Sometimes, I am very aware that I am young, alive, and experiencing things I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.
Music, friends, spontaneity, late nights in noisy apartments and on quiet streets, record stores, concerts and DJ sets and surprise appearances, sunny days, lakes and grass and hills and street lights - this combination is the territory I live in. I wouldn't trade it in at all.
So, here in the Greek Theater of the SAC, Bade is doing something diligently on her computer. She feels fine. She's eating mangos.
Intensity is sitting on a concrete floor with a water bottle. Not sure why that would be an appealing option. But he apparently feels good enough to drink or eat.
I on the other hand, just ate my body weight in fried food at "Food on a Stick" night. Please see the following for the answer to the title of this post: In case you were wondering, the answer to this question is a resounding "no." I might die. Or go into a food coma. Oh dear Lord. Ohhh dear.
Brandon and Danielle are so much smarter than me. Todd, on the other hand, ate just as much junk and then ate another cotton candy. He might be a goat, secretly.
So I rolled up to the Majestic with J. Ash, arriving around 10. I am totally cheap, so I decide to wait for Truby so I can use his plus-one. Over the course of a 62-minute wait for that crew, we met some truly unique Madison characters, including an Insomnia Cookie salesman who at one point petted my arm for an uncomfortably long time and a washed up 28-year-old man who is moving to Galway. John was really ready to embrace hip-hop culture, sending text messages like "It's all hood." and pondering the wonders of Three6Mafia. "I can't even imagine how much of their lives they've been intoxicated. Probably years." Indeed, J. Ash. Certainly.
After finally going inside, John and I almost immediately spotted the one and only Lil Rail, everyone's favorite Madison promoter/rapper/actor/networker/clothing designer/awesome user of WordArt. I spent a lot of the night debating if I could approach him about hosting my birthday party in September. Also discussed was the possibility that Lil Rail could host Homegrown out on the Terrace next fall, bringing Midwestern hip-hop to the masses. Isn't that what he does best?
So there was a show, a guy had this weird green laser flashlight, and the girl with Lyrics Born was ridiculous. She gave the opportunity for the ladies to sing "What up? What up?" The highlight might have been the point at which a song ended with a freeze frame of Lyrics Born, the girl, and the DJ all holding their song-ending pose. Awesome. I actually really enjoyed the DJ - he won my heart by sampling both Led Zeppelin AND "Heartless" in his opening set before Lyrice Born came on stage. But things really went up a notch when it was time to give out the handbills for U-N-I and Wale.
Jamaal, the best employee of the Pub by far, made an appearance, as did Lil Rail. Apparently these two stellar men are acquainted because they shared a hug that lasted at least forty-five seconds. Jamaal is also roughly the size of 3.5 Lil Rails in all directions. Jamaal bounced, but Lil Rail stuck around to discuss show promotion and the difficulties of promoting in Madison with some other super-savory characters outside the Majestic. The moment that took the night to the next level, though, involved that other Madison breed: The Scene Kid.
(This story can only be told in the present tense.)
An ultra-hipster promoting a Wongz Wok show approaches John and I on the sidewalk. They gave out the Chinese menu flyer a while ago, and tonight are promoting DJ Benzi at Cafe Montmarte. We chat for a bit, and the kid looks at the flyer. "WUD? You guys know Patrick?" Yes, we say, of course. We know Patrick.
Kid scowls. "I read the shit he wrote on the blog about the Wavves show. Who the fuck does he think he is?"
"Oh," I say, awkwardly, "were you there?"
"Yeah, I was there. And you tell him not to blog about my bands. Tell him that if he blogs about my bands again there will be blood coming down on his head." John and I exchanged glances, both realizing he's pissed about the bands Patrick called out on the WUD Music blog for trying to sneak into Wavves. John had been on security detail; I had been let in against the rules. Noticing our reticence, the kid continues.
"He can't think he can diss local bands - they put food on his table. You've got to appreciate the local bands, they're the ones who keep this whole scene together. You tell him that."
I made some kind of noise of agreement at this and, trying to keep from getting my own head bitten off by this kid, say something about how I would pass the message along on Twitter. I am lame and awkward, yes, truly.
"Don't even do it on Twitter," kid says. "Tell him in person. Say, "Hey, Patrick," he pauses so I can repeat after him exactly what I'm supposed to pass along. "Solomon says, 'Don't shit where you eat.' "
"Yeah," I agree. "Yeah, I'll tell him." John concurs. Solomon leaves.
After a long moment of watching Solomon leave with his girl, J. Ash turns to me and reminds me, "Don't shit where you eat." We crack up and send Patrick the message from Solomon via text (not Twitter). And the response, unsurprising, is one word: Pub.
They are kind of gross and in general tend to creep me out. This probably also has something to do with the fact that my own feet are ugly as sin and are the least appealing feet ever ever.
But for some reason, I have lots of pictures of feet on my camera, taken both by me and by other people.
Feet in shoes.
Bare ocean feet.
Feet in Keds.
Ripped Chucks feet.
Guatamalan slipper feet.
Feet with rainbow socks.
After that little Dr. Seuss fun, the word feet no longer holds any meaning to me.
