Flogging Molly was the shiz. They always are the shiz. I think I can safely now say that I've seen them enough to anticipate the mainstays of their setlist. Love them so. Lead singer says at the start something to the tune of, "The only goal that you should be on tonight is to dance to your heart's content." And so I did. Dancing to your heart's content at a Flogging Molly show is a mix of moshing, jumping, skanking, and real dance, all while shouting out lyrics. It's beyond aerobic activity, as you have to remember to keep some oxygen for, like, you. I pay for these concerts physically, but they're so damned necessary for the soul. There's stress, with the social anxiety, but more often than not turns out well. The temporary community of a floor is awesome. I made a couple friends, or at least good aquaintances (note, Bob's Java Hut, Thurs/Friday evenings.), and lo and behold, I even gave out my number. A very pretty girl who was dancing afterward, very well even; I told her so, and asked where good music is at (I'm 90% certain the end of this sentence is not grammatically correct, and I gleefully don't care). Guess she's done some dance troupe stuff. I've no expectation from a man giving a woman *his* number, but even scruffy and smelly, I think I have a better than 50% chance. She touched me a couple times (although never like James touches me :swoon
and made sure to get my name, so looks positive. If nothing else, I now know that the Dinkytowner does electronica/hip-hop on Saturday nights, so score. (I bloody forgot her name, so I'm going to pay for that if she calls. No love for the visual learner.)
So yes, new aquaintances, throwing my "game" at the ladies, dancing like noone's watching, what else. . . Met a man who said he was displaced by Katrina, 100 miles from New Orleans. The Katrina thing sucks. Hunted down a cash machine and gave him 40 bucks. I was feeling good, and that felt good, because normally I have this perverse guilt being torn between wanting to help and my mother's training of, "they're going to use it on drugs". Well, it's a Minnesota winter. If I got taken, fine, but if he's on the streets, he needs as much as you can give him. I'm not writing this as if I performed some heroic deed (as I might read it 3rd party) but because I don't and didn't think it was. To not be torn in a decision, to be beyond anxiety, is fucking awesome. There was not me and the anxiety, just me. I've always wished I was more generous, and this happened naturally. It came without pretense, falsity, vanity, or self-concious thought. I'm glad. This has been a moment in self-actualization, thank you.
I need more of this. I need this to continue. Well, now that I am clean of post-concert filth (aka the sweat, grime, and BO of 30 people), I think I will shuffle off to my parent's ("Where the laundry is 24/7, and always free!") detox my concert clothes, and catch as much sleep as the "mend bone, knit flesh" variety before I must go off to school. Hopefully, I will wake for school, and be as content and motivated as I am now.
...I know that the whole, "don't go out in the cold, you'll get sick!" thing is an old wive's tale, that colds don't come from low temperatures, but going from overexerting yourself in a mosh pit to walking around in wet clothes outdoors for a half hour in the winter probably isn't a good idea. I've got a bit of a hacky/wheezy cough that I hope doesn't develop into something.
Also: I downloaded Lewis Black's Rules of Enragement tonight. I must buy more Lewis Black. Lewis Black is a great man. The first two tracks are about how retardedly fucking cold Minnesota is.
Lewis Black is a great man.
and made sure to get my name, so looks positive. If nothing else, I now know that the Dinkytowner does electronica/hip-hop on Saturday nights, so score. (I bloody forgot her name, so I'm going to pay for that if she calls. No love for the visual learner.)
So yes, new aquaintances, throwing my "game" at the ladies, dancing like noone's watching, what else. . . Met a man who said he was displaced by Katrina, 100 miles from New Orleans. The Katrina thing sucks. Hunted down a cash machine and gave him 40 bucks. I was feeling good, and that felt good, because normally I have this perverse guilt being torn between wanting to help and my mother's training of, "they're going to use it on drugs". Well, it's a Minnesota winter. If I got taken, fine, but if he's on the streets, he needs as much as you can give him. I'm not writing this as if I performed some heroic deed (as I might read it 3rd party) but because I don't and didn't think it was. To not be torn in a decision, to be beyond anxiety, is fucking awesome. There was not me and the anxiety, just me. I've always wished I was more generous, and this happened naturally. It came without pretense, falsity, vanity, or self-concious thought. I'm glad. This has been a moment in self-actualization, thank you.
I need more of this. I need this to continue. Well, now that I am clean of post-concert filth (aka the sweat, grime, and BO of 30 people), I think I will shuffle off to my parent's ("Where the laundry is 24/7, and always free!") detox my concert clothes, and catch as much sleep as the "mend bone, knit flesh" variety before I must go off to school. Hopefully, I will wake for school, and be as content and motivated as I am now.
...I know that the whole, "don't go out in the cold, you'll get sick!" thing is an old wive's tale, that colds don't come from low temperatures, but going from overexerting yourself in a mosh pit to walking around in wet clothes outdoors for a half hour in the winter probably isn't a good idea. I've got a bit of a hacky/wheezy cough that I hope doesn't develop into something.
Also: I downloaded Lewis Black's Rules of Enragement tonight. I must buy more Lewis Black. Lewis Black is a great man. The first two tracks are about how retardedly fucking cold Minnesota is.
Lewis Black is a great man.
rarrrr.