Day Three: today, we decided to visit the other monuments in the Mall, and to spend some time at the Air & Space Museum (this was really my only mandatory activity for the whole trip–i wasn't about to visit D.C. without going to the Air & Space Museum).

we set out from the probably somewhere in the range of 10:30 to 11:00, and proceeded to the Mall. we made it back to the Washington Monument, then made our way towards the construction zone, avoiding touring school-children, gaggles of the elderly, and middle-aged couples walking hand in hand discussing whatever it is that middle-aged hand-in-hand type couples discuss.

one end of the lawn was boarded, roped, fenced, and otherwise closed off, but there were gateways through the fencing at the crosswalks to let onto the sidewalks that lead along the reflecting pool at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial. now, if you've not been to D.C., or if you've been but have never seen the reflecting pool, let me just prepare you… it is a green festering dirty filthy mess. not nearly so "beautiful" as we may've been led to believe by the movies, photographs, and other images. that shit looks nasty, and, while i didn't walk directly along the edge of the pool, i imagine it probably stunk. it looked like it would stink. much like our society and especially our government, it looks pretty nice from far away, but once you get right up close, you can see that it's unkempt, rundown, dirty, and ugly. "reflecting" indeed.

anyway… before we made it to the Lincoln Memorial, i noticed the Korean War Veterans Memorial off to the side as we approached, so i detoured our contingent to go get a peek. i remembered ben and geoff talking about it at some point in the past, and remembered the images i'd seen from it, so i wanted to go get a real look at it. it was pretty cool, but i think this was really the point in the trip where i started wishing that i could visit these places without hundreds of other people. i couldn't "connect" with the memorial, or any of the memorials we visited, because i couldn't "disconnect" from all the people milling about.

next we went on to the Lincoln Memorial. it is huge. it was cool.

after that, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. my companions were all visibly moved by it, once we reached the other side, but once again, somehow i managed not to take it in or be effected by it. i have no immediate personal connection to that conflict, at least not through a familial loss, because though most of the male members of my extended family (who were of age) did serve in that war, they all returned.

after the Vietnam Memorial, we left the Mall and headed for the nearest Metro stop (10 blocks away or some crazy shit like that) and headed back around to the Air & Space Museum.

you've doubtless heard the old analogy of the kid in the candy store, right? well, that certainly could've been applied to me. rockets and manned space capsules and jets and… just all kinds of really cool shit.

probably my favorite of the exhibits was the Apollo moon shot exhibit, followed closely by the history of aviation exhibit. they also had the crazy ass space flight simulators or airplane simulators or whatever they were–the ones with the pneumatic chambers that shake, move, twist, and turn the little cabin that you're sitting in. i really wanted to do that, but the wait was over an hour, and we were only planning on spending 4 or so there.

the freakiest thing of the whole trip though, was when we decided to get some lunch after walking through a couple exhibits. there was a food court area in a sectioned off area of the building, and the restaurant was a combined McDonald's (ick), Boston Market, and Donato's Pizzeria. i can hardly describe the level of freakishness that this fast-food place has managed to achieve… think of a drive-through restaurant for race-car drivers, only there're no cars… think of cattle lining up to be slaughtered, and each being able to pick which particular shape of knife gets to be drawn across its throat… think of being shoved in a bright, metal & glass elevator car, going up at ridiculous speeds and having grease, meat, bread and french fries squeezed through a strainer in the ceiling above you.

ok, now think of something just a touch less freakish.

yeah. fucking packed… PACKED with people—scads, scores, gobs of people—in long lines where you first place your order with a disinterested person sitting in a bright metal chair, and then are told to go to the next person who will collect your money. then, after paying, you have to step up to the "counter" to pick up your "meal." each successive person looking like they give even less of a shit than the last, and the food you're handed, if hot, is only just barely so. hell, i'm freaking out right now just thinking about it.

so anyway, we ate the crappy food at the freaky food court, then went on back out to get some more exhibits under our belts before meeting ben & mary (who'd been sitting on a bench or in the planet-arium for most of the day).

after the Museum, we were dog tired (and still freaked out about the food court), so we went back to the hotel and crashed for a few hours, before going back out on the town for dinner.

