. . . but I could be your type . . .

I could make a dress . . . a robe fit for a prince. . . I could clothe a continent but I can't sew a stitch
I can paint my face. . . and stand very very still. . . it's not very practical . . .but it still pays the bills
I can't change my name . . . but I could be your type . . . I can dance and win at games . . . like backgammon and life
I used to be the smart one . . . sharp as a tack . . . funny how that skipping years ahead . . . has held me back
I used to be the bright one . . . top in my class . . . funny what they give you . . . when you just learn how to ask
I can write a song . . . but I can't sing in key . . . I can play piano but . . . I never learned to read
I can't trap a mouse . . . but I can pet a cat . . . no I'm really serious! I'm really very good at that
I can't fix a car . . . but I can fix a flat . . . I could fix alot of things but I'd rather not get into that
I used to be the bright one . . . smart as a whip . . . funny how you slip so far when teachers don't keep track of it
I used to be the tight one . . . the perfect fit . . . funny how those compliments can . . . make you feel so full of it
I can shuffle cut and deal . . . but I can't draw a hand . . . I can't draw a lot of things . . . I hope you understand
I'm not exceptionally shy. . . but I've never had a man . . . that I could look straight in the eye and tell my secret plans
I can take a vow . . . and i can wear a ring . . . and I can make you promises but they won't mean a thing
can't you do it for me, I'll pay you well . . . f**k I'll pay you anything if you could end this
can't you just fix it for me, it's gone berserk . . . f**k I'll give you anything if you can make the damn thing work
can't you just fix it for me? I'll pay you well . . . f**k I'll pay you anything if you can end this
hello, I love you will you tell me your name?
hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same?

-- "The Perfect Fit" The Dresden Dolls

I know . . . depressing, but I'm seeming to connect with it this evening. Weird mood. A lot to think about. And all stuff that I should NOT get thinky about. I just have to keep looking right in front of me. Only two sidewalk squares. Because if you look ahead for your house, the walk takes forever. If you just keep your focus right in front of you . . . well, then you are just right there.

I LOVE my phone AND I LOVE Matthew Good

There are no t-shirts at the Matthew Good concert.

Correction. There is only one t-shirt on the table at the Matthew Good concert and it is brown. Brown with light blue lettering that states "in it for the money" in very loopy script.

I am not in it for the money.

And I don't wear brown. So no concert t-shirt. So no matter how much I desire to have "Matthew Good" scrawled across my chest, it was not in the cards.

And as stated previously, the opening act was cute. I liked her. (Not Rachel Ray cute . . . there was a discussion about that . . . more like baby chick cute . . . I didn't want to take her home, lest she grow up to be a chicken, but she was nice enough to listen to . . . I bought her little CD)

And Matt? He was much, much more strong musically than I had anticipated. He sang two songs a capella. It was impressive. You always think that they fix things in the studio . . . but he was just as strong live.

The people in the crowd? Not so impressive. No wonder Matthew Good hates Americans.

The three girls behind me would NOT shut up and kept taking pictures of each other with their phones. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, click. There were two people next to me who talked on their phones the entire show. HEY DUDE. YEAH. I'M AT MATTHEW GOOD. YEAH. LISTEN. (holds phone up in the air) COOL.

And then there was drunk girl.

I like to think that Spider Monkey attracts them . . . but I'm beginning to think it's me. Drunk girl started the show much like the phone girls but with loud proclamation about how she loved Matthew Good. All statements were either made to the stage or to her assumed boyfriend. But as the show went on, drunk girl became more intoxicated . . . and thus, LOUDER. And more random in her statements. She yelled about her love of pretty much everything to her boy during Avalanche . . . a very slow and somewhat soft song. If Spider Monkey wasn't between us, I would have elbowed drunk girl . . . causing her to yell about how her side now hurt.

Oh, and I made poor SM stand next to the speaker, which was above the call of friend duty.

So Matthew Good awesome. Matthew Good fans, not so much.

And yes, I know I'm one of them . . . and my bad anger vibe and the thoughts of pummeling probably didn't help.

