KateR (pooplord) wrote,

as it soaks you to the bone

Pain in the morning rain, indeed. Yesterday in DC it was just... dear god. It was gross. I was depressed as all get out to begin with, Sunday night lingering into Monday morning, and some sun or even just dry turf could've cured that partially at least, but no. Es regnet und regnet. Forgive my lack of proper tense there; we'll just pretend it's still raining at present, even though we seem to have a bit of a reprieve at the moment, enough to make me want to celebrate with a tall cappuccino this morning, which I did, thankyouverymuch.

Anyhoo, this reminded me of the day of the Radiohead concert last year, Sunday, May 11, which I don't think I wrote about at all at the time because everyone and their mother (I mean, I suppose it WAS Mother's Day, ahem) was already busy doing that, giving their take on however many hours they spent stuck in traffic getting there and/or coming back, road closures due to flooding, the general incompetence of Nissan Pavilion staff, how much of the set they missed, etc., and, for some people such as two of my dearest friends, how they returned to their house sometime past 1am to find their basement completely underwater with a lot of musical gear stored down there. So, you know, my take on it seemed relatively trivial (yes, we had traffic getting there and leaving, we got completely soaked, we missed at least the first seven or eight songs, but it was still giddiness-inducing, blah blah blah).

I don't really have a point to this post, I suppose, which I hate, and you probably hate too as a reader. I'm just trying to get back into the swing of writing in this thing, because I always say that I'm going to, and then I just spend more time posting pointless 140-character-or-less Twitter updates and responding to people's Facebook statusesesesessss when I could be writing something of length and meaning. Then again, brevity is the soul of wit. I think I missed that lesson somewhere down the line, though. Parentheses, man... parentheses and near-Faulknerian stream of consciousness are the soul of wit! And puns. Bad puns/uncle jokes.

Quick update on actual goings-on in my life besides food poisoning: bought a house, painted and spruced up, ripped a bunch of things down, moved, ripped even more things down, played cello in the pit orchestra for another musical, may have two cats for a short while because my sister needs me to catsit her fat tortie, still have to rip a whole bunch more things down and generally tear shit apart, about to finish my first class in my second attempt at grad school, that sort of thing. And I have a job, which I'm obviously not doing right now, so here I go.
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