternity. Whee! The Engineer kept teasing me about how I was just determined to buy ANY Bad Seeds music at that point.
He got the apartment in my building, by the way. #13. Fucker. Signs the lease tonight and moves in on Saturday. Anybody want to help lug boxes? I'll buy beer. ;)
I'm sitting on pins this morning because there was a notice on our door yesterday when I got home from work that today, at eleven a.m. there was going to be the five year building inspection on the apartments. And that they'd need access to all the apartments. What if they tell me I can't have my little closet bedroom anymore? Or that we have too many cats? Or...or...or...
I keep thinking of frightening options. My mother hollered at me last night about it, saying that we'll worry about those things only if they happen. *sigh* I just don't have that sort of personality.
grr.
Oh, the Krispies started with their shit again this morning and I got riled up. This time, it was all about people who read tarot cards and such like. And how it's in the Bible that you shouldn't do this (it's not, especially as how TAROT CARDS DIDN'T EXIST BACK THEN). Fucking idiots. I am wisely keeping my mouth shut as I really do NOT need a confrontation at work.Especially a confrontation that revolves around religion.
Every time they start yapping, I turn my stereo up louder. I think I may bring in headphones tomorrow.
(no subject)
Jan. 30th, 2003 02:07 pmThe new Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds album comes out in FOUR DAYS.
*squee!*
*chirp!*
*squee!*
*chirp!*
A knife, a fork
Jan. 28th, 2003 03:47 pmI am currently reliving my absolutely terrible crush on the guy from Information Society. Kurt something or other.
I am also wondering if it would be considered impolite if I just gave Wemble a six pack of beer and a spatula for as her bridal shower.
It would be a really nice spatula, mind you.
I am also wondering if it would be considered impolite if I just gave Wemble a six pack of beer and a spatula for as her bridal shower.
It would be a really nice spatula, mind you.
sing me a song to set me free
May. 4th, 2002 05:52 pmTrying to break this down as coherantly as possible.
Wednesday: I was laid off from my job, irony abounding because of how I kept lamenting Shawnee's layoff and how it should have actually been mine. I should learn not to voice these thoughts and feelings, as all they do is come into being. I took it much better than a lot of people thought I would. Quite calm and level headed, though a few snarky comments were mine to be made. I'm entitled to them. I sucked it up and smiled at that office since December. It was hell. And I truly glad to not be working there anymore. I just am not sure how I'm going to exist on what little money the unemployment office will (hopefully) be giving me. No use getting worried and worked up. The only thing it will bring is sickness and misery. Ah, me.
Thursday: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds show at the Beacon Theatre in Manhatten. I've been holding these tickets since last August. I had an extra fourth one, which changed hands so many times I've forgotten all the names. Finally, it wound up in Ghoulie's possession, for which I was extremely grateful. One, because I miss her and we never hang out anymore. And two, because I wanted someone to take the train to NYC with me for company. Before the show, we ratted about Philadelphia. Ate lunch at Tattooed Mom's, which I haven't visited in a year or more. Norm was in attendence, who perved on my knee high patent leather Stash boots. The train ride involved much giddiness and shit talking, as Ghoulie and I are wont to do when we are in each other's company. A lot of the past was talked about and I aired some misgivings on my previous actions. She understands me and it is good to know.
The actual show was completely brilliant. This is my fifth time seeing Nick Cave live and it only gets better with each performance. Especially nice was hearing Saint Huck live, something which I've never done. Two minor annoyances were: the skank ho who felt she had the right to writhe all over Nick Cave during Papa won't leave you, Henry. And the Gap commercial sitting two rows in front of us and their utmost desire to stand up in front of me. Pah!
After the show was much walking to a little place for food with Commander Jurin, Ben, Darren fron Stendhal, Joanna, Ghoulie, Jessica, and some boy who's name was never given to me. Food and chocolate mousse cake. Peach tea and cigarettes. Too many trains and walking through bleach reeking subway tunnels.
I've never been so grateful to see someone's apartment as I was to see Commander Jurin's. His roommate, Alec, was home. A good surprise as I like him muchly, though we've only met once before. He was gracious at our exhaustion and made happy conversation.
Friday: Came too soon, as we only slept but three hours. Ghoulie and I shared Commander's bed, and he slept on the couch. Too kind, even if the cat sat on my head for most of those three hours. Trains and buses and trains again until I was back home in the Goblin Market. The Engineer picked me up from the speedline station, I mumbled incoherantly at him quite a bit. A tiny bit of sleep until I had to get ready for the Belle and Sebastian show in Philadelphia that evening.
The show was astounding, I had never seen them perform live before. Added bonus was Melora from Rasputina playing cello in their band. Another bonus was hearing Me and the Major performed live, something which is rarely, if ever, done. I glowed and cried and sang throughout the entire show. It was a happy, if bittersweet, moment. Too many of those songs remind me of Richard. And they played every single one which hurt the most.
After the show was spent eyeing the tour bus and a brief meeting non meeting of Stuart and Mick. We wound up at a diner around the corner from my apartment, where my body decided to voice its displeasure at me being still awake. Tummy hurts, I want to go home for sleep.
Which I did, eventually.
