Friday, July 15, 2005
Beck, and a little frustration...
First off, the concert last night was absofuckinglutely amazing.
Beck is a complete genius on so many levels. He sounds like an orgasm on a plate, whether he's accompanied by two drummers, a few crazy guitar players, several keyboards, and a black tambourine, or with only an acoustic guitar and that soft as all hell voice of his. He is also the kind of sensitive, funny, creative, mind-blowing guy I wish I could actually meet in real life. The last time I saw him in concert (back before Odelay blew the whole Beck phenomenomenomenon out of the water) he was about two feet away from me, and close enough to touch. This time I was up on a balcony so high I started to wonder if could get a pulmonary edema from the altitude. But he still blew my socks off.
Even his opening acts were great. There was Rory, the one-man rock band, who sounded like a five piece rock group rather than one crazy dude with two keyboards, a voice synthesizer, and drums strapped to his chest and the bottoms of his shoes. Then there was Le Tigre, a fucking unreal girl band made up of three unbelievably chill and non-militant feminist lesbians. Electronic pop girly punk rock at its best. Fucking lovely.
Highlight: in the middle of his set, Beck's bandmates dragged a table out on stage and sat down to have dinner. They ate an entire meal while Beck played some acoustic greats like The Golden Age. At the end of the second or third song, the guys at the table started playing percussion, only with knives and forks and plates and glasses instead of drums. You know how your mother told you not to hit your glass of milk with your fork at the table? Well, it was because she knew you had no sense of rhythm, white boy. But these guys did, and it sounded bloody well amazing.
(I just called you 'white boy.' I'm so mean).
I am feeling a bit frustrated by Kylie. She's starting to seem a bit squeamish about the whole thing. I'm probably wrong about that. I'm just irritated because she hasn't called me since Wednesday night and I can't see her until next week because she's busy and I'm busy...argh!
...There. She just called. We talked. She's okay, but confused and messed up, and so am I. When I'm being honest with myself and I'm out of my 23-hours a day manic phase, I realise that my heart is still in crumpled-up pieces on my bedroom floor. It seems pretty unfair for us to both be sad in our own rooms miles away from each other, when we could be together and happy, or at the very least sad together. Misery loves company and all that jazz.
I'm being deliberately vague. In fact, I'll even let The Killers say it for me:
I'm coming out of my cage
And I’ve been doing just fine
Gotta gotta gotta be down
Because I want it all
It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss...
-Mr. Brightside
I remember one line from Annie on my Mind, that YA book that Emma recommended for me. It was from a scene where the two girls are in bed together, and the line was (paraphrasedly): "Sometimes we had to stop and just look at each other. So much beauty all at once can be hard to take." How very true that is.
Anyway, I don't know where this is going. At all. But I do know a little more about myself. I have more guts and glory than I ever thought possible. And I know I like this girl. A lot. But I also have the sinking feeling that the world is not ready for us. The world is scarcely ready for me, or for her, let alone for us.
And I am writing a story about orchids in my head.
I have to go get dolled up for the Harry Potter party now. I'm going for a goth Hermione look -- long black skirt and cape and black boots with heels I wouldn't be caught dead wearing in real life.
But this isn't real life -- this is a J.K. Rowling fantasy, where the cutest schoolgirls are the most screwed up, and the bookish ones are the ones with the wild streak and the fading purple in their hair.
Yeah...some White Stripes are in order:You got a reaction
-Blue Orchid
You got a reaction didn't, you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid turned it blue
Something better than nothing
Something better than nothing, it's giving up
We all need to do something
Try keep the truth from showing up
How dare you
How old are you now, anyway?
How dare you
How old are you now, anyway
How old am I now, anyway?
Old enough.
Old. Enough.
-N
