Friday, May 01, 2009
There's a ghost in me who wants to say I'm sorry
Brief post today because I have to go golfing shortly. I know. What the fuck, right? I don't golf but for some reason our vendors think it's a great idea to get all of the managers sloshed every year and watch them repeatedly miss the ball while swinging over and over. To say I don't golf is actually an understatement. I fucking hate golf. It is, like, the worst fucking sport ever.
So the reason I'm feeling so salty this morning is Hubs and went to the Ladytron/The Faint concert last night and I didn't get to bed til 1-ish. Then had to roll out of bed at 6. Guuuhhh I am hurting. Our friend with swine flu showed up, not to mention hordes of unwashed masses were also there (I don't think these alternative types shampoo), so I am pretty much a ticking time bomb.
The Faint fucking rocked it. They were badass. I am sort of in love with one of the guitarists, he reminded me of Adam Lambert of American Idol in a slightly less gay way.
But Ladytron? My ladies? Of Ladytron? What the fuck, girls? Need a new sound tech, much? All I heard was bass and drums. It was bloody terrible, I'm sorry to say. I consoled myself by listening to the CD on the way to work this morning. I was sorely, sorely disappointed with last night's performance. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the ladies' physical performance was about as exciting as watching grass grow. If I wanted to watch two wooden marionettes twist knobs for an hour and a half I'd ... well, fuck, I don't know, I'd watch "Pinocchio" or something.
So anyway, Happy Friday interwebs. Here's to hitting balls with sticks!