Today: I slept until three o'clock, only rising because my body was becoming stiff. Cigarettes and online research regarding unemployment. A few good resources were found, as well as an internet filing source for unemployment, itself. I don't know much about it and wonder of its reliability and speed of checks. Hopefully, more answers will be found on this on Monday.
Tonight is the party for the witchy group I belong to. I should be getting dressed right now, but loyalty to my journal stands in the way. Edgar is rolling around in a bitey ball on the floor, as Edgars sometimes do. Now, he is investigating my bare and cold feet.
It has apparently been decided that my trash can is his mortal enemy.
More later, even.
Wednesday: I was laid off from my job, irony abounding because of how I kept lamenting Shawnee's layoff and how it should have actually been mine. I should learn not to voice these thoughts and feelings, as all they do is come into being. I took it much better than a lot of people thought I would. Quite calm and level headed, though a few snarky comments were mine to be made. I'm entitled to them. I sucked it up and smiled at that office since December. It was hell. And I truly glad to not be working there anymore. I just am not sure how I'm going to exist on what little money the unemployment office will (hopefully) be giving me. No use getting worried and worked up. The only thing it will bring is sickness and misery. Ah, me.
Thursday: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds show at the Beacon Theatre in Manhatten. I've been holding these tickets since last August. I had an extra fourth one, which changed hands so many times I've forgotten all the names. Finally, it wound up in Ghoulie's possession, for which I was extremely grateful. One, because I miss her and we never hang out anymore. And two, because I wanted someone to take the train to NYC with me for company. Before the show, we ratted about Philadelphia. Ate lunch at Tattooed Mom's, which I haven't visited in a year or more. Norm was in attendence, who perved on my knee high patent leather Stash boots. The train ride involved much giddiness and shit talking, as Ghoulie and I are wont to do when we are in each other's company. A lot of the past was talked about and I aired some misgivings on my previous actions. She understands me and it is good to know.
The actual show was completely brilliant. This is my fifth time seeing Nick Cave live and it only gets better with each performance. Especially nice was hearing Saint Huck live, something which I've never done. Two minor annoyances were: the skank ho who felt she had the right to writhe all over Nick Cave during Papa won't leave you, Henry. And the Gap commercial sitting two rows in front of us and their utmost desire to stand up in front of me. Pah!
After the show was much walking to a little place for food with Commander Jurin, Ben, Darren fron Stendhal, Joanna, Ghoulie, Jessica, and some boy who's name was never given to me. Food and chocolate mousse cake. Peach tea and cigarettes. Too many trains and walking through bleach reeking subway tunnels.
I've never been so grateful to see someone's apartment as I was to see Commander Jurin's. His roommate, Alec, was home. A good surprise as I like him muchly, though we've only met once before. He was gracious at our exhaustion and made happy conversation.
Friday: Came too soon, as we only slept but three hours. Ghoulie and I shared Commander's bed, and he slept on the couch. Too kind, even if the cat sat on my head for most of those three hours. Trains and buses and trains again until I was back home in the Goblin Market. The Engineer picked me up from the speedline station, I mumbled incoherantly at him quite a bit. A tiny bit of sleep until I had to get ready for the Belle and Sebastian show in Philadelphia that evening.
The show was astounding, I had never seen them perform live before. Added bonus was Melora from Rasputina playing cello in their band. Another bonus was hearing Me and the Major performed live, something which is rarely, if ever, done. I glowed and cried and sang throughout the entire show. It was a happy, if bittersweet, moment. Too many of those songs remind me of Richard. And they played every single one which hurt the most.
After the show was spent eyeing the tour bus and a brief meeting non meeting of Stuart and Mick. We wound up at a diner around the corner from my apartment, where my body decided to voice its displeasure at me being still awake. Tummy hurts, I want to go home for sleep.
Which I did, eventually.
Today: I slept until three o'clock, only rising because my body was becoming stiff. Cigarettes and online research regarding unemployment. A few good resources were found, as well as an internet filing source for unemployment, itself. I don't know much about it and wonder of its reliability and speed of checks. Hopefully, more answers will be found on this on Monday.
Tonight is the party for the witchy group I belong to. I should be getting dressed right now, but loyalty to my journal stands in the way. Edgar is rolling around in a bitey ball on the floor, as Edgars sometimes do. Now, he is investigating my bare and cold feet.
It has apparently been decided that my trash can is his mortal enemy.
More later, even.
The past two days have been glorious and hellish, all rolled into one. Two concerts,
two cities, two days. No sleep.
I'll fill you all in tomorrow, when I finally wake from my coma.
All I have to say on the matter now is this:
me: He's wearing a green blazer. I'm wearing the exact shade of green skirt. We're MEANT to be together. You realise this right?
Ghoulie: *eyeroll*
That was from the Nick Cave show. ;)
Goodnight, kidlets.
two cities, two days. No sleep.
I'll fill you all in tomorrow, when I finally wake from my coma.
All I have to say on the matter now is this:
me: He's wearing a green blazer. I'm wearing the exact shade of green skirt. We're MEANT to be together. You realise this right?
Ghoulie: *eyeroll*
That was from the Nick Cave show. ;)
Goodnight, kidlets.