The last song was "True Love will Find You in the End". Sigh. It was good.

But I Really Didn't Want to . . .

Monday night. Concert.

Monday night. So I didn't really want to go. AND I was sick on Sunday. Spent the whole day in bed. Getting up only to procure liquids.

But it was Gogol Bordello . . . and they were sold out last time. And the free press loves them for some reason. So I had to go check it out. That and E2 made me.

And it was awesome. The energy of the crowd. The charisma of the performance. The fact that it is punk music with violin and accordion. Was incredible.

So you should go check them out. Their music doesn't sound like anyone else really.

And I'm really glad that E2 made me buy the tickets and go.

OMFG

So it started as an ordinary day . . . woke up to the phone ringing. Chatted with my mother. Showered. Got dressed. Made plans for tomorrow. Called my brother repeatedly. Finally got his count for the concert. Made sure the thing was all ages, because we are now bringing a 10 year old. (poor spider monkey, being exposed to all the wolves)

Drove done to the Majestic, because 3 dollars in gas is cheaper than the $4.25 a ticket service charge on the internet, especially when purchasing 7 tickets. Chat up the bartender. The show is not even close to sold out, so please come if you want. Ska Fest. December 29. Gangster Fun, Deals Gone Bad, The Exceptions and Mustard Plug (plus a few more bands at the beginning).

And then I see it.

It's orange. A flyer. That says "Matthew Good". As in THE Matthew Good? As in the only person that I am an excited starfucker about (sorry, mom). The Matthew Good that I would swoon if some of his sweat fell on me? The Matthew Good that I think, "God that guy is cute . . . he looks like Matthew Good"? Matthew Good, Canadian musician that no one has heard of and I have to go to Canada to buy his stuff . . . that Matthew Good?

The bartender didn't know, but I recognized his drawing on the flyer. So THAT MATTHEW GOOD. Is coming here. To this town. At the Magic Stick. To play his music. And I can buy tickets?

So I did. Bought tickets so early that the girl didn't even know if they would be on sale. Happy Birthday to me. Matthew Good in Detroit, March 18.

Now everyone will know where I will be. I might even go to Cleveland too.

And I'm very, very, very happy with this turn of events.

New Favorite

My city's still breathing (but barely it's true)
through buildings gone missing like teeth.
The sidewalks are watching me think about you,
all sparkled with broken glass.
I'm back with scars to show.
Back with the streets I know.
They never take me anywhere but here.

Those stains in the carpet,
this drink in my hand,
these strangers whose faces I know.
We meet here for our dress-rehearsal to say
"I wanted it this way"
and wait for the year to drown.
Spring forward,
fall back down.
I'm trying not to wonder where you are.

All this time
lingers, undefined.
Someone choose
who's left and who's leaving.

Memory will rust and erode into lists
of all that you gave me:
some matches, a blanket, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely,
duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.

I wait in 4/4 time.
Count yellow highway lines
that you're relying on to lead you home

-- Left and Leaving, The Weakerthans

The Weakerthans

I have the ticket. It's in my kitchen. I'm so going to get a shirt . . . so I can advertise their goodness everywhere to everyone. And I can hardly wait. Hope they do "Plea from a Cat Named Virtute" and "One Great City!"

And it's only about 33 hours from now.

The Quay Brothers

I went to the most beautiful movie tonight. A collection of Quay Brothers' short films, my favorite of which was "Street of Crocodiles". The Quay boys were the inspiration for many of my favorite music videos, "Sober" and "Prison Sex" from Tool and I think "Closer" from Nine Inch Nails. (Closer video is NWS)

A really short, short Quay Brothers' film can be found here. And a video they did for His Name is Alive (evidently when he was big and had money?) can be found here. It has a bunny in it. (and I still don't like HNIA)

It is all stop animation and absolutely amazing.

Now two things to bitch about:

1. The program listed His Name is Alive as a British band . . . when HNIA is from Livonia. One would think that the people at the Detroit Institute of Arts could get that right. Especially when the first listing on google says "Michigan's finest".

