All evening I’ve been listening to records I didn’t give enough attention the first time around, particularly Sue and Joe’s excellent best of 2002 mix and the most recent record by the Mountain Goats, Tallahassee, whence comes one of my favorite musical couplets of 2003 so far:
I hope our few remaining friends
Give up on trying to save us
I hope we come up with a failsafe plot
To piss of the dumb few that forgave us
One of the bitterest songs I’ve had the privelege to hear in a long while, for certain.
I had a kind of weird conversation with D. tonight re. Burning Man, My Reticence About. I don’t know what in particular threatens me when he expresses curiosity and interest in the gathering. Maybe it’s my aversion to both camping and huge group festivals, not to mention rave culture or lack thereof. Maybe it’s some deep-seated fear that after reading Vinnie Tesla’s sultry accounts of BM hookups, D. imagines a sweat-sheened bacchanal with hot, boundary-free, nubile 20-something bi chicks who fuck under the auspices of Art. All I know is that anything smacking of camping, drum circles, or limited showers is not for me. I’ll find my own nubile bi chicks, thankyouverymuch.
I shouldn’t be up and posting so late — my boss is back from her Parisian junket tomorrow, so I can’t feign a “working at home” thing unless I get really creative sometime around 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. Maybe I’ll throw responsibility to the wind and call in “sick” or make up some vague reason for a personal day. Guess I’ll load up or two more albums on the old iPod before toddling off to snoozytown.
What, no link? How is your reading public supposed to figure out what you’re talking about?
And–goddamn it–it was meant to be a bit less carefree and affectless than everyone keeps saying it is. I was trying to be a little understated about Vinnie’s internal agitation–apparently I got carried away–perhaps another draft is called for. I will note, however, in my defense, that the sweaty threesome never actually happens. So there.