I spent the day Saturday cleaning up my house. I just got a new airport and airport extreme on the Mac and I set it up so that I could wireless into the Bose. I set it to 'shuffle' and pushed play. 8953 songs over 25.6 days. Seems like a lot. I like the shuffle setting since it allows me to listen to things that I always forget that I have, but the worst part about it is that it pairs Fugazi, the 6ths and Arcade Fire (who I can't stand, but Sophia gave me their Funeral disk)- I am not sure if it actually did do this pairing, but you get the idea. Anyway, you get into some groove and then all of a sudden you listen to something that you don't want.
Back to Arcade Fire. I am not a big fan. I know that they get critical raves and all the fashion magazines like them and their shows are amazing blah blah blah. But, seriously, the first time I heard them, I immediately thought of the Dead, Dave Matthew, Live, Pearl Jam, Cold Play and U2. Bands that get critical praise, and are touted as 'Live' bands, but, bands that are soulless, insincere and boring.
I went to a Dead concert many, many years ago at Shoreline. I took too much acid and smoked a J with a dude who was 'deflowering' me- it was my first show. I stripped down to my shorts and spent 2 hours walking from one end of the amphitheater to the next. I was trying to escape the miserable, miserable sound that would not stop. The chick I was with was getting all pissed at me, but I could not get far enough away from the noise, but also couldn't leave- she drove me down. Sadly, the outhouses were my only refuge, but the refuse, heat and stink inside of them were only slightly worse then the music outside which made me tolerate it for only so long. One or the other, at some point you need to choose. I remember the mounds of poop, toilet paper and bloodied rags made me feel very sad for our world. When the show finally ended, I was so pleased that I started shouting and shouting. I was sunburned, I stunk, my feet were disgusting and I lost all my stuff, but I was finally free.
On the drive home the chick (Rachel or Annie) was so pissed at me. She kept complaining about how I ruined the show for her since I would not just sit still and listen to the music. When we got back to her place she wanted to shower, but I opted for a bath which ended up disgusting me since I was so darn filthy- the water was so dark and nasty, but it made me feel oddly comfortable. It brought me back to a moment in my childhood when my father returned from a month long trip in India. He was tired and he smelled of carved wooden elephants and spice. All he wanted to do was to take a bath. I sat with him as he bathed. I missed him so much, and all I wanted to do was to fill up my head with his image; he just sat in the bath, his head down and droopy from being away from his family. He seemed to be a bit sad; kinda like he just lost 30 or so days of being with his kids. He probably did the math in his head and determined that that was a rather large price to pay considering that over a lifetime, you don't get too many days with your kids.
Back to the Dead show. After the bath, I had a quick beer, another J and then I fucked the chick in the ass. When I finished, she became even more pissed at me, but, even with the really speedy acid, I just passed out. For whatever reason, she let me sleep undisturbed and then kicked me out. Friggin Deadhead chicks are so annoying.
I imagine that Arcade Fire shows are very similar. A bunch of boring, annoying, self important music. I am sure they sell fancy beer and have clean bathrooms, but in the end, you just want to go home, get laid and pass out; and in the end you are too embarrassed to tell your friends that you hated it.
I can hear it now, "Man, you have no idea what you are talking about. To see [insert band here: Cold Play, Arcade Fire, Dave Matthews, U2, the Dead, etc.] live is the most incredible thing. They are so much better live then on disk. I saw them on December 12th in Los Angeles and then on December 13th in Anaheim. And both days were the most amazing shows, yet totally unique and different......." ad nauseam. I guess this is where we learned tolerance to humanity.
My simple and very accurate retort would be, 'Well, yes, I see and appreciate your point of view, but in my opinion, if a band is different every time that they play live then they must not be very good. Seems more gimmicky and false. Come to all our shows! We need your money.'
Didn't Cold Play rip off that song that everybody likes from some Chinese chick band. The best acting Gwyneth ever did was to play a severed head in Seven. I think Keven Spacey and Brad Pitt conspired on that last scene so that they could end the un-acting tour de farce. I guess she won an oscar, is wealthy and has an accent now so she is definitely better than me. I bet she is good in bed. But, at some point, even that surfer dude is going to get bored of hitting that and he will stray. Off into Sting's secret, magical, organic garden with the cook or the seamstress or the admin; eighty times higher than the moon; nightshades and legume salads with the hired help; touring to escape the un-ending tour de farce. She does have a nice, small waist, but her belly button seems to be odd shaped. She was good in that movie with the guy with the mole on his face. He is funny. I think she played the same character in that movie and the other movie about the gay kid that moves in with the shrink. I liked the scene with the cat under the hamper. That cat was so peaceful, a true Buddhist.
