To Battle A Ponytail

So I went to see Battles at the Rhythm Room on Thursday night and Ponytail opened. Now I was excited for Ponytail, but I didn't think I'd like them as much as I did. I have this personal theory that if a band can make me genuinely smile, then they've got something going. Between Molly dancing like an orangutan, gritting her teeth and often taking overtly masculine punk stances about the stage, holding the mike so that she sang up into it, I was all in. Ponytail is music for people who aren't boring. It requires total commitment from the listener, much like Battles, or else its easy to miss the brilliance in the speedy drumming and guttural cries. This is music for people who want to feel like they're being absorbed into songs.

Battles. Of late I've started doing this really cute thing at shows where I feel like I'm going to die for whatever reason (probably the lack of air conditioning), but that definitely happened during Battles. I was a little upset by it, too, since I had the perfect view of my favorite Battler: Tyondai Braxton. Yeah, the one with the beautiful hair who does vocals and plays guitar and keyboard. Ahh. "Atlas" was the obvious crowd favortie, and I considered leaving after they played it since I didn't think they could top it. I stayed, though, until either a band member or some of the equipment overheated. I'm not totally sure what happened since I had moved to the very back of the venue by that time due to feeling icky. I was in awe of Battles. My eyes were glued to the stage as they set up. And the yellow drum kit, THE YELLOW DRUM KIT. It was beautiful, with on cymbal standing around six feet. The cymbal is no myth and neither is the indescribable musicianship that this crew exercised. I shook my head innumerable times in disbelief of how talented they are.

Enough praise! Last night I slept for fourteen hours. I've been so exhausted lately. I think I'm a workaholic. I also ate three quarters of a pizza. I was incredibly tired and famished. We did an online blog on azcentral.com about the release of iPhone, and I don't think I know anyone personally who bought one. They are pretty sexy though. They remind me of me.

So yeah

I'm watching Office Space, and I'm not Michael Bolton. I'm not a Michael Bolton fan either. Although, when I was little I was fond of his flowy, blond locks. Whatever.

The new Ryan Adams is good. "Two" is just one of those songs. Adams's vocals are like being stabbed with a paring knife and then having it twisted between your ribs and then really liking it. Yes John Cougar Mellencamp, it hurts so good. "Two Hearts" is my second favorite. I wish there were more state references; I like whenever Adams picks a southern state to sing about, namely Tennessee or a Carolina. Overall, I guess the album's not insanely impressive, but I still like it. When I first listened to "Halloweenhead," I literally yelped "DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF!" But I have to admit, that song's growing on me like fungi in a dark, murky corner. "Halloweenhead" is completely stupid, but kind of endearing? A halloweenhead is a pumpkin head, at least that's what I've decided. It reminds me of Nightmare Before Christmas, although I know Jack Skellington was in fact a skeleton and not a pumpkin-headed, terribly attractive alt-country alleged asshole.

Couple Thoughts

I guess that I exploit people's emotions for a living now.

Ahh, getting paid for one's passion.

But, in all honesty people do awful things to each other, and it's my job to tell their tales. Today was an eye opener. I wrote about a girl who was murdered with a box cutter. She was eighteen. Is that not insane to think about? She was at work. Now I get why some people despise journalists. It's because our job is to lack emotions, while evoking powerful ones within our readers.

All right, I'm now going to discuss something a little less heavy.
How about macroeconomics?
Well, speaking of macroeconomics, I am currently taking an online class through Chandler-Gilber Community College. My mind is expanding like a pair of really little spandex bicycle shorts on a person nobody wants to see wearing bicycle shorts. This metaphor isn't fitting, but it is funny. My mind isn't going to rip and tear down to its original patternmaker's form, leaving cottage-cheesy flesh exposed on the open road (the spandex sporter is a retired wannabe cyclist, a faux Lance, if you will). I genuinely think that economics can be fascinating, especially when I get into mean, analytical moods.

I saw Young Galaxy last Thursday at Modified, and they blew my bicycle shorts mind! Speaking of Canada, that's where I'm going for spring break next year. I'm not lying.
I saw The Hold Steady at the Brickhouse on Saturday, and sometimes, when I see a certain kind of person, I automatically detest them. Example: This uberfaketan bro, who was pushing forty, sporting some skate shop tee with board shorts and flip flops, did a horrible lovemaking dance. He pursed his lips and rubbed his hands together. I hated him. He was stocky and drunk, while I was sober and condescendingly good looking. You know those wind-up monkeys with little hats and cymbals? He was the human version of that. Oh man. Anyways, the Brickhouse was lacking air conditioning, and recalling my terrifying brush with death when I saw the Blood Brothers awhile back, I walked straight to the bar and grabbed some water. I did not die. If I had died I would not be writing this letter of love to you.

For now, nation, that's all I've got.