The frauline with the fur-lined everything slices priceless cucumbers with rotten watermelon hands. It’s a bloody Mary Monday and even the garbage disposal is in love, albeit with its own cumbersome digestion. Somewhere, surely, someone is happy slapping a strangled stranger in a moldy motel for money. The newspaper was late today but the sweet and sour swastika was right on time with its festive best wishes.
So I’ve been kind of absent from this blog recently, not for lack of interest, but more lack of time. I am studying abroad right now in Dublin and am a little too busy (before I left for Dublin, I wasn’t posting because I’m lazy, let’s just admit it) to keep up with this blog, my own personal blog, e-mails and the schoolwork that is soon to come. I do have a file on my computer of many yet to be posted Jim lyrics and poetry that I want to jhave up here soon, but we’ll see what happens. Either I’ll try to get some stuff up here occasionally when I have my personal computer, or I’ll just wait until the program is done and start posting voraciously once I’m back. Either way, the blog is not dead, just stagnating for a brief while. If one of you lovely people happens to get desperate for some of Jim’s words before I can post again, may I recommend his band, Matt Ricci and the Sometimes Y, their latest album is on I-tunes and is quite lovely, sad, but lovely.
So the evening went sort of like this. First we put a bottle of Southern Comfort in a couple of Rock Stars. Second, we drank that Southern Comfort on the bus to Providence Rhode Island. Third we ended up at the wrong venue disastrously intoxicated and quite confused. Fourth,we took a cab to the right venue. Fifth, we drank some more. Sixth we managed not to throw up. Seventh, I gave up on this numbers thing because I got rather bored of it. We listened to a crappy opener, then went to go have a cigarette, and some girl asked me what Jukebox the Ghost looked like (I think she had it in her head that he was one guy, like Owl City) I promised that they would be easy to identify as they are all bearded hipsters, which is when the BEST I repeat BEST thing ever happened…. No seriously, it was amazing. I just hear from behind me”Hey I just have a mustache” and when I turn around, there is Jessie Kristin looking adorably indignant, I apologized and fangirled for more than a moment before getting scolded by Jim for being super-mega uncool. We proceeded to go inside, me blushing crimson like a school girl from my encounter, and listened to more crappy openers for a while. Then Jukebox the Ghost started setting up and we got our places (sidenote: somehow during most of the night, especially the setting up period, Tommy Seigel managed to make out with his girlfriend next to us, and we switched locations at least three times). Then, well, then they played, and it was just lovely, tons of stuff off of both albums, plus two new songs, a precious cover of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and a rather tragic Rick Roll, the only sour part of a very sweet evening. There was even that moment when Jessie winked at me during Hold It In because I had made sure during my breif time as a fangirl that it was going to get played. We had to leave early to catch a bus but we only missed one or two songs, and it was totally worth it for the new stuff, and you know, not getting stranded in Providence at one A.M with no way home, but mostly the new stuff. In short, it was utterly amazing, and despite the beer in my hair, the bad taste in my mouth from the opening bands and Jim’s apathy, I had such a lovely time, and will now go to bed pretending that that wink from Jessie was a promise that he would take me on tour with him and his band mates.
I hope you feel better soon Anna, (the only person who might have read this ridiculous post all the way through, and who is the reason I started listening to Jukebox the Ghost) being that sick is terrible enough without having to worry about your room mate hearing everything.
Tomorrow we will return to our regularly scheduled programming, or: witty lyrics that my super smart friend writes and I copy down in wonder… or there might be another JTG post, it depends on how I’m feeling.
Less than five hours untill Jukebox the Ghost with Jim! I might pee my pants… I probably will pee my pants… we’ll be drinking a lot.
Like unidentified vapors dating an ignition source, you might make me burst into flames, I think I love you, which is to say, I’ve said it before and it goes both ways.
Like a spider she waits in the shower for a days length of hours hoping she doesn’t inexplicably drown, and like an owl she can swivel her head all the way around, well more like Linda Blair than an owl, but as I hand her a towel to take away her tremors, she reminds me, no girl wants to be remembered like that.
A shaved orangutan and I hope I didn’t spoil the ending, gold diggers with shovels bigger than their smarmy charmlessness and I’m looking forward, fucking determined to undo the Dewey Decimal System one shoplifted literary whore story at a time.
Playing hide and seek in a mute speakeasy withy my favorite demented damsel in distress, appolying drastic procrastination to the tips of our fingers like blackmail nail polish, it’s right across the street fromthe library and the sexy nativity scene that the Mayor vehemently denies is in any way a reflection of his personal life, but we wouldn’t have elected him if he wasn’t a liar, are you high enough right now?
I want her to beg for my attention, I demand that she climb down off of her high horse and contribute something meaningful and stop complaining about barren uterus cramps and Iwanttobesomethingunrealisticanddifferenteveryweekbadly, if she plays the prodigal whore again she won’t even get the satisfation of a scream out of me.
The humble administrator of this James Finch appreciation blog will be going to see Jukebox the Ghost live in under ninety hours, I am as excited as a penguin with a new pair of pants (I expect that penguins don’t get new pants very often, and that they must get quite excited when they do).
