walls are props

What a weekend. It started with Sonic Youth and The Flaming Lips (WTF!!!) playing at a casino (WTF???) which actually turned out to be sort of a cool venue (WTF!!!). The show was outside on a lawn between the casino and the hotel. The lawn was perfectly manicured. I don’t really understand how you can keep a lawn looking like that with hundreds of people drinking $4 cans of Bud, smoking Camel Lights, and trampling it down every weekend. Miracle Grow? I could have taken a nap on that lawn, it was so soft.

And then there was the show. The opening band was called The Magic Numbers, and they did some lovely pop melodies and occasionally spoke between songs, which is really all you need to do when you are British. Then Sonic Youth came on and did pretty much the ideal show. They mixed up the setlist with some newer stuff and some stuff from Daydream Nation and had a couple of sections of blissed-out feedback. I think two guitars got it on for a minute. It was sweet.

I would have paid the forty bucks just for that, but the show was just ramping up. The Flaming Lips took great pains setting up multiple projectors for a rear-projected screen on the back of the stage, which was starting to get a little old, when suddenly Superman and Captain America walked out on stage. I figured out quickly that they were the guitar techs, which is brilliant. Usually those guys just hang out at the side of the stage, but The Lips just made them part of the show. Then lady aliens on the left of the stage faced off against Santas on the right, followed by Wayne Coyne getting into a giant inflatable hamster ball that he rolled out onto the crowd. Confetti everywhere. Indie people having a really good time (again, WTF!!!) I guess if I had ever been to a Flaming Lips show before, none of this would have surprised me, but I was pretty much blown away.

So I got back to Des Moines around 2 in the morning, got to bed by 2:30, and woke up at 7:30 to get ready for a seven hour canoe trip. Yeah. Seven hours. It was a lot of canoeing, which I’m okay with. I love canoeing, and there was beer everywhere. But yeah, after a while, I decided it would be a good idea to take my shirt off. I went through all of high school and all of college without taking my shirt off in public, which means outside, which means holy crap my back was not ready for that. Imagine the palest skin ever enduring the kind of sun you get on a canoe trip (diffused by some clouds and reflected off of the water) for about six hours. Now imagine me smearing aloe all over my back, because that is what I am doing right now. OMG it hurts. But whatever, it was a good time, and I haven’t been canoeing in years. Some things are worth the pain.

Which reminds me, I need to start jogging. I’m way out of shape. But that’s another blog.

For your surreal enjoyment:

I finally sold my Triumph. I drove up to meet the buyer with a number in my head that would get me closer to a new motorcycle, and the buyer had an envelope ready with that exact amount in freshly pressed hundreds. I enjoyed taking that to the bank.

So goodbye to this fine bike:

And hello to something looking a little more like this:

Maybe even by tomorrow night.

Also, Victoria Cleaners on Grand Avenue called while I was out selling the bike. Apparently, the red shirt that I thought they lost has just been sitting there waiting for me to pick it up. Time to buy a lottery ticket.

Normally, I’m not the biggest Springsteen fan. I figure he hasn’t really rocked since ‘92, and everything before that is just getting old. A free ticket is a free ticket, though, and when my friend Joe called me Saturday night to tell me three people had backed out on him so far, I thought I should probably just go. It was a tour with the Seeger Sessions band, anyway, so even with Bruce Springsteen on stage, I figured he wouldn’t just be “The Boss.” (This, by the way, seemed to upset a rather disagreeable fellow in a Harley shirt who was standing behind Joe and me yelling, “Seventies, Bruce! That’s what made you!”) My hunch was confirmed immediately by the band taking the stage to the sounds of “Down to the River to Pray” from the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. With the set list leaning heavily toward the Seeger songs, the music was at times spiritual, inspirational, and just good. I was pleasantly surprised to enjoy myself.

Actually, my masochistic indie soul is just seething inside that I didn’t get an opportunity to complain about suffering through another washed-up rocker old enough to be my dad. Shucks.

Also, my apartment is so clean right now. It is weird. The party never really got to crazy levels, so there wasn’t much to clean up except the snacks on the dining room table. There is still some leftover booze in the little fridge, so I almost feel like throwing another party already, and this time really inviting people. W00t. Thanks to everyone who came. It was cool to see some people from Ames again, and my friend, Amy, from Chicago was even there. Next time, I’ll give you all a little more notice. Like 8 days instead of just a week.

This afternoon, around 3 o’clock, my sister told me the fuses were blown in our bathroom. I called the landlord and went back to doing whatever it was I was doing at work. Around six, I showed my motorcycle to an interested buyer, so it was about six-thirty when I walked in the back door. I heard noises, and sure enough, my landlord, handyman in tow, was still trying to get my power on. Somehow, they couldn’t figure out which fuses went to the bathroom/kitchen/my bedroom (yes, that is a lot of area to cover on one circuit.) They replaced every fuse in the box that they thought belonged to me, then replaced one that they thought didn’t. Of course, that was the one. We went around flipping lights on and off, turning on fans, and generally being happy that things were working again. They left, and I went to get some water from the fridge.

The fridge is off. Not only that, but the stove next to it won’t light. The crazy thing is that they are on regular 120 outlets. The one that the fridge and stove use and one nearby are not working. Three rooms are covered by one circuit, and these two get one to themselves. Plus, the fuses all look fine and I can’t figure out which one is causing the problem. Ugh. I only hope the fridge is working by Friday, or we are all drinking warm beer.

UPDATE: Megan says the power is back on. Rock.

I finally put some pictures up from my vacation. So far, I’m not even done scanning in the pics from the first full day. I think pictures from the trip to Sonoma are still at the photo lab, so I need to go pick them up.