Drawings Of Running And Jumping Men

The weather is finally acceptable. I feel practically optimistic! But not quite.

I'm headed up to Cambridge tomorrow for the annual FSF meeting. Usually I wake up at an obscene hour on Saturday morning and high-tail it over to East Broadway to hop on Fung-Wah, but this time around, I thought I'd be smart and get there on time. I'm gonna head up after work tomorrow and spend the night at Joel's new house in Boston.

Last night I felt like going for a run -- anxious, depressed, in need of endorphins -- but Eve had called and had offered to cook food for me, so I was faced with a dilemma. In a slightly unorthodox move, I decided to jog over to her house instead of around the park. It turned out to be just the right idea -- I haven't gone running in over six months, and the 11 horizontal blocks and 3 long vertical blocks to Eve's place were practically too much for me. I'd brought a change of underclothes and took a quick shower once I'd gotten there. Her shower is more of a powerful misting than it is a shower, but it gets you clean nonetheless. In return for the delicious tofu stir-fry she'd cooked for me and her roommate, Susan, I popped in a new wireless router for her and set it up to replace one that'd died last week.

This evening I swung by The Annex to see Contramano on a tip from flavorpill. The band that opened for them was mopey and shitty, but Contramano themselves were pretty badass. The lead singer is, apparently, a classically-trained cellist from Brazil, and for many of the songs he plays what appears to be some kind of modified cello with no body, only the neck and some pickups. (Update: Squick tells me this is what electric cellos look like.) For other songs, he ditched an instrument entirely and just kind of roamed around the audience dancing with the girls and singing into a wireless mic. The lyrics were not, you know, Yeats or some shit, but he had a nicely plaintive delivery and the playing by all the members was vigorous. They were playing over a fucking backing track, though -- one that had drums, even. What the shit is up with people doing that these days? I feel like a lot of people are doing that these days.

The bartender comped me a second Jameson's and ginger ale for some reason and made it very strong. Usually that's a real pick-me-up, but tonight it just kind of made me sulkier. I was still feeling really drunk when I got home, hours after slurping it down. It's been a drinky week, what with Emma getting unfairly sacked by the Voice. Everyone's been getting loaded.