this evening we kind of jazzed it up a bit. we walked out to this place that ben had found (we tended to leave the dining decisions to ben & mary it seemed, so we ended up eating at much more high-class establishments than i can imagine i would've picked) and checked in at the front table. there were actually two separate restaurants in the same… er… restaurant–one for the lower upper middle class, the other for the lower upper class. ben picked the one he thought was the former, and we proceeded downstairs to a nice big round table with all the accoutrements including the cloth napkins all folded and placed decoratively on the plate. we opened the fancy menus in the nice leather-bound folders, and stared aghast at the $15 asking price for a house salad. needless to say, we stared even more aghast at the $40 – $60 dollar entrees, then promptly told the waiter that there'd been a mistake and we needed to go back upstairs to the "cheap seats".

somehow, at this point, $5 for a Beam & Coke, and $15 for an entree didn't seem all that bad.

the food was good (thank god, or someone would've lost an eye or limb) and we were satisfied with our last day & night in D.C.

well, almost. sara & i decided to go back to the White House, as there was some issue of film not advancing properly in her camera the night before, and she wanted to make sure she got some night shots of the White House. we did, and we had a nice leisurely stroll through the streets of D.C., just the two of us hand-in-hand, talking about whatever it is that young hand-in-hand type couples talk about on their last night on their first vacation together.

we went back to the hotel and prepared for our early morning departure, and a day of potential chaos.

this isn't a comment card, it's a direct pipeline to my ass.

we've just gotten back from the single worst steak 'n shake experience we've ever had. our server (also the store's general manager) was either extremely stoned, or he hadn't slept in 5 days. he couldn't seem to grasp the fact that there were three of us sitting at the table, as he only brought us two straws and two glasses of water, then ended up putting my and paul's orders under the same "seat". we had to keep reminding him of the things we hadn't gotten yet. To his credit, he did realize that he was giving us shitty service, and offered to give us free deserts.

after the meal, when we went up to the register, the old biddy up there–already embroiled in some issue with the previous customers–essentially flatly refused to split our check up any further than the two seats already listed. now, at this point, paul was pretty pissed of and not willing to prolong it, so he just picked up the tab. walking out, we decided we really should have told we weren't paying, and left.

neil picked up a comment card, and great hilarity ensued as we imagined the following sequence of events:

we imagined that their response might be similar to the following:

when neil mentioned M'Butu, i think paul nearly crashed the car.

i just stumbled across the Wikipedia while looking up Glockenspiel for a minor update to the Lucifigous Prick about page. Wikipedia looks to be an awesome thing–an open source encyclopedia, built and maintained by a broad internet community. It's an encyclopedia that, should you find an article you disagree with, you can change (or recommend changes) to better fit the facts as you know or understand them. I think i may have to add some functionality to my bookmarklet to add an option for searching the Wikipedia.

In other fun news, our show on the 11th went alright, except that the people (there was another show scheduled earlier in the evening) who were on stage before us didn't get off-stage until 15 minutes before we were supposed to start playing. Seeing as it takes us most of an hour to get all our equipment set up, it was 10:45pm before we even started playing. So there were several people who kept asking us when we were going to be ready, and that we needed to start "soon." Needless to say, we were all a bit frustrated before we even played the first note, and the first half of the set pretty much reflected that–we were a little tight and held-back. Really, we didn't play badly at all… we were just "in a mood." I think most of the crowd was enjoying what we were doing, but i was a bit too frustrated to pay attention at the time.

Ah well, this sort of stuff is to be expected every once in a while, i'd say.

One of my personal philosophies that I've developed and repeatedly referenced in the last 10 or so years is that "every place is the same." I suppose this is akin to the phrase "no matter where you go, there you are."

Essentially, the idea is that every place has the same components. They may be bigger, faster, older, or cleaner, but it's all basically the same stuff. The names may be different, but the story is still the same. This is becoming increasingly true with this whole global culture and corporate globalization thing that's going on nowadays.