I have a story to tell about a cat, but I will save it for later.
Remind me.
Yesterday I went for a ride early, it was cold and then it was hot and then cold again. I was sweaty and stickily sweet from cytomax, so I got attacked by wasps on the top of the mountain and then got passed by some 'Pros'. In the home stretch, the fog and wind and rain hit me hard. I had already bonked and did not have a lot left in me. I got stuck behind a big yellow school bus with fluorescent flowers applied all over it.
After a quick shower, I met some friends at some street fare in the city. White tents, grilled food, beer, wares and tons of yuppies. It was a cool day, but all the 20 and 30 year olds were all wearing short, tight revealing clothes. Much like the Dead show at Shoreline, I kept going from one end of the fare to the other- doing 'laps' like we say in Italian.
Except in this case, I was trying to find somebody and not trying to escape a horrible noise. I knew that Sophia would be at the street fare since it was close to her flat.
One lap, then two laps.
Clockwise, counterclockwise.
My friends were pissed at me. They just wanted to meander and drink and look for single women. I was ruining their day, but, I was too obsessed with finding the magic combination of laps and luck so that I could bump into and see Sophia. For hours I wandered about. Changing direction every so often. When I finally did see her, she was with her friends and she looked happy and easy. I don't think that she saw me, and I positioned myself so that I could continue to watch her while avoiding discovery. I ducked into a shop when I feared she may come my way.
And then she was gone.
In a moment of panic, I scanned and searched the surroundings. I could not see her, so I phoned her. Her end rang three or four times and then she answered.
A simple, 'Hello there.'
By her voice and intonation, I was unclear of how she felt; in a moment of pure moronic thought, I told her the truth.
'I am at the street fare and I just saw you with Stella, Paola and Trish and you looked really happy and content, so I hid from you. I didn't want to disturb your day, but I wanted to say hello.'
'That is so sweet, I mean, not that you hid, but that you were watching me.' she said (she actually seemed happy to speak to me.)
'You know what, I can't really speak right now. Can I call you later?' she asked.
Once again, in complete idiocy I truthfully told her, 'You know what, I just wanted to say hi and hear your voice. Listen, I don't like being away from you and I really, really miss you, but unless I clean up my behavior we won't have a chance. And I want a chance to be with you.' (or something similar).
We chatted for a few more seconds and then said goodbye.
I don't remember what she said to me, but I can tell you about how I felt. My ears were ringing a low pitched, shallow ring. I had dry mouth and my pulse was approaching an anaerobic pace. I had a horrible sense of dread and disease settle into my mind. I wanted so desperately to run up to her and grab her and kiss her and plead for her to come home. I wanted her friends to watch me kiss her and have them envy her. They would cry and applaud and then shoo us off into our chariot, and we would be happy.
That is what happens when you date Gwyneth. You could cheat on her and beat her and lock her in a dungeon, and call her names in front of the children, but if you ran up to her in a crowded plaza and threw white roses at her feet and genuflected like a miscreant who saw the light (in my case, I would bend down to catch a glimpse of the white poof of her panties under her skirt) she would forgive you and take you back. Win her back with fake dramatic lighting, extras and some compressed, shoddy, simple dialog and all would be forgotten. Have her act out the part of being the strong, liberated woman that can forgive.
When you date real women, you can't be fake, it just ain't right. It is disrespectful to men. We have come too far to get caught up in the heartstrings of some shitty movie that made us cry many years ago. I want Sophia to know that I am not some pussy whipped moron that will say anything to her to have her come home and 'coccolare' away my insecurities. I want her to recognize that though she has come a long way since Lucy I am still willing to be a man and drag her home with a club and some long hairy arms. I want her to know that I am working on myself and I am doing it for her, but ultimately, it is going to make me better which will make her want me more, she won't be able to resist. I am not going to change the way I think for her, but I am willing to listen to her needs and then meet them with manly hands, thoughtless words and shallow emotions.
She is so hot. She was glistening in the sun. She appeared to be slightly drunk and swathed in sunblock and lotion. I could see that she was not wearing a bra and her skirt was cut just above her knees. She has great knees. So bony and sharp on the sides and smooth and round on top. Like Brilliant diamonds.
Going home half drunk after a long day of looking at 20 year olds in tank tops is tough to do, but it was the right thing to do.
Monday at work was pretty busy, but I did manage to stop by 'yellow panties' and we are having lunch on Friday.
Xioba
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