Drowning Nor Waving

Gothing! Minus a truepenny, who was not feeling the dancing thing, last night we headed out to The Surly Wench, which is a combination pub/club sort of thing, or maybe just a pub with a dance floor in the back. It had tiny, tiny speakers, but people did not filch your table and danced with enthusiasm. Despite a one-hour detour into eighties stuff (Pet Shop Boys? Frankie Goes To Hollywood? On goth night?) we closed out the club. Also, you cannot dance to "Bela Lugosi's Dead".

I don't have pictures, but I assure you we looked awesome.

A bit underslept this morning, but there is oatmeal with Stuff (tm) in it, and shortly we shall be off to the festival of books. See you there if we're seeing you!

August 28, 2009 Progress Notes:

Saturnalia

Words today: 600.
Words total: 12,000.
Reason for stopping: It's like going through the trackless marshes tonight. But quota, and above quota, and I can ethically bail.

Darling du Jour: Zeke had never tried to figure out how Gregory did what he did to women; he'd tried to explain it once, rambling and drunk one late, late winter night, sacked out on the floor with both of them passing around a bottle of gin under diffuse gibbous moonlight. He'd never been able to get past vague handshapes and metaphors – no, really, a woman's like a bass. It's all about knowing how it's tuned. But once he got them to look at him, really look, it was usually time to start checking for socks on the doorknob.

Things Yet to Cough Up Their Names: The band name Zeke and Gregory have been gigging under; the somewhat tragic singer of Gregory's old band; the name of Gregory's old band, for that matter; some song titles penned by Zeke.
Mean Things: The inappropriate jealousy of grown adults is probably the worst kind. Because they know they're too old for it, and they know it's not okay. Also: a Gothic Premonition of Evil (tm), which may also be not okay, but screw it, it's a Gothic.
Research Roundup: The article on Saturnalia again, to refresh some things; the Penates; daylight savings time; a reference photo or two; batons and truncheons.

Books in progress: Daniel Rabuzzi, The Choir Boats; Catherine Bush, Minus Time.
The glamour: Harrying of the head cold continues. Wonton soup and pork buns have been deployed, and snot has retreated to the caves of Afghanistan for what will hopefully be a short mop-up campaign.

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Got a horrific hankering to get the Stitch in Time EP this afternoon. This ended up meaning that stillnotbored got it for me -- since Amazon mp3s can't be sold outside the continental US -- and sent the files over AIM while I Paypalled her the pertinent cash. It was a half hour operation. And they wonder why people pirate.

This is not the song I bought it for. But it's perhaps one of the more brutal So, it appears I completely fucked it up songs I've ever heard in my life. Not on the first listen. It was only when I could decipher the answering machine messages in the bridge.

It is now tucked in my book soundtrack, another card in the deck.

I have the terrible urge to apologize to my characters for that. :p

I have realized why I've had an inexplicable and enduring inappropriate crush on the guy from the Building a Mystery video for all these long years.

It's small David Usher.

All becomes clear. *g*

(See, tanaise, I called it NIN|JA.)

NIN is awesome. We love our Trent with the love. It was not really a standing-up kind of set, so we mostly spent it flopped out on the grass, just letting it roll on through, except for the encore. Which was "Hurt", played as the sun was setting, with all these people's lighters out. There's one to cross off my Must Do Before Dead list.

Didn't stay for the whole of Jane's Addiction, because I am old and was seriously just crashing out. (Also, had we stayed, getting a streetcar would have been impossible. It is self-preservation to ditch before the encore when you're at the Amphitheatre.) It was recalled to me that Perry totally can't sing, but he and his man-corset had enough energy for three other bands, and he was just bopping around the stage in a way that made things fun.

And then we got to talking with these two girls on the streetcar and apparently Eagles of Death Metal are coming through in August, and that's worth doing.

Oh my god, bed now.

Because when I get home and read LJ, I will find out that one of my longtime favourite creepy quasi-goth bands, non-con lyrics a specialty, covered Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill".



I am putting this in the file where I keep the Johnny Hollow cover of "Nova Heart". And then I will hug it and hug it and make little squeeeeeee noises.

And write it a story.

In fact, I think I already know which story.

So there.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeee

Yes, I know nobody wants to come ogle Mark Lanegan with me.

But.

The (motherfuckin') Cure. Air Canada Centre. Thursday May 15th.

If I in seriousness do not have one friend here who will come see The Cure with me, you are all fired and I'm getting new friends. :p

...you think you know fanvids? This is a fanvid. mekkavandexter showed me it!

(Yeah. It has metaphor and theme and unifying imagery and everything. I'm stunned.)

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So now who wants to go to the concert with me? *g*


Doesn't matter if you really don't. I decided if nobody bites, well, I'm just going by myself!

ETA: Too bad! Tickets are selling out, so I have bought one! If you are coming, you sit not with me!

*gleedance* I'm gonna see Matt Good!

1) sosostris2012 is my goddess of all things black and fishnetty. Thank you. :)

2) I shouldn't even bother showing ID for my drinking tag at all ages shows. Nobody likes a bar that's only serving four-dollar water and Miller Draft, and nobody likes being herded out by angry-faced security ten minutes after the band leaves the stage since they figure nobody's going to hang around and drink.

3) I need less cute perkygothy clothes and more Elegant Queen of the Night clothes. Although there were people wearing jeans and denim jackets, that is not an excuse.

4) Someone at the Kool Haus really, really likes that fog machine.

5) Andrew Eldritch could read me the phone book and my knees would go weak from it, culminating in me offering to bear his love child.

--and--

6) I am enough of a nerd that when he came out on stage with shaved head, dark sunglasses, black leather thigh-length coat on, and cigarette in one hand, I thought "Oh wow, Andrew Eldritch is really Spider Jerusalem!"

Concerts are fuuuuuun. :D