A long buzzing behind the eyes.
Now less than 12-odd hours removed from one of the finest nights in recent memory, it's hard to say what's finally driven me to start on this fool's errand. Between Bryan's job, Jacq's birthday (and the hyper-activity on her part that it would necessarily entail), and the fact that it was snowing on the last day of April... Then again, maybe it was the energy of standing mere feet from Moby as he put on one of the best performances I've experienced in recent memory. Or maybe it was the inspiration of hearing his bassanova renditions of Radiohead, Skynard, and a bit of hair-metal I simply can't recall at the moment... Maybe it's just the fact that I need to write about something to get my mind going, and seeing Moby at the Fox last night seems an appropriately vapid first post for what is essentially an act of pathetic self-indugence. The Fox, FYI, maxes-out at about 625, and we were 6 of those, so you do the math--"intimate" really is a silly word some times.
You'll have to check out Nephew's post over on MuscleBeach (an ironically titled site, indeed) for any real details about the show (if he ever gets around to posting). If nothing else, the top half of the set-list he procured from under the nose of an out-of-place 40-something sweat-factory with a comb-back and mad, but slow, intents on getting said list for himself should serve as a better record of the show than my memory. Neph's posts, like his personality, can be a bit overwhelming for those of us graced with slightly less 'energetic' demeanors, but his cheese doesn't stink, and like mold on any aged bit of fromage blanc, he grows on you.
Then again, you could just let the man tell you in his own words.
While we're at the business of envy-making (or not), here's another little bit news for those that care: I'm off to Boston at summer's end; August, to be exact. Mich has a tenure-track position awaiting her arrival, and with respect to academe, my time here has been nothing but wasted. There's only the dissertation left to write, and I certainly don't need, nor do I want, to be here for that, so it's away from the mountains and back to the sea for this wandering Aquarian. Er...yeah... Um... Anyway...
The sad turth of late is that even this post has a one-in-a-million chance of ever being completed. My writers' block--actually, let's be honest--my writing phobia has advanced to such a degree that even replying to the simplest of emails has become near impossible. The words are there, somewhere near the front of my skull, and they're polished and exact, but that's where they remain. I'm certain that's where they're located--the articles I can no longer write--pinpointed by the long buzzing behind my eyes. And what reason is there to think that I should be able to feel myself think? That there isn't some bit of proprioception that is tuned into the non-linear dynamics of large-scale brain activity, seems like an incredible oversight, IMO. Or not. I don't care to argue about it right now. All I know is that as I try to sleep, fail, try again, and inevitably fail again, that's where I feel the tension...and the buzzing...
[Actually, I prefer Thompson and Verela's work on the subject, but I'm just too bloody lazy to look links up right now.]
You'll have to check out Nephew's post over on MuscleBeach (an ironically titled site, indeed) for any real details about the show (if he ever gets around to posting). If nothing else, the top half of the set-list he procured from under the nose of an out-of-place 40-something sweat-factory with a comb-back and mad, but slow, intents on getting said list for himself should serve as a better record of the show than my memory. Neph's posts, like his personality, can be a bit overwhelming for those of us graced with slightly less 'energetic' demeanors, but his cheese doesn't stink, and like mold on any aged bit of fromage blanc, he grows on you.
Then again, you could just let the man tell you in his own words.
While we're at the business of envy-making (or not), here's another little bit news for those that care: I'm off to Boston at summer's end; August, to be exact. Mich has a tenure-track position awaiting her arrival, and with respect to academe, my time here has been nothing but wasted. There's only the dissertation left to write, and I certainly don't need, nor do I want, to be here for that, so it's away from the mountains and back to the sea for this wandering Aquarian. Er...yeah... Um... Anyway...
The sad turth of late is that even this post has a one-in-a-million chance of ever being completed. My writers' block--actually, let's be honest--my writing phobia has advanced to such a degree that even replying to the simplest of emails has become near impossible. The words are there, somewhere near the front of my skull, and they're polished and exact, but that's where they remain. I'm certain that's where they're located--the articles I can no longer write--pinpointed by the long buzzing behind my eyes. And what reason is there to think that I should be able to feel myself think? That there isn't some bit of proprioception that is tuned into the non-linear dynamics of large-scale brain activity, seems like an incredible oversight, IMO. Or not. I don't care to argue about it right now. All I know is that as I try to sleep, fail, try again, and inevitably fail again, that's where I feel the tension...and the buzzing...
[Actually, I prefer Thompson and Verela's work on the subject, but I'm just too bloody lazy to look links up right now.]
posted by Nomina at 12:49
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1 Comments:
My review of the show is coming soon, just waiting on some of those cell phone photos to make it my way...
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