It's really too bad that I don't have the music and sports blog right now, because I saved up enough over the weekend spank bank to make for some interesting articles today.
This morning, I'm twisting in the wind until this coffee kicks in after a night in the clutches of insomnia's vicegrip. Last I checked, it was a quarter to 2 in the morning, but I think I well surpassed that breach before all was said and done.
My office has new neighbors in the pod next to us; that's all I need, twice the number of people milling about in the area in front of me. It's hard enough finding a reasonable volume to listen to the radio while working, but if I have to deal with excessive conversation outside it's only going to result in me fluctuating the volume constantly to an annoying degree.
So, there's this bar in Manhattan that has super soul music playing over loudspeaker every Saturday night for people to twist and shout to. When Emily, her friend in town from San Diego, and I got there, it turned out they had replaced the super soul music with ... new wave. But, it's that depressing, gothic, Joy Division kind of new wave. Of course, if I still had my music blog, you'd know what Joy Division was all about because I had an article half in the can all ready to go before it shut down.
Instead of dancing, there was a bunch of standing around. Who was doing the standing? Freaks. Plain and simple. Long-haired, intricately designed freaks with drab clothing, lots of piercings, tattoos, chains, the works. It was rediculous.
Since I knew there'd be dancing involved, I got my night started prematurely with some beers and some shots. So, once I got there, I was fully fueled with enough liquid courage to perform Devin's lawnmower dance, on the dancefloor, in front of all the freaks, while they just stood there and watched me making fools of them. You better believe that dancefloor was MOWED.
Eventually, they did start dancing, which ultimately led to me mocking them by spinning around and around in a circle until I was too dizzy to function. Of course, it had no effect on their dancing. Scary, freakish dancing, and before long we decided to leave. Burritos and pommes frites followed. Best fries in town, on 2nd Avenue between 7th and 8th streets. All they served were fries and the line was out the door. Incredible!
THEN, yesterday, I went to The Whitney. Which is a museum with artwork. They've got this groovy psychedelic art exhibit from the 1960s. It's all about the music and hippie movement of the time; I spent about two hours gawking at all the posters and paintings and trippy freak-out videos. I didn't get the audio tour (which is like a crappy mp3 player with corresponding music), but I figure it would've been a bunch of songs I've already heard.
As it stands, though, I found some bands I needed to download. Moby Grape, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Steve Miller Band (their first album was more psychedelic than their latter work), Captain Beefheart. I'm telling you, if that ain't a week's worth of articles (Flashback: The 1960s and the like), then surely the nearly 4-hour DVD documentary of Woodstock would definitely put me over the top. I haven't watched it yet (I'm double-fisting HBO shows, watching Season 1 of Six Feet Under while Season 4 of Oz downloads), but I'm thinking sometime this week perhaps.
Nine days and I'm home. Feel the excitement.