I've noticed this in pretty much every city i've visited–you've got the same collection of bars and restaurants, churches and malls, tattoo parlours and trendy fashion boutiques. Every city has the same sections–the white trash neighborhoods, the ghettos, the ritzy affluent suburbs, and the bohemian avant-garde artsy areas. When you first get to a new city, either to visit or to live, it's always an exciting time of discovery and finding new places to spend your time. After living in a place for a while, you begin to think about it the same way you thought about all the other places you've lived–that there's nothing to do, nowhere to go, and that things just aren't happening the way or as fast as they should.

Anyone who's ever talked to me about moving to a new city, at least in the last several years, have heard the same comments and questions from me with regard to their reasoning. Quite often, the reasons for people moving are not things that are going to be effected by a change of location. In other words, it's not the place that's the problem, it's the person. If you're bored, unhappy, unsuccessful, or otherwise disenchanted with the current state of your life, the only way to make a change is to change yourself. Sure, moving to a new city will, at least temporarily, provide you with the impetus and fuel for a brief change of lifestyle and the introduction of unknown and exciting events. If you want real, permanent change, you have to make the change within first.

To bring this back to the subject at hand, however, i have to say that Paris is the first place that didn't give me this feeling–of sameness. I walked into Paris and perceived a very distinct feeling of difference. Maybe it was just the fact that all the language within my sphere was foreign, that nothing was immediately or easily understood… that i had to struggle to make sense of certain things that, in an American city, would have been more easily accessible. But there were also certain other subtle differences, not all of which were immediately apparent.

Thinking back on it now, it seems to me that people were not as interpersonally involved, they had no desire to know "my business." There seemed to be more personal respect there, the belief that my business was my own and that i, being there, must know what i'm doing there, and that that was good enough for them. I noticed on many occasions, as i watched the crowd, or singled out certain people with my gaze, that often-times that look would be returned with an equally intense look of perplexity–people who i was looking at were looking at me, trying to figure out if they knew me, and if they didn't, they were wondering why exactly i was looking at them so intently. Who must i be to be so blatantly interested?

And the differences didn't stop there. Another thing that struck me as interesting was the fact that Paris is the most pedestrian friendly city i've ever seen (this may not be saying much, considering the breadth of my experience, but no matter). Between the subways, the bus system, and the taxis, there is essentially no need to own or operate a vehicle in Paris. The only reason you might need one is if you frequently travel outside the city either on business or for pleasure. Despite warnings received before i left, i found the public transportation (and, in fact, most of Paris in general) to be quite clean and well-kept–it was not the foul, dirty, smelly place i'd been told to expect. The only exception to this was the fact that pets are allowed to shit on the sidewalks, and the owners are not obliged to clean up afterwards. Of course, i've been told there is an ordinance making this a punishable offense, but obviously no one was very concerned about it and the ordinance is not generally enforced.

Another telling expression of the pedestrian-friendly nature of Paris is the fact that in a large amount of the city (especially newer larger roadways) there is almost as much sidewalk space as driving space. In the states, it is not unusual to find sidewalks that will barely fit two people abreast, but in Paris it is more common to find sidewalks with seating for fifty that still have room for more than two people walking side-by-side. This, of course, leads to another of those subtle differences… in Paris, on pretty much every street, there are cafes that have outdoor seating, but not like the outdoor seating at American restaurants. In Paris, you'll usually find several rows of small–two person–tables outside, with all the chairs lined up in rows facing towards the street. Even the inside seating nearest the windows is often lined up like this, so that the patrons can look out at the world moving about them, rather than simply at each other or the walls or effects of the restaurant at which they've stopped. In America, however, you usually see large round tables with bench seating for 5 or more. More often than not, these tables are placed at the side of a restaurant, and also often with some protective barrier between the patrons and the outside world.

Parisians seem to be more generally involved in the enjoyment of and celebration of life than the typical American. There are many traditions and social conventions that i was introduced to that drove this point home–hand shaking and bisous on meeting/departing, ensuring that you meet eyes with the person whose glass you're clinking after the toast, serving food for your fellow diners rather than making everyone serve themselves, breaking the meal down into courses rather than throwing everything upon the table (and your plates) at once… these are just a few things i remember. This all points to the desire deep within the French soul, expressed by these social habits and expectations, to take things as they come, and to live and enjoy life to the fullest.