2. The two guys behind me . . . one of them found all of the movies incredibly funny. A laugh riot. And NONE of the movies were funny. So laughing at the bunny. Laughing at the doll losing its' hands. I couldn't figure out if he just didn't understand the movies, if he was laughing nervously because the subjects made him uncomfortable, or if the guy next to him was just tickling him. Yes, that's how much he laughed.

Okay, one nice thing:

There was a couple, well into their seventies, if not their eighties, who were obviously on their first date. And that was really, really cute.
At the end of the first short:
"Well, what did you think of that?"
"I didn't understand a thing."
"Neither did I."
"Oh, well . . . then I don't feel so bad."

They were adorable. I just wanted to squeeze them both.

Quote

Quote you are my soul unquote
Now does that sound familiar?
You kissed the girl and make her feel this way

Quote well this is me unquote
And You have been so ugly you're entire life
So why change now

Is this how you wanna go down,
right before my eyes
You're the saddest sight i know

You're quiet
you never make a sound
But here inside my mind
you are the loudest one I know

Quote Well is me unquote
How different I've become
And no one understands, my dear,
no one really cares

And you were right,
right from the start
It took everything you had,
but you finally broke my...

And know the old flames will pass away
I saw your life once
Did you see mine
But not all things will pass away

You turned your light off
So I turned mine,
away from your sadness,
away from the nothingness
you feel for me

Quote, hey listen cause ill only say this once
I finally found the words
That mean enough to me
Good bye my soul, unquote

--- Quote, Evan's Blue

It's always hard for me to accept. That I will never talk to a person again. I will call "friends" out of the blue, just to reinforce my belief that we had a connection . . . had a connection for a reason even. I'm sure the guy I used to work with eight years ago just rolls his eyes when I call. But I'm not good at Christmas cards. And so I call.

Or worse yet, we'll run into each other and do the "we should really get together" thing, when neither of us wants to do that. But I will.

So really what I'm struggling with, today while mowing my lawn and sucking up cobwebs with a shop vac? Rat Bastard contacted me. Unsolicited. And in a moment of growth on my part, I told him that I didn't want to be the girl that he crawls to whenever he is feeling bad about himself. That I didn't want to talk to him.

Oh, and don't get me wrong . . . I back peddled immediately as he was collecting his argument for treating me like shit. But I got it out there (I so don't like conflict). And now, he won't contact me again. Whipped him good with a couple of sentences. Perhaps why I back peddle so often. My words can be terribly cutting. Miserably so.

And therefore, it should be finally over. But like the song says . . . even though he is quiet, it is the loudest thing in my head. I don't want him back. But currently, I don't know what I want. And back then . . . I was so sure. To the point of breaking my heart.

So have to go find something to do and stop thinking so damn much.

Vaginacide

Saturday Night.

We go to the Belmont to see an acquaintance's band. The drummer for The Cut Loose. And the Belmont is in Hamtramck. Somehow, E2 (whom I'm dragging with me, poor girl) has heard about Hamtramck, even though she is an extreme West Sider. And really, Hamtramck doesn't look all that different. And the Belmont looks like a bar that should be in Hamtramck. . . full of arty hipsters with bad haircuts (oh, Princess . . . the bad hair I didn't expose you to). Black floor, green walls, exceedingly hard to get a drink. Smokey. And very "art fag". (high school term for artist with nose up in the air, thinking that no one could possibly understand the deepness)

And E3 spots me right away. Is very nice, friendly. Chats with us over the noise.

But there is a "surprise" opening band. E3 thinks they may just do a couple of songs. It is the bar owner's birthday and the "surprise" opening band is part of the present. And they take forever to set up. There is taping up a bed sheet. Seems very Wayne's World.

And finally, they start. There seem to be strippers, in gold lame bikinis and thigh-high athletic socks. And they are hitting the bar owner with plungers and wrapping him in toilet paper, while the lead singer yells the most vile things he can think of into the microphone.

