I went to the Found Magazine show last night and it was real good. Lots of laughs, voyeurism, and the most times I’ve heard (and will probably ever hear) the word “bitch” used at Boxcar. I’m always excited when people build a really simple but great idea into something awesome that inspires other people. I’m also intimidated because it often makes me feel as if I either lack good ideas or am too lazy or uninspired to make them into anything bigger. Or, even thinking about the growth and evolution of things, I feel like I lack the weird compulsion that is needed for those things to develop organically. Fuck.
Frame from New Paltz, NY played after the event at Boxcar and it was good. I feel like them and One Reason (especially back in the RJ days) are some of the few bands that can pull off the Hot Water Music influenced, emotive punk without being ridiculous. New Paltz seems like one of those random towns full of nice kids.
I don’t do all that much around the house, but I think I do the things that no one else wants to do. I usually take out the trash. I cleaned the maggoty potatoes, and yesterday, I unclogged the toilet that was so nastily stopped up by the Germans, cleaned the urine splatter and pubic hairs off the toilet, and put on a new seat. Ryan and Theo with help from Bz and Stephen did the more Trading Spaces kind of things. It was real fun to look at Ryan and Theo feyly opening the back of the van and exclaiming “oooh, look what we found!” The back room floor is getting painted. There are some really rad new tables that look like the ones in the OSU art department computer labs (and they only cost $4) and new lighting. The front room got a new paint job. It’s a crazy improvement.
Talk about the weather. The autumn is chilling faster than I can take. I can usually accept the inevitability of winter, but I’ve been enjoying the few forays into autumn that I’ve been having so much that this cold snap has made me feel a little weird. Riding home last night, I was just thinking that any feeling I have of frustration, of anger, or sadness – the things that could be freak-out material for a lot of people. I just find myself thinking, “you’re being stupid,” or “you could do that, but it’s just because you want attention.” It’s eerie to realize that you’re so conscious of things like emotions that seem like they should be entirely subconscious. I’m just left with a feeling of what’s the point?