In other news:
It was Easter. We went to the Easter Vigil up north, and I almost slapped the girl in front of us. Not a very Easter-Christian sentiment, but seriously, most obnoxious and ill-behaved kid I have ever seen at church. And she had to have been about ten. Come on.
Easter morning, back in Allouez, my grandpa ate a seashell because he thought it was a candy. That caused a serious ruckus. It was also highly entertaining. And weird. And kind of sad.
If you got this far, wow. You made it through a huge amount of bad pictures of feet plus Easter whining. I'm seriously impressed with you.
After an afternoon of fiascos at the mall with my mother, I'm home. And everyone left. My parents went to dinner with some of my dad's family. My sister went to a sleepover. And my brother is for sure causing a ruckus somewhere in this metropolis right now. And I am hungry but don't want to leave this chair since I am catching up on some serious DVR.
Moving takes too much effort.
So you can better understand my family, I will share with you some special reminders hung in the storage room at my great-aunt Phyl's. Being the Belgian-Czech-French-Germans that the Depreys are, these have probably been hanging on these shelves since the room was storage for the old store.
Look and learn from these words of wisdom (you may have to click and view larger to read):
I had this long entry planned in which I was going to talk about I was in such a good mood for no real reason, when I should be stressed and concerned. But then I had the kind of evening that puts a pall on the rest of the day, even if it was awesome. But because the rest of the day wasn't actually good, I hit the edge and cried in a shopping mall and actually several other sundry places. If anyone has any advice on how to draw up a spare $500-some dollars, let me know, thanks.
I think the reason I am so worked up about my failures with technology is because they were really avoidable. Had I not tried to fix my phone with KrazyGlue, Verizon would have replaced it for free. Had I not tried to remove said glue with GooGone, it would not have soaked into the screen and messed my phone up even more. And apparently coffee or Coke was spilled on my keyboard at some point, putting me out another $315.
Awesomely, my warranties would have covered a non-glued phone replacement and a new top-case for a non-coffeed Mac. I am so awesome. I should probably drive over my iPod when I'm home just to round things out.
Also, people at malls are really bizarre. There are hordes of families with about eight children under four, hooligans who just stand around in the food court, the mall-walkers, seventh grade hookers, you know them all. It's stressful.
I am going home in about an hour. I am both afraid to face my mother and relieved that I can go somewhere that I can sleep with dogs and my little sister sharing my bed, watch movies, go out to eat, and sit across the street at my grandparents' and do nothing.
I will also get to have so much Catholic in my life in the next few days, which is always a good time. Go Jesus. Go totally cult events like the Easter Vigil.
I have rigged up my baby to an external mouse and keyboard for now. That's working well until she can get fixed up all nice and pretty next week. But I can handle this because...
I HAVE A LEAK OF THE FULL-LENGTH WOLFGANG AMADEUS PHOENIX ALBUM.
Intensity, you have absolutely no idea how much I am freaking out about this. Thank you.
My feelings for Phoenix can be explained like this: I have paid money for all of their albums. The only other bands I have done this for are The Shins and Sufjan Stevens. They are classed in my iTunes as "Frenchy Pop Bliss." My dad texted me way past his bedtime that he stayed up to watch them on SNL for me. Phoenix got me through being sick in foreign countries and the resulting tonsillectomy. Watching the "Consolation Prizes" music video on IMF while on a whole lot of Vicodin following that surgery was insane.
Watch it youself:
I'm twitching with excitement as I listen to this. I am ecstatic over this.
Her keyboard and touchpad are non-responsive, though the rest of her is living and working just fine. It's like she's in one of those terrible, terrible "trapped in your body" comas, which I think might be the most terrifying thought I can imagine. In all honesty, I get the shivers sitting here in the library lab just thinking about it
Back to thoughts of my Mac getting fixed:
Don't worry, baby. I'm taking you to the mall on Saturday. The geniuses at the Apple Store will help you. Then we can do lots of homework together and listen to our favorite songs. It's going to be okay.
I'm surprisingly not super worked up over this. This is probably the biggest sign that I have become too tired to care about much because I tend to get upsetabout my laptop running out of battery and this is far more dire.
The Tallest Man on Earth was fantastic last night - dynamic, engaging, appreciative of the audience. He played a bunch of new songs, and they really lived up to the music from "Shallow Grave." I'm really looking forward to a new release from him.
In other news, the weather is April Fooling to the max. Left for work in flurries and dismal skies this morning, came out of my last class to almost 50 and sunny.
I can handle the gray and dreary under certain circumstances. For instance, when I was in England with my family two years ago, we barely saw a sliver of sun, but it was wonderful nonetheless. (Side story, I was also epically sick the whole time, not so wonderful.)
I guess it was sunny in Windsor. I must not have noticed due to jet lag.
Also sunny our first morning in London, apparently. I'm sure I have pictures that back my "not sunny, still awesome" theory.
Not sunny, still awesome, twice. Two points. St. Margaret's might be one of the prettiest parts of Westminster.
Kensington: cloudy, gorgeous.
The fact that Oxford - as pictured above (Sheldonian Theatre, Christchurch, the moat around Christchurch) - worked within my theory increased my love for it even more, I did not realize that was possible.
In my epic dream future (you don't want to know), I will live in Oxford for a while.
Also in my epic dream future, someone will apply this song to me - in particular the cover I just linked you to.