april 30, 2000.
Yeah. So I went to the Nine Inch Nails concert on Friday night. Fun stuff, kids - I had a pretty good time (despite not owning the new album). What I like most about the shows is the lighting effects: they have the money to make it real cool. We were up in the nosebleed seats, so we couldn't make out any detail whatsoever - and the other problem with seats in that section is that the leg room is absolutely minimal. Not only did I not have any room to dance, but my legs almost fell asleep entirely. The Boy says that people were smaller when the stadium was built; I just think that the cramped quarters are one last way for the evil promoters to twist the knife. No matter: it was a Nine Inch Nails concert, I was supposed to be alienated. By far the best part of the night was seeing Ian. We haven't seen each other since the housewarming party at Froghopper Nook, as Ian is pursuing his MA at Queen's and I'm pursuing my MRS right here in Brampton. Sometimes I forget how much fun he is...I don't think I actually missed him this whole year. Until yesterday, that is. Set the scene: I'm walking around the stadium with the Boy, wearing my brand new PVC pants and digging the goth-mosphere. And literally out of nowhere, Ian appears! We traded a few excited words, I put makeup on him ("I live in a prison town," he said, "I don't want to leave home wearing lipstick.") and we promised to meet up after the show. Unfortunately, our après Nails plans were somewhat marred by the fact that we were supposed to meet up with a veritable battalion of the Boy's acquaintances. I like a few of them very much, but I knew that we'd end up paying a stiff cover to get into a place I didn't want to be filled with people I was prepared to despise. In other words, I knew where the party was, and it wasn't with that crew. So the Boy & I parted ways: he left for a club in the entertainment district and I found Ian and his sister Maura right where they were supposed to be. We club hopped along Queen Street, finding our time in the clubs a strangely unsatisfying experience after the concert. Some creepy guy kept touching me at the Velvet Underground, which I should've anticipated - I know better than to dive into the meat market on a Saturday night. The new club Zen sucks just as much as its predecessor, the Zoo Bar. They wouldn't even let us into Bovine. And the Garden was playing good music, but was a bit creepy in its' emptiness. At 2 a.m. we were wandering the street, looking for a club that would still admit us without a cover: an ultimately quixotic quest. But the night was still wonderful. We walked around, danced up a storm, and talked until our throats were sore. Ian's contemplating a foray into comic book writing; I was able to pass on the scant knowledge I have gained from being in close proximity to Dav. At some point we started discussing how much we hate popular alternative music, from the false metal of Limp Bizcut & Korn to the musical atrocities committed by the likes of the Matthew Good Band and Creed. It was nice to be with people who don't make me feel like a crazy curmudgeon for hating the "hard" rock of today...plus, I was able to encourage the use of the term "false metal," a phrase that originated with the Varsity metal reviewer and relayed to me by Scherezade (girl of a thousand entertainments). So once more I wander Queen Street with an old friend and wear out my voice in the best kind of conversation possible. What a month this has been.
I'm very pleased with the newest addition to my wardrobe: a shiny shiny pair of PVC pants. I bought them the minute I hit the city on Friday night. It was a neat little errand: I dressed for work that day with the evening in mind, and that was fun enough. The Boy's kewl monotone-patterned flares, my Bauhaus t-shirt, 8-hole docs and a velvet jacket made me look like a mod Beatles character, according to my parents. By the time I hit the city, I had gained a nosegay as well - my mom has been experimenting with flower arranging lately, and she brought the bouquet for me to look at before it wilted. I felt very together, very cool & dashing as I walked through the city with my flowers in hand, like a strange black-clad bride from the mid-sixties, on her way to the Justice. Fun fun. I hit Le Chateau like a PVC-seeking missile, distracted only momentarily by sparkly pink clothing. Then I was directed to the cutest clerk I have seen this side of God In An Alcove. Man, I would've bought anything from this guy. "Beige capri pants would look good on you." "Really? Okay!" Fortunately, he was content to simply comment on the niceness of the fit, and I left the store with the exact thing I came in for. I've wanted a pair of PVC pants for months...no, years. I guess this finally makes me cool. "I feel more popular already."
Conversation at work on Friday afternoon: "Do you like...gothic stuff?"
** opening quotation is the last verse from the hymn "lord of the dance," my favourite part of this morning's church service. but it sounds like nails, doesn't it? **
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