He Said, "You've Got What I've got Son, You've Got a Dislocated Life."

Faithful readers: I apologize for the lack of updates as of late. The more charitable among you might say, "well, you did let us know about your air conditioner," and the more charitable among you would be correct, but I still can't help but feel it's just not enough. You deserve better. I'd get you all puppies, if I could.

It's been a rushed and hectic week. I was in D.C. last weekend-- and you didn't even tell us?-- and since getting back very late on Tuesday night, I've been too wrapped up in the actual living of life to report back on it.

D.C. was a nice time. I got to spend a lot of time with AMF, which is one of the nicest ways I know to pass the time. I was also able to see a few other friends, which was quite nice as well. I was even able to see Amanda, with whom I went to high school in Dallas. The last time I was out there, our schedules were at odds, and it came close to happening this time, as well. The stars ended up in alignment, and I ended up able to have dinner with Amanda last Monday night.

On the way to the restaurant we saw this, arguably the ugliest car in the world:

Painted on the back? "Illegal Alien." That, my friends, is class. Especially when it's parked right outside of a Mexican restaurant.

After we'd received our margaritas and placed our food order, the skies turned black and opened up. We were seated outside, so this was a problem. We were kind of sort of able to eat inside, but the subsequent power outage made it a pretty crappy experience. Not having a table made it worse, and the power outage's way of shutting off all the ventilation fans in the kitchen made it suck worse than my tamale, and let me tell you, sister, my tamale sucked.

From here, Ed, AMF and I walked down the road to a club to see Graham Parker and the Figgs. Amanda was unable to join us owing to her water breaking, and she had to see to finding her fiancee and a hospital. We were soaked, and the club was packed with my parents and my parents' friends. Not literally, but figuratively. I believe that all the babysitters in the Arlington area were working that evening. The old folks, they love Graham Parker. This kind of bugged the piss out of me. It's not that I have a problem with folks (considerably) older than me being at shows; it's that 90% of them carry on like buffoons.

There's two types of buffoonery that make appearances at shows like this. The first is the getting completely hammered, singing loudly/playing air guitar buffoonery. This is also known as the, "whoo, hoo! We're free from the kids, and out to be wild!" buffoonery. Like the blue jeans from college, it just doesn't fit too well anymore. It makes you look awkward, and probably isn't too good for the digestion. The second kind of buffoonery is that of the old hipsters. These folks dress in their version of "cool," with hands stuck deep in pockets and heads barely nodding. You see- they're hip. It's another kind of being stuck in some time that just doesn't exist any more. They see the performer as being "Theirs," and the other folks in the crowd just don't get it. Before anyone asks, yeah, kids can be jackasses at shows, too. They very often are, and they piss me off, too. It just feels a lot more like putting on airs when the grown ups, are doing it. You'd think they'd know better.

Live shows just aren't that much fun for me anymore. Graham Parker and the Figgs were great-- no flies on those guys-- but the environment just gets old to me. I'd prefer to just stay at home and listen to my records. I think so, anyways. I'm a complicated person. I might go see the same show in Chicago at the end of the month. Maybe I'm just a martyr, doing it so you don't have to.

Here's the only picture I shot at the show, right before I noticed the large "NO PHOTOGRAPHY" sign. Below is a Figg:


The rest of the trip was really just hanging out with AMF. We walked in the humid nature, walked in the air conditioned malls, and did a lot of napping. Good times, good times.

Since then, it's been lots of busyness, but at home and at work. Too dull to report, really.

Now, I'm sitting around on a Sunday evening, waiting for Family Guy and American Dad to start, and thinking about all I have to do at the office tomorrow morning.

Time to get the clothes out of the dryer.