Thursday, June 09, 2005
Nothing makes you feel old like new music
On the flip side, of course, there's not much that makes you feel younger than actually being younger. I'm still three years away from catching up to where I was, and the sex-change thing makes me feel like I'm a kid again at times. Seriously, you ask Maureen, and she will not believe I'm over thirty. She jokes with Anna about me being more aggravating than her real kid sister.
So, the "as young as you feel" thing? I feel pretty young most of the time. So when my 19-year-old sort-of-brother calls and says he's got an extra ticket for some WFNX-sponsored thing the other night, I think that sounds pretty cool. I point out that I work way they heck out in Waltham, so we might not be able to make the whole thing, and he's OK with that.
It's at the Harborlights Pavillion (I refuse to call something by a corporate name if it once had a real name), and I swear it has moved since Martin-me moved here, and it's not just a shorter-legs thing - I swear that it was between South Station and the World Trade Center when I saw Huey Lewis & The News, but now it's on the other side of the Center. Of course, this is one of the parts of the city that has been pretty constantly torn up for the past decade. If you have had to deal with the Big Dig at all, the idea of an entire performance venue moving doesn't seem too crazy.
Four bands played, we got to see two. The first was a New York band, Interpol, and I don't think I'd ever heard any of their stuff before. No chatter between songs or anything, either, so I felt sort of lost. A lot of piercing out there, too, and high school girls in stuff tighter than my own weekend attire. What's really funny is when people go nuts at the first couple bars of a song and you've got no idea what it is. None whatsoever.
Second band was pretty good, though. I don't know as I'll ever buy a Killers CD, but they put on a good live show. Telly's not quite a fan, but knows a girl who is. I ask why I'm at this thing and she's not, and he sighs and says that was the plan, but she took someone's shift without remembering that it was today. He grumped a little about how she said he didn't understand how important extra money was for her, since she has to save up during the summer before college starts back up.
Well, you do, I tell him. I say I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but he is unconvinced, as you might expect. Fair enough. I start to tell him about when I was in college, I looked forward to the end of summer so that I'd have a few hours per week free, at least at the start of the term, but I stop; he doesn't believe me, and it's not like he's not going to college by choice. There was just no money and he never was able to motivate himself to get good grades like Michelle was - his and Michelle's mom certainly didn't care. Heck, I was already on the way by the time our parents were his age.
Which is, like, huh. I may only look in my mid-twenties, but I not only remember being in my early twenties, I have enough perspective to recognize I was an idiot then.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
I'm probably going to be a little pink all over when I get up tomorrow morning, but that's an acceptable price to pay for being able to spend the weekend lying around in just a couple square feet of clothing and not worry about any adverse health effects other than that sunburn. Well, and skin cancer, but that's more a long-term thing.
Of course, just how many square feet and when is apparently important. I spent yesterday hanging out with Chet, one of his classmates, Marcel, and Marcel's girlfriend Chantalle. The term ended last month, but their rent was paid through yesterday, so they hung around before flying back to France. We were going to try and get tickets for the game, since Marcel has become a Sox fan during his undergraduate years and first year of grad school, and while going home to Nice for the summer is rather (pardon the pun) nice, there isn't much very good baseball to be seen, and forget NESN.
Marcel is, by the way, a hoot and a half. Chantalle's a lucky girl.
So, we took advantage of the warm the warm weather and made our way down to the banks of the river, got out our books, took off our shirts and shoes (Chantalle and I were wearing bikini tops for this eventuality), and had a good read. After an hour, Marcel finished his and got out a ball and glove and starts tossing it up and down. I put my book down, and join him tossing it back and forth. It's a little tough at first, since I didn't bring a glove, and Chet's is too large for me. I can't really get a grip on the ball at first; it keeps falling out and the glove keeps falling out. I wind up just catching it two-handed after a while.
Anyway, a guy walks over and asks if I wouldn't mind putting my shirt on, since he and his kids are just over there. I look around, and I'm not exactly the only girl in a two-piece swimsuit (and I've got shorts on at that). I'm about to point this out when Chet comes over with my shirt. I sort of grump that he's not complaining to the college girls sunning themselves. Whatever.
The guy walks away, and Marcel tsk tsks Chet, saying that if I were his girlfriend, that would have gone differently. How so? "Ma cherie, I would have convinced him to allow you to go topless." Gee... Thanks.
Anyway, we go out to eat, and I go home, since Marcel and Chantalle are going to be sleeping on Chet's couch before they head to the airport in the morning and the place is crowded enough as is. Well, I say, don't sleep too soundly - you'll got a lot of time to sleep on the plane, and, hey, sometimes weird stuff happens the night before a big flight. He asks what, but Chet interrupts to say it's not a very interesting story. Maybe later, I say.
Anyway, today I spend hanging with Maggie. Been a while, but Marcel and Chantalle weren't the only ones catching a plane last night; Chet was flying to San Francisco to spend a couple weeks with his family. I'd like to meet the Kitamuras, but I don't know if Chet's ready for that. He's not going to ask me to lie about who I am and have been, but he's not ready to explain it to his folks.
So, Maggie and I hang out, heading out to Arlington to watch movies at the second-run house where they have ice cream. Real ice cream with scoops and stuff. The plan's to do that, poke through Newbury Comics for stuff - the fourth issue of Trigger (the one I don't have), the two Traveling Wilburys CDs (why didn't someone exploit George Harrison's death and reissue those? Why?), etc. I wound up with stuff out of the 25-cent comic boxes and the Fever Pitch soundtrack.
It was a nice day, again, so we opted to walk home. A little warm for that, so we were glad we were wearing our workout gear underneath. Maggie joked that she's surprised I didn't have something skimpier underneath, and I told her about the previous day. She laughed, said she thought the same thing the first time we bumped into each other here, although for different reasons.
"So," she changed the subject, "how long's Chet out of town?" I say a couple weeks. She asks why I didn't go with, and I shrug it off at first, saying I didn't have time to put in for vacation when he told me.
One thing she does point out, though, is that I haven't had a real vacation in the past two years, that being unemployed doesn't count, nor does taking time off to sit by people in the hospital. I admitted that wasn't really the reason, but she said, fine, you don't want to meet Chet's family, or they're not ready, but you need some time off.