We all need our weekends.
Sometimes they don't come soon enough. Two hours earlier, I wouldn't have had to make calls and deter death threats. Such is my life.
The next day spent loafing and then dancing as the scene was creamed. Frank and I talked to a local scenester about the odd experience of seeing ourselves participating in entertainment. The Michigan Fest DVD showed me front row center-stage left, a stoic if not angsty consumer. I think that is a fair depiction. Frank and his lookalike were dancing and the scenester roamed hotel hallways in his underwear. Accurate depictions, them all.
But that was a year ago, almost to the day. Friday saw me dancing arms crossed in front of me, while the singer made semi-coherent social commentary between songs about trolls and session man.
After the show, drawn to the strip of bars on Main St., Frank and I went to the Tornado Room for the stiff and tasty drinks. So, the singer of the Goo Goo Dolls and the ugly banged bassist were these. Of course, the bassist doesn't have bangs anymore. At any rate, they tried to cream the scene as well, but less successfully. Frank called our house to round up a posse to kill the Goo Goo Dolls guy, but everyone was off watching films or resting. My celebrity sightings are becoming more high profile and less awesome. In 98, it was Sonic Youth in the halls of the Midway Sheraton. In 2000, it was Adam Duritz eating breakfast at the Sunroom. In 2003, it's the fucking Goo Goo Dolls. Frank and I speculated that maybe next time it will be Celine Dion or P.O.D.
Yesterday, Frank and I shared a pitcher of Sangria at 1 p.m. while Frank took advantage of being employee of the month. He had $40 to spend at the Olive Garden, see. Drunk, we then headed to West Towne Mall. Unfortunately, while I thought that this would be a novel experience, instead my head started pounding. The pottery barn and aveda store were not enough to change my mood.
Frank and I then headed to the Budget and saw 25th Hour. I think my mindset was appropriate for this movie--tired, drunk and growing sober. The sun was still out when we got out of the movie.
Frank and I spent the evening quietly, renting movies and eating at Noodles. I watched Igby Goes Down.
This morning I watched "This Week" and caught up with the war drum pounding inside my head. The experts were disagreeing, and the little ticker tocked out lies. And now my weekend is again over.