Above all though, for me, Paris felt like somewhere that i could call home–a place i could claim as my own, that would welcome and accept me. I've been to other cities and never felt that draw–that urge. Louisville is such a place, which is why i've chosen to "hang my hat" here. Paris is only the second city i've felt i could live in, and it's nice to finally have another option, should the need or desire to relocate ever arise. Of course, i've also decided that, when i retire, if it is at all possible, i'd like to retire to Deauville, or some equally quaint small French town, preferably on or near a beach.

So, to sum up, i absolutely adored Paris, and have become enamored with French culture in general. It will not be soon enough when i am finally able to return.

Mom, Dad, and Javan were planning on going to the Deauville market (an open-air market of small sellers), so I walked with them first to the Tourism Office (Dad wanted some more WWII historical brochures).

I saw a bank across the street, so i split off from them to go cash a traveler's cheque.

The teller spoke little english, but after I'd signed and dated the cheque, she informed me that she couldn't cash it because the signatures didn't match my passport signature (despite the fact that she shouldn't have needed my passport signature in the first place). It was my own fault for signing the passport so hurriedly and more haphazardly than my "normal" signature.

So, utterly pissed off, I walked down to the American house for some advice. They told me of another bank, and i quickly made my way there.

I explained the situation to a teller who knew even less english (mistake #3) &, after calling and conferring with the first bank, they told me that they also could not accept it. Filled with a blood-lust and wanting to bitch-slap the teller, I restrained myself and let them know how pissed i was through a series of exasperated sighs, guttural noises, and very obvious body-language.

After this second insult, I went back to the American house and sulked for a bit in front of their TV, as the buzz of wedding preparations filled the remaining neurons that would've carried the now off-loaded animosity.

Eventually, after hanging out and watching cartoons with the boys a bit, and after running an errand, the carriage arrived that was to drive Dad & Sara around Deauville before (& to) the ceremony.
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The wedding was officially underway.

All the participants, family, and friends met at the Mairie (Mayor's office) to await the arrival of the bride and her father.
[1] [2] [3]

On their arrival, there were some photo ops, and general confusion. Things were straightened out, and the wedding party proceeded inside.
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

The mayor conducted the ceremony entirely in french (no surprise there), and while i understood very little, i was able to follow some, & get the emotional meaning of what he was saying through inflection and expression.
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

Paulo is supposed to be sending an english translation of the ceremony as soon as he can.

After the ceremony and more photos (this was probably the most camera happy wedding i've ever seen), the bride and groom loaded into the 2 person carriage, and the families, best-man, bride's maid, official photographer, and the best man's "date" all loaded onto the 18 person carriage to follow the bride & groom across the countryside to the pre-reception reception at a forest adventure course.

A couple stops were made (more photos ops) on the way, and the going was slow because the 2 horses pulling our carriage were having trouble on some of the steeper hills. Once we got to the forrest course (too late to actually go through it) the horses were foaming and drenched in sweat.

But, with the course closed, the champagne flowed freely. I got drunk in front of my parents for the first time.

I assisted Laura (the official photographer) by loading a roll of black & white film into my camera (after finishing my 11th & final roll) and taking photos for her.

After helping the Deauvillians "clean up the champagne," we headed to the hotel for the reception dinner–another full french-style dinner with aperitifs by the pool, and lasting from 8:00pm 'til midnight.

At dinner, i continued to smoke & drink in front of my parents… freaky.

Immediately after dinner, the DJ started "working" with a truly strange mix of international tunes, not all of which were even "danceable." I stayed on the floor for all of maybe four songs.

Shortly after dancing, the people who were giving me a ride back to Paris told me they were ready to get out, so i said my goodbyes and followed them out the door… my last night in France was drawing to a close.

I slept part of the way on the 2 hour drive to Paris, then caught a 15 minute nap at Sara's apartment, then walked to the Air France bus stop.

The first step onto the bus was like a first step into reality after a long daydream.

