Sunday, December 18, 2005

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I have spent most of the weekend being a show rat. Friday night I met Josh and Peter at the White Horse for a delicious Pimms and a delightful chat with Joe the owner before heading over to the Showbox for the Strangercrombie bash. We missed Band of Horses due to the damnable call of hush puppies and the disconnect between the Green Room and the stage, but made it up for Fruit Bats, Dina Martina, and Wheedle's Groove. I made friends with a lovely older couple who were old pals with one of the ladies singing with Wheedle's Groove.

Saturday I worked at the Space Co., where Robert almost broke my foot with a great big stapler. Then the beautiful Caroline and her sister picked me up to go to the KEXP yule benefit, where we met up with Josh during the middle of The Divorce's set. My ears are still a little ring-y today--The Wrens are loud, and also a little bit insane. Josh ended up next to the most annoying superfan in the entire world, a lady with masses of bushy blonde hair that she could really have used as a weapon.

At various points this weekend there was a cello, an accordion, a few trumpets...it's like people are starting indie bands to make the most out of their geeky high school band instruments. Which I am totally cool with.

I've found out recently that Spencer is going to be having a surprise! baby with his shes-really-nice-but-i-still-dont-like-her girlfriend. He's a little bit wigged--he has no plans to marry the girl. And well he shouldn't: Spencer, like butterflies, ought to be free, at least until he meets someone he's actually in love with. But he's going to make a great dad, no matter how it all works out.
He's a good guy, and there really are not so many of those out there. I'm very pleased that I could make a list of you all, though. I know some really good ones.

I ought to have been cleaning my house this afternoon, but instead I've been practicing public intellectual masturbation with LibraryThing. I hit the limit about halfway through my regular collection (which excludes antiques and children's books), which proves, if nothing else, that my books are soon going to take over my apartment.
Tomorrow there will be nice girls coming over to bake with me. (From across the country, I can hear Toby's ears perk up. Girls and baking? Samantha in a cute apron? I'd not be surprised if in about nine hours a tall, thin boy with a chiseled jaw and an unfortunate girlfriend shows up at my door, asking if he can help.)

Toby's new favorite thing is to call and tell me all about what he was thinking when he was a fourteen year old boy. My brother, ye gods, is growing a moustache--and doing a better job of it than most of the grown men I know. Kill me now.

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