I probably won’t be able to write tomorrow. While my ideal Friday night involves a sleeping pill at 8pm and maybe some half-remembered premium cable, tomorrow I’m reviewing the Tom Waits tribute show at Off Broadway. It doesn’t feature Tom Waits himself, obviously, but a bunch of bands playing Tom Waits songs because, well, Tom Waits is a magical genius of musical amazingness and also my personal hero and saint. And this is coming from a former Catholic, so you know I have a ton of insane and gruesome saints to choose from.
Tomorrow night will involve grocery shopping, a shower, and at least one pot of coffee before the show, which makes me have to take lots of bathroom breaks but keeps me awake past 10pm. Saturday will be waking up semi-early for another pot of coffee and writing the review, which I don’t have to submit until like 2pm but I like to get in before noon. This means that I won’t be going to the Dogtown parade, and this might bother me if I hadn’t eschewed celebrating the past few years in favor of making serious drunk money by bartending.
(Why doesn’t WordPress recognize the word “bartending?” It keeps telling me I misspelled it but I know I didn’t. I KNOW I DIDN’T, WORDPRESS. I did it, okay? I did it.)
I’m tired of writing about how many parties I’m not going to, so with consideration to my probable non-presence here until maybe Sunday (although maybe not even then, because we’re supposed to be in St. Clair at something like 11am so we can hang out with Graham’s family before getting home in time for THE SEASON FINALE OF THE WALKING DEAD MOTHERFUCKERS), this entry should be a valid placeholder.
Graham was originally going on a bike ride tonight after work, but after several 12+ hour days and hockey last night, for his own health and sanity, he decided to come home, instead. Which is mostly good, namely because we haven’t seen one another this week outside of maybe 3 minutes before sunrise each day. If he’d gone on the ride, though, I would have dealt with the treadmill while watching Airborne. It just arrived in the mail today. Please don’t ask me about Airborne, okay? If for some fucked up reason you’re not familiar with it, have some decency and check IMDB before sullying my childhood with your ignorance of the greatest film featuring teen rollerbladers and the city of Cincinnati in the history of moviemaking.
If I were in the basement tonight, I might have a jump on this alleged tornado. There was apparently a warning in effect earlier today, and now the map is a blotchy mess with a few tiny red dots sprinkled all over it. This frustrates me because I’m usually very good at maps, and it terrifies me because I get worried sick over tornadoes. I know you’re saying “who wouldn’t?” but the answer to that is “lots of people.” Lots of people don’t bother with their basements in the event of a tornado. Lots of people don’t freak out over the news ticker, flying debris, or sirens. Lots of people don’t give a shit about their lives or the lives of their cats, and that’s up to them, but in my house, springtime means beautiful weather some of the time but tornado warnings, too.
Also I think I might be developing an ulcer. Not because of tornadoes, mostly because of work. I have heartburn every day I’m there and it disappears when I get home. I don’t need tornadoes on top of this.
Airborne? Hell yeah. Oh hell yeah. That’s all I have to say. Oh hell yes.