Examining the life of a father, husband, and geek via the media he consumes. Coffee essential, but not mandatory
Unless, of course, you want to laugh your ass off to the 30-second version of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
...as performed by bunnies.
This morning we enjoyed our Sunday ritual.
I get up early in the morning, grab a CD (today it was The End of Silence by the Rollins Band), and trek over to the 7-11. There I make a 20 oz. cup of coffee for myself and a 16 oz. for Gerri (I haven't seen her finish a cup of coffee since Spring Semester at SUNY Albany, 1993). I pick up the Sunday Times, pay, and head back to the house.
If it's a nice morning, I set up the chairs and table on the deck in the back. Roll the canopy out for some shade. I cook up some whole wheat pancakes mixed with fruit. As soon as the first batch is resting on the plate, Gerri ambles downstairs, grabs her cup of coffee and the sections of the paper she enjoys, and heads outside. I pipe some music from the stereo in the den to the outside, bring the pancakes, and we have our breakfast.
And now it's over and I'm upstairs writing this and I can hear Gerri downstairs. It sounds like she's ripping plastic. I assume she's begun changing out the drawers in the kitchen. I can hear her. I can picture her in the clothes she was wearing this morning - her crooked glasses on, her little black slippers fraying at the toes. And these stupid sounds make my heart feel like it's going to explode inside my chest. I can feel the heaviness rise up to the bottom of my throat and threaten to either asphyxiate me or burst out of my mouth in a great heaving sob.
Because no matter what I do, how many books I try to read at once, how many movies I see or buy, how much music I listen to or how many concerts I see, how many pithy, witty comments I try to wrangle out every time I write in this thing, I am always avoiding the one thing I really began this blog to write about: my fear about going through this kidney transplant with my brother. Even now I'm pausing - it took about 5 minutes to get that last sentence out. I try to move around it, focus on taking pictures with my phone camera, tinkering around the house, even speak about it casually to my friends like it's no big deal.
It's always a lie. And that lie never rears its head higher than when I can hear my wife, just off in another room, doing something incredibly mundane, something that, if I never heard again would kill me. That's the thing I keep thinking about. What if I can never hear her working in the house again? What if this is the last time I see her bringing up the laundry?
What if this is the last time she passes by and just brushes her hand against my neck - a fleeting graze that never fails to tingle down my back?
Yesterday we made the decision that the surgery would take place next month - September 5th. When I told my mother she cried as she said "thank you." When I told my brother, he kept saying "thank you so much" over and over again. When Gerri and I made the decision, we cried for an hour.
I know millions of people have gone through the same thing, and it was fine. I know that by doing this, I'm saving my brother's life in a very real sense. I know the chances of something bad happening to me during or after the surgery are remote, and that if I ever needed a transplant that I would be moved to the top of the list. But none of those things seem to mean much when I hear Gerri talking to her sister-in-law on the phone about going shopping, or I hear her rummaging in the bathroom as she organizes her side of the medicine cabinet.
Sometime writing comes very easily, and the words pour out onto the screen. Sometimes the words flow out, but it's not easy at all.
We dance and sway, and never touch.
Almost.
Though others will disagree, citing the worn and tired indie mantra "It would have been better in a smaller club - they're not as good since they've blown up," I would counter with my own tried and true mantra: "Shut the F@#$ up before I stomp you, you pretentious indie puss! Now go fetch me a beer!" Uh, that and "That was the best damn show I've seen all year! Muse rocks!"
Although the show opened with the awesome "Take a Bow" the surly security and "no cameras" printed on the ticket kept me from taking pictures until song #3, "Supermassive Black Hole."
A little "New Born" for y'all. I was worried that the focus would be totally on the new album and Absolution (admittedly not a bad thing), but they broke out 3 songs from Origin of Symmetry as well. Huzzah!
"Sockholm Syndrome" rocks so hard it's ridiculous. The end would make Metallica weep. Muse sound insane live, and unlike many other bands that supposedly come from the same genre, they don't mind changing the arrangements a bit. You know, if I wanted to hear everything played like the album I would have just sat at home where it was cooler! Thanks for the expanding some of the songs, Muse!
Encore #1 - "Map of the Problematique"
Encore #2 - "Time is Running Out"
Encore #3 - "Knights of Cydonia"
Frikkin' awesome show. Any doubts I had of the new album were blown away after Muse left the stage. For the record, here's the setlist for the evening:
1. Take a Bow
2. Hysteria
3. Supermassive Black Hole
4. Butterflies & Hurricanes
5. Starlight
6. Forced In
7. Bliss
8. Feeling Good
9. Soldier's Poem
10. Invincible
11. Plug In Baby
12. New Born
13. Stockholm Syndrome
----------------------------
14. Map of the Problematique
15. Time is Running Out
16. Knights of Cydonia
"Dude, I think that's David Bowie."
A slight detour before the concert...
The evening started in typical Sean fashion - the anticipated 7:00PM pickup actually occurred at 7:30PM, which meant that by the time we got to the Hammerstein, openers The Cloud Room were already wrapping up their set. We did catch the lat three songs though, and they were pretty good for what they were - a kind of swaggering indie rock band. So, beer in hand, we mosied over to the front right of the stage and prepared for some Muse greatness. So we're over by the side, and I'm looking at the seats that are about 12 feet away from us, and there's this guy sitting there - baggy corduroy pants, Pony sneakers, and a sweatjacket, which is kind of weird because it's the middle of Summer in NYC, right? And DAMN if he doesn't look like David Bowie.
So we start staring at him. He starts staring back. We use the Super Sean Computer Phone to look at pictures of Bowie for comparison. We keeps looking. He keeps staring back.
Finally, Sean whips out his subtle array of facial expressions: the "hey, are you who I think you are" look. We are rewarded with Bowie's own use of the resigned "yes, you caught me. Thanks for noticing. Now bugger off and let me enjoy the show please."
We cheer, the lights go down, and the show starts. Bowie looked like he was smiling.
Gladiator (Jason)
Ridley Scott epic:
like a dumbed-down Spartacus,
but with more tigers
The Piano (Chris)
an arranged marriage,
passions sparked by melody,
Love in sharps and flats.
The Piano (slight return) (Chris)
a lone instrument
witnessing the horror of
Harvey Keitel's wang.
Examining the life of a Father, Husband, and Geek - whatever that means in 2014. Coffee essential, but not mandatory...
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