I didn't want to go home.

for the last couple months, there's been this thing going on in my life that i've not really delved into here on bipolar. well, now that that's been brought to it's (inevitable?) conclusion, and since i can't say these things to the involved party, i thought i'd share them with you. who better to unload on than a motley collection of close friends and complete strangers?

she has returned once again, or rather, had returned. a couple months ago–after a particularly low point in what has become an otherwise smooth emotional roller-coaster, and after i'd just been thinking about her with more frequency–she called me up out of the blue.

she'd been almost completely out of my life for close to two years, and the last time i'd even seen her (at a distance) was more than a year earlier. she called me up and we talked. we talked and we hung out. we hung out and spent hours together. me, being the eternally optimistic, overly forgiving person that i am, was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

i was doing alright, really i was. maintaining emotional control, not letting my thoughts run away, not letting my heart get carried off without my head. i was wary. optimistic, forgiving, understanding, but wary.

among the many things she expressed to me during the time we were hanging out, was the "fact" that she had missed me over the year(s), thought about me quite often, and just wanted to be able to hang out with me again. how sweet.

and i tried to believe her, i really did. unfortunately, the same warning signs kept popping up that i'd learned to take notice of in our previous "moments." she would call and complain bitterly about how bad her days were, about how she had no friends, no one to talk to, nothing to do. how utterly bored she was. i let these things slide. i know her. but, (and does anyone else notice this or is it just me?) it seemed to me like i was a "last resort"–she had no one else to call, so she called me. there was nothing better going on, so she wanted to hang out with me.

personally, i like my friends to be busy. i like for them to be busy and still want to at least say "hey" to me, to at least take a few minutes and just talk about nothing. i have always got something i can be doing, and sometimes i have a bad habit of letting that keep me from doing this for my friends, but that's my fault, something i'm aware of, and something i'm trying to work on. just ask nate, he'll tell you.

anyway, i know that i don't want to be "better than nothing" for anyone, no matter what the circumstances. and, especially if this girl who has fucked me over in extreme ways and on multiple occasions wants to come back into my life and tell me she cares and misses me, she'd better damn well be able to show me that that's true. she'd better say "y'know, i've got some work that i need to get done, but i *really* want to see you tonight. you wanna go get some coffee for an hour or so?"

so, then this france trip came along, and after we'd been spending all this time getting to know each other again, trying to be friends again, talking about what the possibilities were for us as something maybe more than friends, i leave for a week. i leave for a week, and the night before i leave, i have to practically *beg* her to come hang out with me to see me before i take off. hello, flag on the play.

and i called her from the airport the next day and i said "hey, if you're thinking about me, you know you can call my cell phone and leave me little messages throughout the week. i'd like that." when i get back home, there's one message–from Tuesday. fine, y'know, she's busy working, she feels weird leaving me message she knows i'm not getting. fine. whatever. no big deal.

i get home after my long ass flight and call her, but she doesn't answer. i call her again before i go to bed that night, again, no answer. finally, she calls me the next day, and talks about her drunken weekend and apologizing that she didn't call back sooner. she tells me that school's just starting and she's really busy. she can't see me. she's got class tonight. she calls me after class on her way home, and says she has to do homework. she can't see me.

well, so much for being missed.

so, i say y'know what, nevermind. if she wants to hang out, she'll call me. when she's not busy with school, she'll call me. after not hearing from her for several days, the obvious realization sets in. in actuality, she doesn't really care. she doesn't really miss me. she makes no effort to spend even the smallest amount of time with me after i've been on the other side of the planet for a week, so it's fairly obvious that i just don't mean that much to her. and if she doesn't care, then why should i?

i haven't called her back since… i guess it was last wednesday or so, when we talked and i told her some of this stuff. about how i felt like a "convenience friend". how i felt that she didn't really care. she, of course, gave me all sorts of excuses, apologized again, and told me that she really did care. well, again, i think the truth is fairly obvious. she called yesterday and bitched about how "the phone works both ways." my response was just "i know, i've just got a lot going on right now." she called again today to say that she "got the message," and that she was just calling to say "hi" and "goodbye."

i thought about all the different ways that i could undertake to get the explanation of all this across to her–i could call her, i could email her, i could write her a letter and take it to her at work. but i know that, if i did that, it wouldn't make any difference. it would be wasted breath, wasted thought, wasted effort. she won't get it, she won't accept it, she won't learn from it.

still, i had to get this off my chest somehow. i had to go through it to get past it. now it's out there. now it's done.

ok, i can't let this one pass without comment.

