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mood |
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imperfect, baby |
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music |
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Madonna "Frozen" |
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Hi, you know what's great is when I keep accidentally taking week-long hiatuses from the deadjournal. I have to stop that. During this time, it's good that I keep communicating and dishing and explaining, believe me. If you see me walking through the halls at school after I haven't updated for awhile, kick my ass, because I should be on that ball.
Alright, first of all, I went and saw Liz Phair at the Vic in Chicago the other day with Rachel, and what a day that was. Rachel and I stumbled onto the train and a couple of buses with surprising accuracy. We made two stops along the way at Borders and H&M, where there was a pinstripe black button-down shirt that was made for Louis Virtel. It said so on the label, for real, I was weirded out. We arrived at the Vic pretty early, like around four. My words when arriving: "Oh wow, it's the Vic...kind of shitty..." From the outside, the theatre looks run-down and a little projects-esque. Well, anyway, we made it there and me Rachel were the fourth and fifth people in line. Very special since it's a first-come-first-serve sort of thing for seats. Rachel and I also had our emergency foodstuffs in hand for our death-defyingly long line wait...me with my brown sugar pop tarts and Rachel with her foreign language candy. We were sure roughing it. It actually wasn't too difficult to remain standing outside for long since it was breezy and our muscles were tightened as it was. So me and Rachel made good conversation and successfully avoided the creep-ass guy behind us who was from Bolingbrook. Finally, doors opened at six, and after being padded down by security (and Rachel fubmling through her purse to find the goddamn tickets), we were in the Vic. We got in, and we were front row on the middle-right. Perfect spot. One problem with the whole scenario though: you must stand the entire time when you're at the Vic. I had already been standing outside, and when we went inside, the standing only continued. The opening acts were...well...opening acts. Patrick Park looked like James Taylor circa 1974, and he had this Irish brogue going for him. His songs weren't bad, but they all sounded the same, and Patrick himself was a little confused as to when he was going to stop singing. Two songs in a row, he said, "This is my last song, goodbye Chicago." Patrick, you can only do that once. The next opener was Rachael Yamagota, who had an interesting voice and many bottles of alcohol. They were everywhere. She was better than Patrick, but I wasn't there to see her, and it was pain to keep standing. So after awhile, Liz finally came out, and she looked stunning and rockstar-ish, of course. Her set went really well, nothing new, but that was okay. What puzzled me was that I was standing next to two people who had been in line for hours (even longer than how long me and Rachel were there) and they only knew some of the words to "Extraordinary" and "Why Can't I?". I don't understand standing in line for years to see someone you only sort-of-know. That'd be like me waiting hours for a Jim Croce concert. Nonetheless, Liz rocked, and she and I had a moment of connection (I think) during "Johnny Feelgood." The flying sparks blinded some of the fans. I wish she could've performed "What Makes You Happy," "Johnny Sunshine," "Jealousy," and "It's Sweet" but it was worth my money, no regrets. After the show (and the staged encore...why do they even DO that?), I bought a t-shirt that may be a little too small, yeesh. We'll see, maybe I just won't wash it. Yeah I said that.
Hmmm alright, in other news... I got into an online fight with Catherine. It was pretty brutal. I felt bad for even initiating conversation in the first place, but once she started trying to make snotty jabs at me, all I had to say back was "fuck you." She called me arrogant, which would've been insulting if she knew what that meant. Oh well, I suppose shit had to hit the fan sooner or later. I'm really not afraid to turn this caper my way and really tell people what's going on. Who's privacy am I supposed to be respecting again? Because it sure seems like some people don't give a shit about mine. So screw them.
Umm, by the way, Elyse's independent play, Illuminating the Future With a Blowtroch sure happened, and brother did it kick ass. Everyone was on top of his/her game: Eric, Erin, Monica, Mike, and I. Elyse and Mandra both figured out the lighting and sound just MINUTES before the actual performance. The Tony Award selection committee should be wetting themselves at this. There were times during the show where there was frigging uproar in the crowd...that may have been because Jim and Dan from BDEC were there, and their laughs alone have been known to fill up rooms. Altogether, a completely successful endeavor. After the show, a bunch of us went out to Chili's and I was on a drama-induced high the whole time. Mike Sherry and Eric and I were pretty giddy about it all. I'm still giddy about it now. Wonder if it'll make the yearbook.
This is something I love: during Problems class, me and Monica got into a detailed discussion about why we are fucked up. Literally. It started with me saying, "Monica, I am so fucked up." And she's like "Me too..." and it just snowballed marvelously from there. Here's what's fucked up and human about me... well, here's as much of the fucked up stuff as I can recall, anyway...
No matter what I do, I can't regain a kind of connection I thought I once had. I try all these things and resort to all these things in some hope that I can find a kindred spirit once again... it's loneliness, and that blows. So fucked up. I'm entirely self-disclosing and can't stand to not have things solved. I'm pretentious and over-analytical, and my strange intensity sometimes makes me only focus on the negative. Which doens't necessarily make me a pessimist, just a stickler for logic and conclusion. Whyyyyy. Senior year sucks so hard, the impending feeling of leaving everything behind but still not feeling motivated enough to work up to that change or be excited. Everything feels like its already been done. I'm in dire need of a second childhood or something. Well, college is coming. I guess that means prayers have been answered(?).
For now, I don't have much more to say, I'm in an odd mood and I'm confused and distracted about what happened with Catherine, actually. As one of my characters in Blowtorch noted in his heartfelt monologue, "I'm bailin' this town, momma!" So true. God, that kid was feelin' it. So, I'm gone for now, I'm still fucked up and making do with it all. Don't be afraid to embrace your fucked-up-edness and accept it and work through it. There's no reason to make excuses. We all understand that you and I and everyone aren't perfect. Let's move on. Are you game?
Louis.
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