Thursday I don't care about you
Thanksgiving was, as always, delicious. Good job to everyone involved, especially with the range of pumpkin-themed desserts. I am stuffed like a turkey suitcase.
That doesn't make sense. I'll try again. I am as stuffed as a jackalope at an NRA convention. I'm packed tighter than the pockets of a traveling sardine salesmen. I'm as full as a VW Bug in Puerto Rico.
I think the part of my brain that produces analogies is borked. I'm going to stop trying.
Anyway, the Blind Guardian concert? Kickin' rad. You don't even know. Halfway through the concert, after being smashed against a column for the umpteenth time as the mosh pit surged back against me, I just said something to the effect of "oh screw it" and barreled into the fray. Most of the concert after that point is a blur of pushing and shoving and screaming and jabbing metal hands into the air while shoving and screaming and being hit with the sweat-sodden hair of headbangers and at one point I even caught myself playing air guitar, which is horribly embarassing. I can't wait until my next metal concert. Snooty little hipster concerts are all well and good, but people don't hit one another there. You may think this is a point in their favor. You would be wrong.
And Blind Guardian...they played nearly every song I wanted to hear. Out of a career spanning twenty one years, that's pretty darn good. I sang along to every single song. That probably was not very metal of me. I don't care. There's a time to be metal, and a time to be excited for what is likely to be the only time you'll ever get to see your favorite band, and frankly I was a little biased towards the latter on this occasion.
.+0-
Moby just jumped onto the keyboard and typed that for you. Thank you Moby.
So here I am home again, amid the noise and lights and the ubiquitous cat hair that sneaks onto everything at least a little bit despite all efforts to the contrary. Katie and her friends are yelling over a game of Scrabble, which very nearly drowns out what I'm going to guess is Evanescence, mostly because this is the wrong time of year to have mosquitoes buzzing in your ears and they don't usually have backup vocals. I have a pretty low tolerance for Evanescence. I am listening to my ipod in passive retaliation. Dad just walked through the living room and paused to show off his "really neat" blackened thumb nail. I just stopped typing for a minute to watch in horrified fascination as Rincewind barfed on the tile floor.
Yes, this is definitely home. I guess sometimes some of the things you'd rather miss are things you miss the most.
I really want to buy some new socks and underwear while I'm here, but I dunno, I think tomorrow is the only day that'll work to go shopping. Do you think they'll have any underwear doorbuster deals? Can you picture me charging through the doors of Target at five in the morning, thrashing and kicking and having mosh flashbacks all the way through the ladies section, then emerging exhausted, battered and triumphant with a pack of undies two hours later?
Yeah, I can too. I'm not gonna, though. That's way too much effort for the kind of underwear I buy. If I'm going to work up that kind of initiative, there had better be lasers at the very least.
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. It's always nice to see the family. I have such a cool one.
That doesn't make sense. I'll try again. I am as stuffed as a jackalope at an NRA convention. I'm packed tighter than the pockets of a traveling sardine salesmen. I'm as full as a VW Bug in Puerto Rico.
I think the part of my brain that produces analogies is borked. I'm going to stop trying.
Anyway, the Blind Guardian concert? Kickin' rad. You don't even know. Halfway through the concert, after being smashed against a column for the umpteenth time as the mosh pit surged back against me, I just said something to the effect of "oh screw it" and barreled into the fray. Most of the concert after that point is a blur of pushing and shoving and screaming and jabbing metal hands into the air while shoving and screaming and being hit with the sweat-sodden hair of headbangers and at one point I even caught myself playing air guitar, which is horribly embarassing. I can't wait until my next metal concert. Snooty little hipster concerts are all well and good, but people don't hit one another there. You may think this is a point in their favor. You would be wrong.
And Blind Guardian...they played nearly every song I wanted to hear. Out of a career spanning twenty one years, that's pretty darn good. I sang along to every single song. That probably was not very metal of me. I don't care. There's a time to be metal, and a time to be excited for what is likely to be the only time you'll ever get to see your favorite band, and frankly I was a little biased towards the latter on this occasion.
.+0-
Moby just jumped onto the keyboard and typed that for you. Thank you Moby.
So here I am home again, amid the noise and lights and the ubiquitous cat hair that sneaks onto everything at least a little bit despite all efforts to the contrary. Katie and her friends are yelling over a game of Scrabble, which very nearly drowns out what I'm going to guess is Evanescence, mostly because this is the wrong time of year to have mosquitoes buzzing in your ears and they don't usually have backup vocals. I have a pretty low tolerance for Evanescence. I am listening to my ipod in passive retaliation. Dad just walked through the living room and paused to show off his "really neat" blackened thumb nail. I just stopped typing for a minute to watch in horrified fascination as Rincewind barfed on the tile floor.
Yes, this is definitely home. I guess sometimes some of the things you'd rather miss are things you miss the most.
I really want to buy some new socks and underwear while I'm here, but I dunno, I think tomorrow is the only day that'll work to go shopping. Do you think they'll have any underwear doorbuster deals? Can you picture me charging through the doors of Target at five in the morning, thrashing and kicking and having mosh flashbacks all the way through the ladies section, then emerging exhausted, battered and triumphant with a pack of undies two hours later?
Yeah, I can too. I'm not gonna, though. That's way too much effort for the kind of underwear I buy. If I'm going to work up that kind of initiative, there had better be lasers at the very least.
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. It's always nice to see the family. I have such a cool one.
posted by Betsi at 10:23 PM
1 Comments:
The pumpkin cheesecake pie from Aunt Bonnie was the best.
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