Sunday was mostly spent hanging about the mall. With no money.
I like the feeling of going about the mall knowing I could buy something if I wanted, but not doing so. The feeling that I can't buy anything is a little oppressive to me.
I did run into David Bowie several times, which was nice. First on the radio, on the way there, Let's Dance came on which was, despite it being one of his lesser works, exciting for me as my cd player transmitter’s been out of batteries and I've been forced to rely on the radio. It's nice when a station other than Jazz 88.3 comes through for me.
Then, while I was in the bathroom at Border's, Modern Love came on, a song, interestingly, from the very same album as Let's Dance.
And later, as I was eating a pizza bagel in the Border's café, Golden Years started playing which finally led me to believe that they had a David Bowie greatest hits album going.
Sure enough, when I later checked Sam Goody out of idleness, I found a brand new, first-ever career spanning Best of Bowie album has just been released. And in a lot of ways, it looks to be by far the best Bowie collection I've ever seen, including not just obvious hits like Let's Dance and Fame but also songs that're just plain great, even though they weren't necessarily commercial successes--songs like The Man Who Sold the World,Sound and Vision, Under the God(with Tin Machine), and one of my favourites, The Heart's Filthy Lesson.
I also read the entirety of James Joyce's The Dead when I spent the only money I was to spend on coffee that day, at The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. A very nice little piece, and very understated, especially in its beginning. It very humanly pulled you into humanity--just a bunch of good people having a party. I mean, I sort of got the vibe of actually being at some hum-drum family event.
And the speech Gabriel gives, the first time death is referred to in any true explicit form, feels so much like a guy giving a speech at the table that what he says effects you in exactly the way it ought in order to support occurrences later in the story--namely, Gretta's abstracted musings on an old familiar song.
So finally finishing this, I called trisa. She and I were to go and see a band called The Cruxshadows at a club called The Xanth (or something).
This was my first time at a club, I'm not ashamed to admit. And I must say the place was a 1000 times more enjoyable than I thought it was going to be. My biggest fear was that I was going to have to deal with dancing people, but happily, hardly anyone was getting their jiggy with it, or whatever. Everyone just sat around, or stood around talking, wearing lovely clothes and looking really good which, speaking as a life-long spectator, was very nice indeed.
We saw four bands while we were there, too, which, for eight dollars, really was not bad at all.
First up was a somewhat anachronistically punkish band called Softcore, who I think I could describe very eloquently by saying, "Eh . . . they were all right,"
After them was a somewhat more well-known band called Zeromancer, who were marginally better. The biggest positive for them, for me, was the giant Quake symbol tattooed on the lead singer's back.
"It's kinna sad," remarked trisa, "He has such a beautiful body," which was something that made me a tad suspicious of them.
Still, I do like Quake . . .
After them came my favourite band of the evening, Call Me Alice, whose first song was, as their bassist put it, kind of a rip-off as there was something wrong with the mic, leaving the lead singer inaudible. Watching their technical difficulties was one of the most engaging scenes of the evening.
I took a quick trip to the bathroom after Call Me Alice, and came back to find trisa face to face with amzer. They talked with half-hearted animation while I stood by being ignored. I recall amzer's complaint about people not dancing at Xanth because only a few minutes earlier, I had been complaining to trisa that dancing had ever been invented in the first place. I launched quite a mini-half-jocular tirade on what a soul-crushing and oppressive practise I thought dancing to be.
Smiling, the gods placed The Cruxshadow's lead singer before me shortly afterwards, his bouncy energy encouraging everyone in the audience into which he'd waded to dance, dance, dance their angst away. Everyone but me that is.
Despite trisa's assurances that there were several people in the room as static as myself, I can't help feeling that my motionless presence in the pulsating mass was not something of a blemish on the otherwise perfectly jiggly flesh of a crowd.
But, hey, I did clap at the appropriate times, even along with the rhythmic claps provoked buy our spikey-haired entertainer's locking elbows with a lucky audience member, who shruggingly joined the man in a ring-around-the-rosy sort of exercise.
BUT. I will say he was good. I appreciated his reciting of Annabel Lee, as well as the sample from Martin Luther King's famous "I have a dream" speech included in one of his songs--a song apparently about intolerance. And I loved his little violinist. Dressed in a shiny corset resembling a beetle's back and wearing a blue-green plaid skirt, she produced some superbly violin-like sounds from her violin. One of the best sorts of sounds for a violin to produce.
She also looked almost exactly like cryptess, which was an uncanny plus.
trisa had the good fortune to meet our plucky little violinist in the bathroom, as well as the band's guitarist, who was flossing and gargling when trisa saw her.
The show ended with the most beautifully dressed boys and girls being pulled on stage by the fey lord of the evening. Then trisa and I left, and thank goodness too--I could not stand the enormous air conditioners that had been turned on during The Cruxshadows' performance for another moment. I was ever so happy to be outdoors for once, where at least it was room temperature.
trisa and I later almost drove off the road, bought grill cheeses from In and Out, ate them in her room, and finally parted ways.
I went to sleep on Monday morning. And in my dream, I saw God.
He was an enormous man, but with freakishly tiny legs. He wore a tattered old grey nightgown, and his hair and beard were grey and frazzley. He wore a crown of dead grass and he had big googly eyes.