So the first order of business this weekend was the Hi Dive show with Everything Absent or Distorted, who were kind enough to invite me to another of their impressive shows. With no fewer than seven members living in Cheyenne and throughout Colorado, it's amazing that these guys can even get together for rehearsals, much less can manage the kind of synergy and inventiveness they display every time I see them. Good job, guys.
And as I'm now officially a freelance entertainment correspondent for the newspaper, I will get to see much more in the way of local shows and national acts. Hooray for press passes!
But among the many in attendance at this show was a phenomenon I've come to recognize immediately: the Rock Show Skank. There are sometimes many rock show skanks, but usually there is a queen skank that manages to direct the most attention her way. The Rock Show Skank is usually a woman a little past her prime, who probably would come to the show regardless of who was playing, just to drag along her beefy boyfriend and dress in a ridiculously short skirt with fishnet stockings. She never dances quite appropriately to the music that's playing- more often it's kind of a drunken combination between the lambada and a loss of internal equilibrium. The rock show skank is a friendly creature, and will make conversation with anyone nearby. But since she usually rambles incoherently about past rock shows or some bizarre personal incident (I had an aura reading today! I have an amber aura.) those she speaks with rarely return her enthusiasm for the exchange.
But let's not have this be a takedown of the rock show skank. Bless her heart, she is just there for the music, and at least she's getting out once in a while.
This weekend also included another baby shower, which, as some of you know, is kind of my own personal hell. I am not quite female enough, I guess, to enjoy sitting in a room filled with screeching women while a pregnant lady opens countless onesies, toys, baby books and layette items. And while I always go as a sign of support for the mom-to-be, the baby shower is among the many social exchanges that I do not feel entirely comfortable in. Others include bachelorette parties and any party involving a pyramid scheme (Partylite, Avon, etc). Baby showers are worse than a bachelorette party or a pyramid scheme party, however, due to the eggregious lack of booze. If I must endure talk of lactation, bowel movements, contractions, cervical elasticity and varicose veins, I feel it only appropriate that I am allowed to do so through a thick, vodka-infused fog. It seems only right. I wound up chatting with a (fellow childless) friend I hadn't seen in forever about designer thrift-shop finds and the new Anthropologie catalog.
In other news, I have a brand-new, fancypants cell phone. It's a Samsung blade phone in chick black, a little smaller than my wallet when closed and now tricked-out with a Pulp Fiction background and a Ren and Stimpy ringtone. New toys are fun . . .