Misadventures of the Village Idiot #15

I forgot to post my weekend ramblings.  I don’t know what I was thinking.


Even though a band was playing at Ascension, I went anyway, because I might not be able to come out next week because Ceciley is having her Sex in the City party.  At any rate, it was XUBERX, this local band.  I didn’t think I’d ever heard anything they’d ever played, but seeing as how two of the members often guest DJ at Midnight, they are wont to play at least one of their own songs.

Surprisingly, they did not suck in the way local band music usually sucks to me.  There’s always this odd sound of band music that I cannot stand, but they didn’t have that.  They were actually quite good and I was tempted to buy their CD, but unfortunately I couldn’t stay until after the show.  The music was too loud in the little club and it was giving me a headache.  I was tired anyway and eager to get home to eat my leftover PF Chang food.

But before they even got up to play, I arrived around 1030ish to some godawful noise.  Bochtenschwieler.  Bochtenstein.  Boch-something.  Whatever the name of that one-man band that was playing when I first came in…he was HORRIBLE.  It was just noise to me.  It’s like, when I try to describe to my non-freak friends the type of music I am interested in, this is the impression they get.  Some loud ass clanging electronic instruments without rhyme or reason just making a whole lot of noise.  I’m sorry, but it was terrible.  If he would have played another song, I would have left altogether.  Luckily, I came at the end of his set.  Kele De and the guest DJ did a pretty good spin, and I’m glad that I got to dance a little before XUBERX came on.

I was once again harassed by a drunk person.  Whoever that chick who looks like Living Dead Girl.  She was quite trashed and flirting with the smelly man who was standing, then sitting next to me.  At one point, he had leaned up against the stair case with his arm up to support himself, the fumes wafting from his armpit is worse than cyanide.  They should use that a biological weapon of terror.

I left before 1 and got home to eat my PF Chang and watch a few episodes of Law and Order.  My TiVO is so backed up because I was out of town for almost two weeks.  Poor Jack McCoy, and the seasons is over too.  What am I going to do?

It is a rare moment for me to go to a band night; it’s even more extraordinary that I would attend two in a row.  I was bored, and it’s a three day weekend.  I went out Saturday to Midnight for a spot of music.  Twice in the same weekend I am shocked:  Red This Ever did not suck as I thought they would.  Too synth-popish for me, but my ears weren’t bleeding by the time they finished.  They kept their set mercifully short and did not play an encore.  I was pleased by this.

I gather they are very popular because the club was quite packed, and I always hate that.  On top of that, I had on two different shoes.  Yeah, it sounds quite bizarre how someone can walk out the house with two different shoes on, but allow me to explain.  I have two pairs of the same shoe, black patent Mary Janes that I got at Shoe Land in Orlando.  One shoe is size 6 and the other is size 5.  I purposely bought the two different shoes because when I bought the size 5, I can’t wear socks or stockings because they fit just right.  So I bought the size sixes like a year later so I could wear tights if I wanted to.  I guess I was rushing and picked up a size six and a size five and went on my merry way.  It’s an extremely annoying feeling not to be completely symmetrical.  One shoe was falling off and the other felt too tight.

I was dancing up a pretty good storm until Phae played that goddamn song.  I was really enjoying her set, another rarity, until that song came on.  I just hate that song so much, and she plays it every time she spins.  People really like the song because every time she plays it, everyone crowds out the dance floor, but I’m secretly plotting to hang myself in the bathroom.

It kind of killed my mood, although I was prepared to stay all night long.  But in past experiences, once that song is played, the night usually goes downhill from there.  While the band was playing, I was doing my usual observances of critical fashion statements.  Many abominations present.

One person, whom I shall not name nor describe, surprised me with her bold fashion statement.  She choose an article of clothing that was clearly an atrocity.  I was disappointed, but not everyone can be perfect one-hundred per cent of the time.  My favourite Negros were in house, looking like they stepped out of a Bell Biv Devoe video.  There’s nothing wrong with jeans and a t-shirt, per se, but it was the cut of the jeans and the woogie backwards red cap that made him look like he should be be-bopping on a cardboard box outside a bodega in Queens.

Note:  If you do not know how to swing glow sticks, put them down.  There was a group of young kids who were sharing some glow sticks, and not one of them knew how to swing them.  One of them kept dropping them.  He hit one girl by accident as it flung through the air, and I’m just like, “Why don’t you have a seat?”  But they were an amusing bunch.

Apparently one was having girl trouble and he was sulking next to me in a pit of self-misery.  The guy with Down’s Syndrome came over to talk to him.  He told him something to the effect of needing to get out of the funk he was in and enjoy himself at the club, but the kid was evidently too depressed for amusement.  Then Down’s Syndrome said, “Fuck girls.  You can’t trust them.  There’s only two girls I trust in the world, my grandmother and April Dawn.”  I don’t know who April Dawn is, but apparently she was someone who was “really there for him” when he needed it.  Then he said, “The minute you start trusting women that’s when you should cut your dick off.”

Overhearing people’s conversations is amusing.

I guess the pep talk worked because the boy got up and started dancing.  I’m glad he was able to pull you back from the brink of despair.

Other than that, there was nothing else significant to report.


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