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Tuesday May 23, 2000, 02:26

I am currently poised to do a lot of writing, but will, by the end of whatever it is that I am currently spewing, be completely bored with myself and will inevitably end this much sooner than I would given an infinite amount of time and a limitless attention span. As it stands, I feel sick, and I had a rocking good time tonight, but I am tired and the day ahead looms larger than life. Looms much like the weight of the world that Atlas must shoulder for all eternity.

Luckily, it's only a day job for me.

Forgoing the vinyl pants today as I will either have to get them hemmed or get a smaller size (those two issues being unrelated and instead are to be phrased more like "the vinyl pants which I like immensely but fear might be too big for my scrawny frame and which I will return if I can find a smaller pair at Marshalls but which I probably won't so I will just get them hemmed assuming that the cleaners down the street can figure out how to hem vinyl") I wore my new shoes to work today with my jeans. The guys in the office did not notice.

This, in itself does not really seem like an issue, unto itself that is. But we must realize the context in which I am saying this. The thing is that the folks at the office, realizing that I am not always happy there, go to great lengths to try to incorporate me into their lives, and, thus, will say things like "So, what did you do this weekend?" or "So, nice pants you've got on today," which are both legitimate conversation starters (the latter possibly more so in my case). They come off as cheap and meaningless attempts to bring me into their game. And it comes off sounding condescending.

That is about all I am going to say about work today, other than to say that I had set some goals for myself and that I met them, for the most part, which is good. I am not going to say any more about work, except in the most self-aware sort of way because I did not think about work very much today. It existed, much as air exists or the noise on the highway exists, in my life, but it did not make much of a difference one way or the other. As the bulk of the work that I needed to do today was what we like to call "research" it consisted mainly of searching the web, which is something that I do all the time, which made it a task for which I can just shut off my brain and stare blankly at the large glowing box.

I had bigger plans for the day, and I was not going to let a little job get in the way of all of that. As sequences of events string themselves together in my life, so too did things come together enough to find me at a club in Cambridge tonight listening to a band which I had only heard once before. My friend Beth, from high school lives in Boston, well, goes to school in Boston, and is some sort of film major.

A friend from high school. I don't really keep in touch with too many of those, which is surprising considering the fact that I maintain my high school's alumni listing. But no, there is no regret there. There are no tears shed and very little wondering of "where are they now?" on a regular basis, but that's not to say that I don't do searches every once in a while to find people, names more than anything these days, that are still alive and kicking out there. I do wonder, with that morbid sort of curiosity that makes you ponder things to which you'd really rather not know the answer, what those people who graduated from my high school almost five years ago actually think about me. Still. Whether I still come up in every day life.

I wonder if any of them actually read this. Think to themselves, "Hey, I knew that kid when he was a bigger nerd than he is now and did theatre and hung out in the Green room and didn't really have any friends until about junior year when he started getting cool." I doubt it, but it would be a real hoot if there were people out there who thought that. If that is the case, if you are one of those people who knew me in high school and are in awe that the little kid back then could have turned into this goofy guy right here (albeit a sexy sort of goofy, all vinyl clad and all), then I would like it if you would get in touch with me some how. For my own benefit, I think that it would be a nice little ego boost, for you it would serve as some sort of validation of self, and for the other readers out there, they would get the satisfaction of seeing a tale of human drama unfold before them. You would not want to deprive any of the preceeding parties of their potential good fortune, would you?

I had spoken to Beth who had told me that she was going to be doing this video shoot (note: this is an event which only got passing mention in my life) and that I should come along since I'm all interested in learning new things. And I had helped on the shoot and had met the band and realized that these folks actually had something going on and that I would like to see them at full-blown concert level. Well, there was also this backup singer who was really attractive, so the thinking was that I could listen to good music and watch beautiful women.

I received an email from Beth two night ago outlining her summer plans (which are none of your business) and again thought of the band. I checked their web page and found that they were playing the next day (the next day being today, or Monday, according to the rule that the day does not end until the sun comes up or I go to sleep). A sequence of events led me to call Seth and invite him to the concert. Everyone else I know in Boston was either tired, sick, not interested, or not home. It must be noted that the total number of people in Boston with whom I would consider spending time fits fairly comfortably on my fingers. I actually find myself thinking, thinking thinking of more people in the area I can bother.

This thought process is normally futile.

It is here that I begin to lose interest in my words. Let's see if we can tell.

I found one person who would come to the concert. That fact is now incidental to the rest of the story. The story is not about the four bands that played, though they were all fabulous. The story is instead about the human experience which occurs at this sort of event where most of the audience of the opening band consists of the parents of the performers.

Though feeling much like a weenie, I donned earplugs for the performances and prepared myself for only mild aural damage. And I stood there, my bag resting on the floor between my legs, band rocking out on stage and smoke rising up from the patrons to my right and directly behind me, and I found my concert experience.

I find myself speaking less and less coherently. Perhaps I will finish this at a later date. Perhaps I will not. The concert experience came back to me tonight in a small, smoke-filled club where the drummer for one of the bands kept on knocking his right cymbal off its stand and required the assistance of an audience member to put it back for him. That's really that's important right now.

The lineup for the evening: Resonance, Hurrican Jane, Kid Tested, Sand Machine


Sometimes I wish I was crazy and brilliant.

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