Hollywood's Bachelorettes

first off, i love how these online celebrity sites always use the worst possible photos of people when they're talking about how attractive they are. some of these pics are just utterly horrid. i know these people look better than this.

but my biggest beef with this list is… Cameron Diaz at number #25? come on. you're kidding, right? Cameron may not come in as number one among this "elite" group, but there's no way she's behind Jennifer Love Hewitt and Kirsten Dunst. hell, Cameron should be in the top 5, at least in my opinion.

and, Natalie Portman at number 11? somebody at e! or msn has gotten hold of some seriously good crack. Natalie comes dangerously close to knocking Cameron off the top of my wish list.

i really need to stop letting myself get sucked into things like this.

so, yeah, life sucks.

it's like this: a few months ago (you might remember) i took my car in to get the brakes (and some other things) worked on. well, when i got the car back, i heard some noises coming from the brakes when i used them. i, in my limitless ignorance, just assumed that the new brakes had to get "broken in" or something. i fully intended to take the car back to the shop to have them tell me what they did wrong, but i had neither the money nor the time consecutively at the right moments so that i could. long story short, i'm riding around on crappy brakes for a couple months, marveling at the grinding noises of metal on metal at each stop.

cut to: last sunday night.
after a lengthy somewhat frustrating band practice, our hero and his cohort are in a red toyota tercel driving down a side street towards a circular intersection. as they approach the stop sign, our hero begins to apply his brakes. his foot promptly reaches the floor of the car, (SFX: "clunk, thump") which keeps moving with no loss of speed. frantic brake pumping ensues, and the vehicle rolls to a stop just a hair past the stop sign.

Matt: (dripping sarcasm)
"well, that was interesting."

Brax: (concern & confusion)
"what happened?"

Matt: (disgusted)
"the brakes just went out."

Brax: (more concern)
"went out?"

Matt: (more disgust, mixed with incredulity)
"totally. out. gone."

Brax: (concern increasing)
"what are you gonna do? can we make it home?"

Matt: (determined, still disgusted)
"yeah. we'll make it home ok. i've still got the emergency brake."

pull back through driver's side window to shot of car moving slowly down an incline and away from the (stationary) camera.

i don't know if i've mentioned this before, but–aside from all the hot girls in skimpy clothes–i really fucking hate summer. especially summer in the Ohio Valley where the humidty reaches claustrophobic levels. and especially when the AC in your house has decided to be lazy. factor in the fact that my AC in my car is also not working (and that i'm too broke & lazy & anti-spending-more-money-on-my-car to fix it), and you can understand why i feel this way.

there's something about waking up sweating, taking a shower and sweating when you get out, then sweating in the car on the way to work–where it takes about 45 minutes before your body cools down enough to stop sweating. then, at the end of the day–after your car's been sitting out in the hot sun all day under it's direct harsh radiation–you leave the comfortably cool confines of your workplace for your iron-smelting factory of a car, drive home sweating your ass off, then walk inside the house only to realize it's about 1 degree cooler than outside and just as fucking humid.

the something that i was talking about is this:
it sucks. i hate sweating when i'm not doing anything to deserve it. i don't mind a good healthy exercise sweat, i don't mind a good sexual escapade sweat. but i do mind a walking down the stairs, or sitting in front of the TV sweat. blah.

so, anyway, it's hot and i hate it.

our good friend Nate came down this weekend for the cookout that wasn't. so we decided to just hangout and drink friday, and we did a good job of it. as brian mentioned, i got quite quite drunk (as did most everyone else) having consumed a total of (i think) 5 moonbeams most of which were at least 50% whiskey. i'd have to guess that i probably drank about 15 shots worth of whiskey. not too shabby.

