Blast, but I’m tired. Didn’t get home last night until nearly 1am (very late for me, these days). Stayed up for some time afterwards too. Not sure when I finally fell asleep (with the husband’s headphones on, listening to my latest addiction…Icelandic “classic” rock radio station SKONROKK). I vaguely recall stumbling across the hall in a daze, but still got up with the little man at 7am. Ouch. So while I’m conscious enough to do so, I’ll quickly recap yesterday. In the afternoon I headed out on a seemingly endless journey to Elk’s Lodge 44, located in a strip mall in an unfamiliar suburb. I found it without trouble, and, fortunately, so did a number of other people. I’m glad I read Tina’s post earlier in the day, about the communication of ideas embedded in fashion. It’s always amused me how people from various subcultures can pick up on the subleties of one another’s fashion choices, especially when they congregate in large groups and can thoroughly scope one another out. Punk and hardcore kids have, in general, labeled themselves anti-consumerist and anti-materialistic, but they are still subject to these unwritten rules, thrift store clothes or not. I especially enjoyed seeing a handful of young’uns with their mohawks and liberty spikes, likely rebelling for the first time in their lives…though against what they might not have quite figured out yet. That’s how it was for me at that age, at any rate. So after scoping out the crowd myself I determined that a) there was hardly anyone I knew in attendance and b) I’m hopelessly out of the loop. Talked to the few folks I did know (old fogies like myself), but only stayed long enough to see my friend’s band play. Anton claims he was too tired and thus his performance was low-energy…but I got a different impression while watching him jump around the stage and the floor, fingerpointing and moshing it up. Would have taken more photos, but I’d neglected to recharge my batteries beforehand. Doh.
I happily headed back home, to have dinner and hang out with my boys. After the little man’s bedtime the husband and I watched Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind. The animation was amazing, and I did enjoy it…but I must have annoyed the heck out of the husband. Recently I read the much more detailed books, which caused me to be constantly exclaiming “what? that’s not how it’s supposed to happen! where are the worm-handlers? giant warriors?! they’re supposed to be called god monsters!” and so on and so forth. Sorry, dear. It was past 10:30pm by this point, and Anton called just when I thought I might nod off. The fest was over, and folks were heading to Pizza Luce. He and his bandmates, who I don’t really know, hadn’t yet decided if they were going to stay over night, or drive back down to Chicago after eating. They’d let me know when I got to the restaurant. So I left the house by telling the husband “all right honey, I’m heading out now…and I may or may not return with a bunch of strange men.” Happily I did not. As much as we would have loved for Anton to stay and hang out, his bandmates were either:
a) sick;
b) cranky;
c) drunk; or
d) a combination of the above.
Better luck next time, I guess. And hopefully our little trio will be able to head down to ‘Cago for a visit some time soon anyhow.
