Finally!
I finally finished The Motorcycle Diaries.
Which means that I have to get myself a new Tube Train Book to read.
So after I type this I'm going to head to Charing Cross Road to raid the bookshops for something the right size (ie able to fit in my pocket).
And I might buy some concert tickets. If I can catch Stargreen. Which I probably won't, slacker that I am.
More stories:
Monday night I went to see Mastodon.
Mastodon Kicked arse. Raging Speedhorn Kicked Arse. Even Winnebago Deal Kicked arse. Impressive, since they had only half the members of Mastodon and one third the members of Speedhorn.
I could rave on continuously about how good Mastodon are, and why, but seriously, if you have the album you already know this.
But this gig was especially memorable for a couple of incidents:
the main one was this: during some of the rougher moments of the Mastodon pit, a green eyed girl took some kind of attachment to me, apparently with the approval of a Relationship Unspecified Male companion.
First she would grab my hand to use me as some kind of an anchor when the human waves ebbed and flowed. And squeeze. Hard. Then said male companion said something to her and cheerfully admonished me: 'Look after her'.
At some point she put my arms around her so that they crossed over her stomach. This lasted a song or two, and male companion came back, thanked me for looking after her and they exited the pit away from the stage.
I know that it is pretty pathetic that I am so starved of human contact that a couple of minutes of having my arms around a stranger in a moshpit will have such an effect on me, but it does, and it did.
On the tube home I was musing over what their story was, whether they were some kind of Poly-amorous couple who like to cruise mosh-pits for semi-muscular males of average height and possessing the requisite lancelot-complex to always want to protect girls from brutish pit-thugs. Or maybe they were just two friends, and the girl was slightly drunk and given to close definitions of personal space. Maybe she just thought I was cute (stranger things have happened, just not often around here).
Whatever it was, having my arms around this girl was a feeling that I miss. Holding someone has the power to make me feel, even if only on a visceral level, like I matter in a way that I don't always feel.
And it has been a while since I felt like that. The times in the past 12 months when I've had my arms around something soft and warm have been too few and too far between.
Jeez. What an Emo Post.
I need a new book.
Rock and Roll.
Which means that I have to get myself a new Tube Train Book to read.
So after I type this I'm going to head to Charing Cross Road to raid the bookshops for something the right size (ie able to fit in my pocket).
And I might buy some concert tickets. If I can catch Stargreen. Which I probably won't, slacker that I am.
More stories:
Monday night I went to see Mastodon.
Mastodon Kicked arse. Raging Speedhorn Kicked Arse. Even Winnebago Deal Kicked arse. Impressive, since they had only half the members of Mastodon and one third the members of Speedhorn.
I could rave on continuously about how good Mastodon are, and why, but seriously, if you have the album you already know this.
But this gig was especially memorable for a couple of incidents:
the main one was this: during some of the rougher moments of the Mastodon pit, a green eyed girl took some kind of attachment to me, apparently with the approval of a Relationship Unspecified Male companion.
First she would grab my hand to use me as some kind of an anchor when the human waves ebbed and flowed. And squeeze. Hard. Then said male companion said something to her and cheerfully admonished me: 'Look after her'.
At some point she put my arms around her so that they crossed over her stomach. This lasted a song or two, and male companion came back, thanked me for looking after her and they exited the pit away from the stage.
I know that it is pretty pathetic that I am so starved of human contact that a couple of minutes of having my arms around a stranger in a moshpit will have such an effect on me, but it does, and it did.
On the tube home I was musing over what their story was, whether they were some kind of Poly-amorous couple who like to cruise mosh-pits for semi-muscular males of average height and possessing the requisite lancelot-complex to always want to protect girls from brutish pit-thugs. Or maybe they were just two friends, and the girl was slightly drunk and given to close definitions of personal space. Maybe she just thought I was cute (stranger things have happened, just not often around here).
Whatever it was, having my arms around this girl was a feeling that I miss. Holding someone has the power to make me feel, even if only on a visceral level, like I matter in a way that I don't always feel.
And it has been a while since I felt like that. The times in the past 12 months when I've had my arms around something soft and warm have been too few and too far between.
Jeez. What an Emo Post.
I need a new book.
Rock and Roll.
posted by the.exile at 5:15 pm
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