Music

Last night before work was finished my ex called me and asked if I wanted to go to a Designer's fundraiser for AIDS or something. Our friend David is on the board of directors for the organization and I hadn't seen him in some time, plus there was to be a buffet and I was hungry, so I said, "what time will we be done? I have to be at The Empty Bottle at 9:30 (I was going to see a show about which I'll write more on briefly). It was chronally copacetic, so I decided it would be no harm and went. It was a typical foofie fundraiser. Lots of rich people. A silent auction of ugly things that no one needs. A buffet with all the good food already picked over (it started at 6 and we got there around 7).
There was one cute guy who had basically gotten the attention of practically every person attracted to males in the place and he seemed the topic on everyone's lips. No one knew if he was straight or gay and David insisted on calling him his new boyfriend. Later, Tommy and Steve and some others were in line by the bar and the cute guy cut in line. I walked over and asked, "hey did you order yet?" Their response was that they would have but apparently THERE'S TWO LINES," raising their voices toward the end that way in hopes that the cute guy would hear and feel guilty or something. I said, "oh, you mean there's one line for you and all these nice people and one line for David's boyfriend?" When I got back to our little base of operations (a coctail table) everyone said that David had to break up with him. He conceded.
No one won anything at the auction except Tommy who got a pair of towels and some soap for like $80. See? Kinda useless expensive stuff. But I suppose it's for a good cause. That's what everyone kept saying.

After the fundraiser, I went to see a local band called Mt. St. Helens with John. Recently he and I had a conversation which felt a little more like an intervention about my concert-going.
"I mean, what do you get out of going to four shows in four nights, anyway?"
I had told him that there were four shows in a row this week and I kind of wanted to go to them all. I even said at the time that I probably wouldn't go to all four of them because I knew it wasn't realistic. Actually, it was 5 in a row. With Version>05 happening and it also being a generally busy touring season, there's just a lot going on. Tuesday night it was Rotten Milk vs. Bubblegum Shitface, which I skipped mostly cuz I was tired and also afraid that it might suck, because it was experimental. Wednesday night it was Animal Collective, who've gotten interesting write-ups in the reader the last two times they played. And, c'mon, they dress up like animals while they play pop music, what's not to like? I ended up skipping that in deference to said musical intervention.
So, last night was Mt. St. Helens. They're awesome. It wasn't even that long ago that I saw them last (and blogged about them), which made me partially feel guilty, but whatever. John not only liked them, but said after the show, "now I kinda want to go see the show tomorrow," which would be the show that's happening tonight, Super/System. The boys of Super/System used to be called El Guapo. I have one El Guapo album, actually called Super/System. I don't know if this is a similar case like when the Descendents changed their name to All once they became "allular" and were "good enough" to call themselves that or what, but I do know that last time I saw El Guapo, they didn't sound like the album Super/System. Super/System is really kind of mathy and technical and a little weird, and live they were more dancey and discoey and fun. I like both forms of El Guapo/Super/System.
Tomorrow is Princess, who are a couple of awesome local boys who make interesting and fun music that I often describe as "arty white boy rap." Think maybe Scissor Sisters on acid with an emphasis on the subjects of gender and politics. They're part of the Version 05 fest going on right now.
Also in conjunction with this was a movie night at the Buddy/Heaven/High School gallery spaces in Wicker Park. John and I only stayed to watch the one film that really caught my attention, which was called The Take. It was about all of the factories that closed in Argentina after recent economic downturns as a result of poor leadership by former Argentinian president, Menem, and as a result, factory workers sort of "occupying" those factories and re-opening them without management, making decisions based on consensus in "assemblies." It was a really moving film and really scary at the same time. Menem's way of governing was to give businesses every incentive imaginable so they could take advantage of the situation, but then also allowing them to literally take off with all their money and leave thousands and thousands of people jobless.
Hmm, pandering to corporations. Sound like any presidents we know?
Anyway, good film, try and see it.

November Spawned a Monster

Sunday night I had a birthday party. It was pretty fun. There was a decent turnout. I got some cool presents. Most notably a Star Wars belt buckle and some tulips. Oh, and an Ugly Doll action figure. There was a keg that we didn't finish, but I turned thirty so the drinking is naturally being de-emphasized and most of my heavy-drinkin' friends don't live in Chicago anymore. I realized at about 2 in the morning that I hadn't taken a single picture. D'oh.

