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5/05/03 I am addicted to the hourly forecast on weather.com. It's the perfect accessory to my OCD about getting caught in the rain while inappropriately dressed. In some ways I am insane about planning, although only for short-term stuff (You will never catch me worrying about any sort of retirement fund, for example.) On Saturday I somehow got two cartoonists to dinner in Williamsburg on time, after dragging them out of Toy Tokyo and Air Market, on to the L, and past all the shiny people. I did a little jig in the middle of the street. (Once a producer always a producer, I guess.) Later we went to Sweetwater and played pool and drank beer and whiskey and then we split up, some of us going to Galapagos, others to North Six, and, in Dave's case to my house because he had to get up early for the WFMU record fair, where he had a table. At Galapagos I saw one of the worst bands I've seen in a while: Fanny and the Fumes (or something like that.) I guess it's some sort of joke band because the first five songs the female lead singer had a British accent, but after I came back from the bathroom, she didn't have the accent anymore. Britsh or American, the songs were no good. She kind of had that breathy, girly voice that I am not particularly a fan off, but then, to top it off, the lyrics were idiotic. "Glenn Gould, I think I love you?" "You look like James Dean?" It was sort of horrifying. At one point she requested that the sound guy turn up the vocals, and I said, "Don't listen to her." You know, sometimes being in a band needs to be a privilege, not a right. I was so disgruntled I left early and headed home. I had let Dave take my bed since I didn't want to wake him up when I came home. I crashed on the futon, and I kind of had some freaky dreams sleeping in a new place. I woke up at one point and said to Dave, "I'm laughing in my dreams." Also, when he woke me up to get a towel I was so fried I couldn't get the words out, so I said to him, "I. Can't. Make. Sentences." Finally, I got out, "Closet. High. Up. Towels." I was crazed with exhaustion after three separate out of town guests in three days. While I've always thought I had personality to spare, the fact is, there's only so many times you can bubble with energy before you can't explain that your towels are on the top shelf of your closet. By the time I hit the record fair with Maura and Joe, I had settled into a happy exhaustion. I was wearing pink sunglasses and comfortable shoes and I was content to shuffle around looking at pretty album covers. (Mothers of Invention covers were my favorites.) I ran into some folks I know here and there and I watched all the geeky boys freak out about their purchases. Also I ran into Bronwyn, who hosts a show about books on FMU, which she invited me to appear on. (June 4. Don't worry. I'll remind you.) And finally I agonized all day long over whether or not I should go see Ministry that night with the Brit rock critic. It was going to be LOUD. I was already tired. Clearly I would have turned in a majestic bitch performance. I went home and slept instead, saving my personality for another day when it can be used for good, not evil. |