walls are props

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot

That should be my competing website. Sorry, Nick and Derek. It’s true. I’ve been bored out of my mind in Des Moines the past couple of weeks, so this weekend… I left. I pretty much spent all weekend somewhere else. Somehow I was in Ames on all three official days of the weekend. Friday night, my sister dragged me up to Ames to go to the Boheme. Awesome. I didn’t get home until 4. Saturday, I went to Ames for a bit of a hair touch-up and then continued on to Waterloo. Love you, Mom! Then on Sunday, I drove from Waterloo directly to Ames instead of going home and proceeded to spend the whole day there meeting friends, meeting my dad on his way home from western Iowa, and basically staying up until waaaay too late. Like I got home after three. And I’m not all that tired.

So if you live in Des Moines, we should hang out. Otherwise, I’m just going to write more incomprehensible Harper-style posts about the fun I’m having in some city you never go to. Maybe this is what sleep deprivation does to you. Maybe I should sleep. Maybe I shoulzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Some stuff about fur. I’m not even sure if I really care about the poor lamb fetuses, but there are some very interesting quotes in this article.

“Very often they do not know what they are looking at. They just think it’s pretty.”

“She’s buying fashion. She’s not going into Prada and asking, ‘Where did this come from?’ It’s like when somebody goes and buys a diamond. They’re not asking what mine it came from either.”

Yeah, people have been trying to spread the news about the effed-up way the diamond trade operates for years, but I don’t even think most people know about the relationships between guns and diamonds. It’s true, you might be supporting a civil war. I would almost rather buy cocaine than diamonds. Well, maybe not. But there are a lot of rich people who buy both.

Am I trying to indict fashion consumers as self-absorbed and uncaring? OMG, this post is ending now.

I just can’t let my sister into my apartment anymore. Trouble, trouble. She was doing laundry last night, and when she left there was a cat on my stairs. Instead of shooing it away like a normal person, she picked. it. up. And now it won’t go away. I had to hold onto it to keep it from jumping into her car, and then it followed me into the apartment. I think it – she, in fact – is in heat. I am mildly allergic to cats. My lease specifies no pets, especially no cats.

Other than that, it’s pretty cool. She is a beautiful all black cat, which I haven’t seen in a long time. I guess I could use her to summon creepy ancient spirits or something. Plus, she really likes people, which might just be an issue with her reproductive cycle, but whatever.

If anyone wants a cat, I really shouldn’t keep her. She definitely needs a visit to the vet. And a name. But once I give her a name, it’s going to be hard to get rid of her.

This is no good.

The Street Urchins made my ears bleed and caused me to question my sexuality. I was only going to the show because I absolutely had to see Holly Golightly (touring with The Woggles,) but all of a sudden these guys in black makeup and studded leather clothing came out and ROCKED MY FACE OFF. As usual, my friends complained about the opening band and left. Whatever, they just couldn’t handle it.

The Woggles were awesome, too, but in that more current retro-indie way. (Current retro? Indie trends are messed up.) But they had everyone dancing and a lot of people were shouting for an encore. They were a polite opening band and declined.

Holly Golightly, the reason I came, did not disappoint. I got the feeling she did research to find out what words Americans are just dying to hear British people use. I heard “This audience is lovely,” “You’re all so civilized,” etc. It nearly made me blush. The show really seemed to kick into high gear when the guitarist went to drums and the drummer moved up to an electric organ about halfway through the show. Organs rule the dance floor.

A note to the Vaudeville Mews: the stage volume seemed appropriate for the first band, but I was still being blasted by the second band and had to strain to make out any of the vocals. I know it’s a “rock” show, but I didn’t pay ten dollars to accelerate my developing tinnitus. Thankfully, I could make out some of Holly’s vocals, or I would have seriously wanted my money back. Cranking the PA until it blows a fuse is no substitute for actually making the music sound good.