Special thanks go out to everybody who made it and a big fuck you to those who didn't.

Just kiddin'.

Mostly.

I went and saw my mom on Tuesday. It was a little heartbreaking to watch her try and make her legs move and struggle to walk and all that. She went in for a spinal tap yesterday, the results of which won't be in for a week or something, I'm told. I think my sister's kind of in denial about the situation because she kept saying things like, "I hope they find out what's wrong with her," and stuff like that. I mean, yes, it will help, but knowing what a problem is doesn't really solve anything. Not being able to walk is pretty serious and I don't think that they'll just have a pill that will make it go away.

She's probably in denial for good reason, as there's no one better qualified to take care of my mother than my sister if she needs that kind of care. Kind of sucks, but there's not much that can be done about it.

Last night I went to see Amityville Horror with Greg and John. It was good and scary. I screamed aloud, which made my companions laugh and got mentioned after the show. My opinion is that if I don't scream, I'm not getting my money's worth. Oh, and many scenes with Ryan Reynolds with no shirt didn't hurt, either.

What you wish for

I swear it's like I'm suffering from some disease or something. It's this crippling condition that stops me in my tracks every time I write. I start to feel extremely bored by my own words. I've started a number of blogs over the past few weeks but I never get through more than a paragraph or so and then I just cancel out of it. Sure, some of the time it's because of some practical reason, like work gets really busy or something, but more often than not, I just lose the impulse to write and communicate.

I haven't suffered from this terrible affliction for nearly 7 years. 7 years ago I was dating this guy Bill who used to be very subtly mentally abusive. He was the kind of guy everybody liked...until they got to know him. Constantly introducing him to my friends and family to always golden reviews made me think my creeping feelings of disinterest in him weren't warranted. I mean, everyone else likes him, what must be wrong with me?

Anyway, he used to always tell me I wasn't very socially graceful and that I would say things that people didn't want to hear or something like that. Eventually, this got to me and I became more withdrawn. So much so that I even withdrew inside my own mind. I'd rarely have internal conversations anymore. Indeed, thought seemed to disappear from my mind. I started merely existing, floating from one experience to another, barely acknowledging any feelings I might be experiencing.

By no means is my current affliction so...severe, but I do feel remnants of that time in my heart. It's somewhat inexplicable in my current time/space. There's no reason why I should be down on myself. Although I suppose there's certain expectations of becoming 30 that I haven't been addressing, so there may be something there.

Anyway, getting back to my subject line.

The other day I was talking to Topher about wishing something would happen in my life that I would find somewhat interesting so that I might then want to write about it. I hadn't blogged for weeks and, well, I've just explained my internal feelings. Anyway, later that day I got my wish.

After work, I opened the birthday card my mother had sent me. It had arrived late and she hadn't called me on the day of, so I was vaguely annoyed, but my mom and I have a pretty casual relationship so I didn't think about it too much. Inside, my mom had written,

I hope you had a happy birthday. I'm out of work for the next few days for some tests. I'm having trouble walking. Call me. I'm scared. Love, Mom."

I decide to tear up the $30 check she'd written me, thinking that she probably needs it more than me (eventhough I am broke - which leads me down a depressing tangent of this cycle of poverty with my family which I need to stop myself from going down).
Naturally I call her right away. She confirms what she wrote in the card and tells me her doctor thinks she may have MS.
Of course, I immediately think I know something about this because I watch West Wing and president Bartlett has relapsing remitting MS and I even ask my mom at some point if the doctor used that phrase. Either way, it's pretty scary to think about my mom being so helpless and it's also (god help me) kind of annoying because I'm so used to her being sick in some way. She's smoked since before I was born and is constantly suffering from sinus infections but refuses to quit smoking. She has carpal tunnel from years of being a secretary. Basically a call to my mom was just an update of her ailments, which never seemed to change, but because I'd waited long enough to call they'd subsided and returned already.
Obviously, MS is a little more serious and now the idea of my mom coming to the city to visit me is quite possibly something I can never take for granted again, which, again, is scary and sucks.
Being the youngest child in my family grants me having the experience of what most older adults have at a younger age. But this is early even for my sister, who is 8 years older than me. At least, I didn't see it coming.
We all thought my father, who's been a heavy drinker most of his life, would be debilitated first. Goes to show.

OK, so I guess I'm over the whole writer's block, unfortunately for all of you, who get to experience this mind-numbing depression. Venting has helped though.