Wednesday, November 09, 2005

My fingers hurt

I've been playing the guitar and piano a lot recently, and my fingers hurt. Perhaps its the pain that you're supposed to feel if you are a musician. I would be more inclined to think that the sort of pain musicians require is more along the lines of "oh my girl, she's gone" sort of pain, rather than, "ow, the tips of my fingers are frickin' bruised." I also had glass in my foot, and now it hurts! Damn! But none of this, of course, stopped me from going to see Marc Broussard. Might have to be equally as resolute to go see Ok Go, though I'm not as dedicated to the proposition that all their music will be life-altering as I was when it came down to a solo appearance for Marc.

Today I woke up late - too much chatting and looking at Google Earth with the buddies last night at chez Wamble. For some reason everyone was very self conscious that night- lots of "oh aren't we nerds to be discussing medival torture devices," etc... etc... this sortof sub-commentary really gets in the way of me learning that chastity belts had SPIKES on them! Ouch! Is that really necessary?
Seriously, is it? This is a terrifying side of human nature. Ugh, don't want to think about it.
Speaking of terrifying, I wore an Ann Taylor Loft outfit today, thinking I would be working there - but my shift got cut! It was rough.
I did look very professional for my internship, though. Not that it matters, as everyone seems to wear jeans. Oh you genre busting Generation Y and you're demands for flip flop appropriate dressing. Elegance is dying a slow and painful death, as my generation tightens its strangle-hold every day. Anyway, I do think I got to write 30 words about a Pink Floyd Tribute concert. Its a start. Even I'll admit that I don't have the practice to write features - yet. Though I wrote in like 3 languages everyday for 4 years, it doesn't really count for much other than being able to know your mind is well developed. And no, not over developed...those who'll tell others that their minds are overdeveloped by their snooty ivy league degrees (wharton doesn't count in this scenario, nor other business schools) are the sortof people who are making Stephen Colbert's job that much easier. I'm making unnecessarily complicated comparisons.
In light of attempting to move past 30 word nuggets of brilliance, i'm going to try to write more in this old not-a-journal piece of offence. I still can't stop hating blogs, though I just love reading my friends' and don't hate theirs at all.
Stranger things have happened.
After I came home from work my cousins and their kids came over.
Man, I just love that family.
I did my best to contribute to posterity by teaching my kindergarten cousin how to dance. He did a good job, even with the karate,break-dancing and gymnastics he would occasionally throw in. His eventual enthusiasm for dancing with me only served to reinforce my firm(er) belief that 6 year olds make the best boyfriends, like, EVER.
Anyway, it was joy, as we danced around my kitchen to, "Don't Change Horses."
Ok, I'm going to quit while I'm ahead here - my fingers hurt!

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