I don't know why I'm so exhausted; it's not like I did much today. Yesterday, with work + fun was a bit of a barnburner - maybe that's where all this lethargy is coming from.
On Wednesday I was just getting ready to snuggle down with "The West Wing" when a call came in. Cue circus music: it was Pixie, in town for a funeral and trying to see as many people as possible. I sighed, the words of the Lawyer looming large in my forebrain: 'you have to go to people's birthdays.' This seemed a roughly analogous situation.
In addition to Pixie & Mike, we saw Opera Sarah, Leo, Noizangel, Neil & Laine. We talked about protests and education and careers and I was a very bad influence on all of the social smokers with my sluttily available pack of cancer sticks. I smoked way too many myself, and I left the bar feeling like the gum on God's shoe. This is nothing to the feeling when I woke up, which was that I had been scraped off & promptly swallowed by an opportunistic dog. Blech.
Thursday and yesterday I had the Amazingly Postponed Meeting 2: Electric Boogaloo - except that this week it didn't even happen on Friday. So I get to look forward to it on Monday. O feel the anticip...ation.
You know, I'm beginning to wonder if this whole "leading the young from ignorance" thing is all it's cracked up to be. (bitter smile)
Also on Thursday we had a pep rally, and I was able to confirm my deep-seated conviction that the only thing more boring than reluctantly sitting in a pep rally is supervising a number of reluctant students in a pep rally. There was another gendered pie eating contest, leading to the insight that there's a special kind of boredom that falls upon one in the middle of watching a pie eating contest. I call it ennui de la patisserie and all the fashionable kids are suffering from it these days.
Last night we were able to grab Dirk & St. Pete for Geoff Berner's long-awaited show at The Cameron House. I wore my Jen Paches shirt again, figuring that he just might remember me from the last two gigs. I was very, very surprised when he asked me about teaching. It wasn't until the end of the night, when I took a look at the CD he'd signed for us, that I realized something vital: he's seen this page. Want proof? This inscription was unsolicited.
There were two opening acts as well as Geoff. The first guy, Andrew Yates, had a friendly, clever, raw vibe. Halfway through, I turned to the Boy and said, "I like this guy, but if he's up on stage there's no reason in the world why you shouldn't be." The Boy preened.
The next act, Kurt Swinghammer had a whole lot of effects pedals and he wasn't afraid to use them. I guess he must get tired of the inevitable Jeff Buckley comparisons - but then again, who wouldn't want to be compared to Jeff Buckley? He also called Michael Johnson from the audience to play some trumpet. I know Michael mainly from his time with Big Rude Jake, and I was utterly thrilled and transported every time he wound his muted trumpet around the melody line. I very rarely need to close my eyes during a performance because I'm getting too much from my ears. It was amazing. Summary: I very much enjoyed Kurt's set, although by the last third I was squirming with mingled weariness and anticipation for the final act.
By the time Geoff went up, it was well after midnight and the tiny backroom was more smoke than oxygen. He played until two a.m., downing shots and making small talk in between songs as he went through some of the best songs in his repertoire. The Boy & I got to be obnoxious hooting fools when he mentioned Carmaig de Forest's relative obscurity, although we were quickly put in our places: "you guys don't count; you were at StanFest." This was the first time we've ever seen him headline, and we wallowed in it.
By the time the concert was over, we had been listening to music for 4 hours and we were limp rags. We staggered out into the unbelievably clear night, where Geoff was standing with his friends. "It's so funny that you would write 'world's worst teacher,'" I said, "that's what I call myself."
"Yeah, I know," he said, shaking my hand. I realized that my little amateurish page had once again found its way to an unexpected computer. Embarrassment radiated off me like cartoon stink lines.
It often does.
