rusty_halo

It's deadline time. Last week I was at work until 8pm, 9pm, and finally until midnight on Friday night.

Then I had to take a wacky detour home, because a crane working on a building I pass every day decided to collapse and land on a taxi. Several blocks were blocked off and I was very lucky that my apartment was just out of the range of inaccessible buildings. It was quite weird, walking home after midnight, past all the people waiting at the police barriers to be allowed back into their apartments.

I've been listening to Marilyn Manson's album Antichrist Superstar. It's making me incredibly nostalgic for the mid-1990's, for being a teenager, and for some of the best concert experiences of my life. Manson used to put on such a great show, and I was naive and enthusiastic enough to enjoy it thoroughly. Wish he hadn't gotten old and lame. :( I think "The Reflecting God" is still one of my all time favorite songs, and Antichrist Superstar really is an amazingly cohesive album full of interesting ideas. Manson's more a writer than a musician ... but a good writer, and back then he was working with actual good musicians.

I have two more Sharpe books to read, but I'm not rushing because they're the final two (Waterloo and Devil) and I'd rather drag them out. Once they're done, that's it for the Sharpe book series, and despite its cheesiness and predictability, I've really been enjoying it. Sharpe is totally my kind of hero, with his social awkwardness and inability to fit in and ruthlessness and need to prove himself...

drujan and I hung out on Thursday night (commiserating over work problems and how much the INS sucks) and she stopped by so that I could lend her Sharpe's Sword (book). I also showed her the cover of the Sharpe's Eagle DVD. She stared at it for 30 straight seconds and I was afraid she was going to start drooling on it. We now have plans for a Sharpe movie night. ;)

Saturday I watched a 1988 movie starring Sean Bean called Stormy Monday. It also starred a surreal group of actors including Melanie Griffith, Sting, and Tommy Lee Jones. It was an atmospheric, moody film noir that didn't really go anywhere, though I think it was trying to make some kind of comment about the destructive power of American capitalism. Mostly I was distracted by how ridiculously gorgeous young Sean Bean was. Like, ridiculously, insanely, mind-boggling gorgeous. I watched it twice, despite it not being all that good. Sean Bean played a naive young man getting disillusioned by life, and falling in love, and walking around in jeans and a Walkman and looking adorable... ; it was nice seeing him as something other than a historical figure or a supervillain.

Then I had to go to Brooklyn. Twice in one weekend, which, in my opinion, is two times too much Brooklyn. I really, really, really hate that borough.

Saturday night I went to some concert ("industrial festival") because my friend April was going to be there. She's the one who just got married, so I wanted to see her. Unfortunately this involved getting on the L train, which took a half hour to arrive, then went only two stops into Brooklyn before stopping and announcing that this would be the last stop. So a whole mob of pissed off people had to get out and get on a bus, which took us the rest of the way. My stop was some empty wasteland full of abandoned warehouses, and I had to walk five blocks to get to the venue. (Happily I found a girl who was going to the same place, so we walked together.)

Then when we got there, we had to wait in line 45 minutes (with people smoking, ick) because the ticket takers were so stunningly disorganized. (The only good part was that there was a hot guy milling around who looked like Brian Kinney.) Once we finally managed to pay our $18 fee ($28 if you weren't on some promotions list), we had to go upstairs for the concert. "Upstairs" meant up the rickety metal outdoor fire escape. It was barely more than a ladder. And it shook. And it was see-through, not nice for all the girls in skirts. Half of us were clutching the sides in terror as we climbed up.

Once inside, the place turned out to be an utter shithole. Some old crumbly warehouse, horrid fire hazard (with wooden floors and only that one stairway), sweltering from all the people packed in. I entirely missed the band April was there to see (Imperative Reaction), but I did manage to find her. We headed to the bathroom, had to wait a half hour, then it was so gross that I decided to wait until I got home. So we went to the bar and it took literally a half hour to get a bartender's attention; it wasn't even a real bar, just some coolers and people running around. And did I mention how it was swelteringly hot, and the only air came from the fire escape, which you weren't allowed to stand on (probably because it would've collapsed from the weight of people trying to get air)? At least April drove me home so that I didn't have to rely on the L train bus, and of course, it was awesome to spend time with April, who is a good and true friend.

Still, in my many years of attending shithole music venues, this place was the very worst.

Sunday was better. My friend Livi organized this "Vegan Buddies" gathering at Red Bamboo Brooklyn (a veg restaurant in a much nicer neighborhood), which had some interesting speakers, good food, and a surprise birthday party and cake for Livi. I got there around 5pm and didn't leave until midnight, but it was worth it for the fun of hanging out with Livi and our fellow SuperVegans.

And now back to work. And, happily, Netflix is sending me more Sean Bean movies as we speak. :)

I'm home! I love New York City. I love my own bed, my computer, my apartment, my cats, and my MANY MANY VEGAN RESTAURANTS WITHIN ORDERING DISTANCE.

Despite sleeping 12 hours last night--totally missing Veronica Mars--I'm still completely exhausted. Some kind of trip report will come later, when I start to feel alive again.

For your amusement, the top phrases searched at All About Spike last week:
( Read more... )