and yes, despite the fact that i actually went to bed drunk (which is extremely difficult for me to do), and that i only got in one cup of coffee before doing that, i still woke up with no hangover. i wasn't completely unaffected, but i didn't have a hangover. i had maybe a love-letter from a hangover, or a picture of a hang-over, but not the actual hangover itself. a hint of a hangover.

saturday saw us recovering, and Nathan and I played a *lot* of GTAIII. We went to ZA's about 11ish, and saw Green Formica Table play. I'd heard Paul playing some of their stuff the past week or so, so i had an inkling of what to expect, but they were so so much better than my expectations. They were really good. right up my alley. Take a heavy smattering of experimental Sonic Youth (loud, raucous sound-scapes) tossed with a mixture of esoteric japanese girl-group pop, and you're in the same Zip-code as these guys. The guitar playing was at turns phenomenal and "dreamy." and the drummer was amazing as she sang half the songs while keeping a solid inventive beat. needless to say, i was impressed, and if you're in the Louisville area, you need *need* to check these guys out.

after the show was mostly over (all of our other friends had left when the 2nd band was playing, and we left later on in their set when it became obvious that they weren't going to be able to break out of the formulaic punk music theme) Nate, Brax, and i walked down to the Backdoor so they could split a pitcher. Having drank too much on Friday, i'd declined alcoholic beverages all night, and continued this trend at the bar.

I ran into Geoff there, not having seen him since the day a couple weeks ago when he was laid off from work. It was good to see him again and see that he was doing well. We chatted and joked for a while about various things and generally just took some time to catch up and have a mutual support & reassurance party.

Since Brax & Nate are the only sports fans in our little cloister, they were busily yapping away about sports stuff, so it was just as well that i'd found someone else to hang out and talk to for a while. The rest of the evening, i just kind of hung out and did some people watching. Sipping on my plain coke.

After the bar–more GTAIII. After the GTAIII–the sleep. After the sleep–the call from my sis in France. After the call–you're caught up.

It's been a fun weekend. I've had to set aside my projects, but i'll be back into them hard-core this week.

Ok. It's time for lunch. Gotta go get my Kefc on.

well now. i am officially back from Vacation (though i never technically went anywhere). sitting here at work, struggling to find things to keep me busy, and since i am currently not being very successful at that endeavor i figured i'd take my lack of success to other ventures–like this weblog.

i hesitate to say that my vacation was "shitty." it really wasn't. but it also wasn't "exciting" either. basically i took a week off from work, sat around the house, stayed up way too late at night (usually 'til dawn) and slept too late in the mornings (usually 'til 3 or 4). i had the grandiose plans for a week of relentless productivity wherin i'd finish several chapters of my novel, whip my 2nd poetry book into a publishable state, make more copies of the LP demos and send them out to all those labels that are just waiting for a band that sounds like us, and probably some other things as well–as i discovered them. what actually happened was that, a few days before i "went" on vacation, a co-worker "let me borrow a copy" of Grand Theft Auto III for the PC. needless to say, despite the fact that i'm not much of a gamer, i quickly became addicted to the game and proceeded to waste almost every second of my vacation playing it. stupid stupid stupid.

now, i did manage to get a few things done despite the new techno-crack. i created and made copies of some handbills for the LP site, took the remaining copies of the show flyer & handbills to different places around town, we had a 4th of July cookout complete with illegal Indiana fireworks and a near disaster that involved a largish bottle rocket (not a tiny firecracker sized bottle rocket) falling over on it's side and shooting directly into the garage where we were all "taking cover." of course, not everyone noticed the fallen rocket, and not everyone got out of the way. it hit my friend directly in the abdomen, caught her shirt on fire (or smolder, really) and singed her "favorite shorts" and her skin in the process. she was alright–no permanent damage done–but she was a little burned, bruised, and understandably shaken.

the band practiced several times over the course of the week, including at the cookout. then finally, Friday rolled around and it was time for the Prick's big 1st show. all i'm going to say right now, is that it went well, and we are grateful to all of our friends that showed up to give us support. i'm going to save the rest of the story for tomorrow. i've really got to find something to do, lest i begin to fear for my continued employment. also, hopefully, in a few days (as i think i've said before) we'll have some pictures from the show that i can hopefully include in a post.