Thursday night John and Maura showed up at my place to crash. Which is hardly a new phenomenon; however, they unexpectedly brought along Colin, John's DJ friend from Indiana who was spinning with him at the Hexagon that night. Now, our living room has a futon and a sofa, and quite easily sleeps at least three people, so the practicality of it was no issue; but all the same, for a moment I was actually somewhat irritated that John had brought a total stranger--decent guy as it turns out, but still a total stranger at that point--to crash in my house with zero notice. Which is surprising, because I usually enjoy it immensely when people crash at my place.
Which leads me to believe that I am truly getting old and slow in the brain. I am not much for this ceaseless socializing anymore. My roommate's falling in with some new friends who are still in college, and even though they seem like decent guys who ride bikes and play guitars, something rubs me the wrong way about them--like how they talk about smoking up, or repeatedly use the utterances "sheeit" (a la The Wire) and "chron," or one of those nigh-imperceptible things. I'm also getting tired of the dance scene where producers slice up any quiet, ethereal song and slip the same 4-on-the-floor beat and sawtooth bassline under it. Like that Liars remix John spun on Thursday night. Everyone must dance. Everyone must get down and drink cheap hipster beer and party and I just want to say leave me alone. Leave me to my sun-baked afternoons holing up at my laptop editing distorted ambient lullabyes. That's my element. I hope my music never leaves the bedroom.
[EDIT: I wandered down to Sonar tonight, made a couple new friends, and saw a DJ by the alias of Emily Rabbit spin Black Flag's "Rise Above" and Burma's "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" consecutively. Maybe there is hope for me yet.]
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1 comment:
glad you're on board. sheeeit. you would like jess and my's new friend. come to slumherville.
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