"Bloody, bloody tampon . . . I want to eat your bloody, bloody tampon . . . " And as you can see from the playlist . . . this goes on for hours. At least an hour and a half. It seemed like a lifetime. And it kept getting worse. The strippers did not strip (which would have at least been interesting), the lead singer did strip (and had horrible man boobs), and the loud vile yelling went on. It's as if a bunch of ninth grade boys had gotten together (or better yet, seventh grade boys) and thought up as much toilet humor as they could think of. "Vaginacide, vaginacide . . . I want to crawl up in your hole and die . . ." I kid you not.

And we couldn't leave, having come all the way to the bowels of Metro Detroit to see E3 play. And the poor guy was so embarrassed. And just when we thought it would end, there would be another song. "Seething F**K Patties" The name of the band. No, really. I think they even have a myspace.

And when The Cut Loose could finally set up, E3 stole their playlist for me. It was just sitting up on the stage. So I thought I would share it with you. And warn the world.

The Cut Loose are pretty good, however. Kinda like Doors, plus Buddy Holly, with a little punk edge. At least live anyway.

Shows I Want to See

I haven't been to the Magic Stick's website in some time and omg I'm going to be spending some time there this fall. May just have to claim my own stool.

Oct. 9 Voo Doo Glow Skulls
Oct. 22 I AM X (guy from Sneaker Pimps . . . very cool stuff)
Oct. 24 The Weakerthans (I don't care what I have to sell to get to that show . . . I will be there)
Dec. 1 Big D and the Kids Table (another must see for me)

This is before I've even looked/listened to any "new" (to me) music that I might want to explore. With the start of school, I haven't been actively seeking bands to go see. Thank goodness someone suggested seeing Matt Pond PA this weekend or I wouldn't have looked. (because I'm going to have to buy The Weakerthans and Big D tix now, to avoid the "sold out" bother)

And, of course, you are all welcome to join me.

Awesome

Went to see Travis tonight and they were totally awesome . . .

Will write more tomorrow. Night.

New and Streaming

The new Matthew Good album comes out July 31st . . . but is streaming now from his website. And yes, you have to register to listen to it, but of course I had already registered. Maybe, just maybe, the U.S. itunes will carry it. I wonder if I can download things from itunes.ca, or if I have to download another version of itunes to do that.

It is sad . . . and angry . . . but mostly sad. And while I love his work, I would not use the term "uplifting" to describe it. And there are songs about a woman jerking him around . . . hmmm, where have I heard that before?

And that will lead into the next blog . . .

If he comes anywhere near the state of Michigan, we are all going. Stop whining, it will be a good road trip.

Latest Music Find

Heard these guys on PRI's "The World" . . . Pakistani pop duo from Montreal. JoSH the band. Maybe I can pick them up on itunes.

Luna

I went to Luna last night.

Intrigued by "free green beer" and the fact that I have never been there . . . plus there was the idea supplied by someone that old punk rockers hang out there, which of course is exactly what one looks for in a future husband . . . I dragged my poor friend H out on St. Patrick's Day.

We met there, so I had to walk in alone. And as I walked through the door, I was magically transported to the year 1988 or 1989 . . . and magically transported to what looked like someone's basement. And as much as I like Joy Division, it's amazing harder to dance to when you are not a depressed, mopey teenager.

Hell yes, I danced. Some sixty year old in Nikes, sweatpants and a baseball cap danced with me. It was very goth . . . or about as goth as it was in 1989 when he was dancing in City Club in less comfortable clothing. And dancing when you are in your thirties to music that you listened to as a teenager? Well, in some ways you are less self-conscious . . . it's your music, you know it inside and out. Your anthems. Rock on. And in some ways, as least I, was more self-conscious because I was well aware how dumb we all looked. My teenage students would have been mortified (and I guess since I am now old enough to be their mother, rightfully so).

We couldn't talk. It was smoky. And really loud. And very dark . . . except for the black lights. And I did not plan for black lights, did not lint brush appropriately. All of this made me long for the Front or the Emory, where I could sit down and have a conversation. Because I am old.

And there was no one that I remotely wanted to talk to, other than the people I was with . . . well, except for the guy in the homemade Ghostbusters costume, but only for these two questions: 1. What does the movie Ghostbusters have to do with St. Patrick's Day? (because the guy in the kilt, I get) And depending on the answer to one . . . 2. Why?

I know, I know, I want to dye my hair blue over the summer and therefore should not judge the man who carefully painted plastic plates and combined them with L.E.D.s to go out, complete with patches on his flight suit. But it's so hard not to.

So Luna . . . some goth kid's basement on steroids . . . with weird "I'm trying to be a suicide girl" bartenders, who don't quite make it (although everyone was incredibly nice) (despite the fact that they were almost naked, and therefore probably cold) some people wearing the same clothes (I did wear my leather jacket, circa 1991, so . . . guilty)

And if I wanna dance . . . well, I like my kitchen much better for the dancing.

And no, the free green beer did not pass by my lips . . . there was Guinness, though it was in a bottle.

New Must Have Music -- Brit Chick Edition

Have I been under a rock? Or has anyone else heard of Amy Winehouse?

Love "I'm no good". So sixties bad girl . . . and every song sounds like it should be a Bond theme.

I also like another Brit girl . . . Lila somebody . . . Lily Allen . . . cute as a button, she is . . . "have a lit'le whine an' a moan"

Entering Phase One

I am now solidly in phase one . . . am disappointed that I have to take it off to shower. Took forever (for me) to transfer everything but my computer seems to have recovered. Can type again.

And it's soooooo pretty and shiny. And the headphones feel like they have become part of my body. So yeah, except at work, I may never take this off. Cuts down on the social interaction . . . but hey, who wanted me to do that anyway? I talk too much, most of the time.

Why is it that we don't let the kids use these at school? Would cut my discipline time way down . . . but then again no one would interact. But sometimes that would be a really good thing. I could just podcast everything. Killer for my kids who can't read.

itunes doesn't have anything I want . . . which in thinking about it . . . is probably a good thing.

At 5 percent

I took it as a sign when my Mp3 player died today. And now, itunes (damn itunes) is converting all my WMA files . . . and I'm only 5% done . . . and it's been an hour . . . and it's workin' on midnight.

As an extra added bonus, I'm not sure if I just copied 20 gigs worth of music (thus making 40 gigs on my strained hard drive) . . . so do I have to choose which files to keep on WMP? Should I have just selected certain things (the songs I wanted on the Nano to run tomorrow) instead of hurting my computer's head? So many questions . . . and not focused enough to read the manual. Didn't even realize that I didn't sign anything in order to take the thing out of the store until I was half way home. All those pretty, shiny, candy like things . . . and the eye candy employees. Doesn't help that I have a thing for arty computer geeks.

I haven't even opened the box and already I've ruined my computer. I guess I let the convertor play out all night and see if my computer works in the morning. Right now, it's lagging while I type . . . about three letters behind. Very distracting. Maybe I'll just dump the WMP files . . . don't have an MP3 player to plug into that. But the cute boy at the store really should have mentioned that I was about to lunch my computer. Damn Apple.

Please realize that I don't even have all my music loaded on this thing. Silly me, I only loaded the songs I liked off of certain CDs when I started.

Oh, and I so bought the new Damien Rice CD. Told you. And that's it, no more shopping . . .

"if you don't shoot it, how I'm suppose to hold it?"

You really can count on Damien Rice for a good single.

Damien Rice -- 9 Crimes

The song actually gives me a feeling of guilt . . . and I certainly haven't done anything . . . this week anyway . . .

Will let you know about the rest of the album . . . you know I'll go buy it.

Explains It All, With Illustrations

I think this explains it all . . . except my disgust with itunes.

My newest guilty pleasure . . . Shiny Toy Guns . . . so 1988 and city club. I can hardly stand it.

What's old is new again. And we are going to ride the racecars. (the bridge is lame . . . but they do use rests to their advantage)