Can You See the Drummer?

Argh. I have tried roughly one million times to upload a picture of Sufjan Stevens, but, alas, Al Gore in his infinite wisdom did not make the internet user-friendly by someone of average intelligence. So you'll have to make do with my witty and evocative description of him. Tall. Hair the color of Ravens Voyant. A smile to break your heart. Voice reminiscent of molasses on a hot biscuit. Ah, Sufjan. I went to his show at the 40 Watt on Saturday with Christian, KQ, and Mark. The show was muggy and overpopulated, but extremely enjoyable. I distinctly heard a bespectacled Indie Boy say, "This is a fucked up crowd." Which I took to mean that he was surprised to see representatives from such diverse groups as frat boys, punks, and freshmen. I was not surpised, however. If your music is a melting pot, so will be your fans. I have it on more-good-than-bad authority that the employees of the 40 Watt found the show to be "gay." But, see, I poo-poo on this opinion because I happen to know that these same employees attend Flaming Lips shows on a regular basis. And if a grown man in a pink bunny suit ain't gay then, a fortiori, a Michigan lad kicking it with his friends dressed as cheerleaders from the late 70s ain't gay either. The only negative that I can put my finger on from the show (aside from the aforementioned mugginess) is the girl of midget proportions with the puffy hair that talked practically the whole way through a rather moving cover of R.E.M.'s "This One Goes Out to the One I Love." She was standing thisclose to me and would not stop talking to the skinny pierced boy next to her (who may or may not have been a willing accomplice). Finally her friends told her to be quiet and she stomped off in a rather convincing huff, bless her. Apart from that, enjoyable experience through and through. Tight orchestration, flawless singing, a squeaky Superman. Brilliant.

In other news, I have joined the World of Cool (not to be confused with the World of Coke) and am now a proud member of Friendster. Please, if you also are a member, make me your friend. It's humiliating only having one.

My trip to the Braves game on Sunday was an exercise in Frustration of Monolithic Proportions (as compared with the midget proportions of puffy hair girl, supra). Due to traffic, both on I-75/85 and at the hot dog stand, I did not sit down to watch until the 6th inning! I missed the Giles homerun, which was pivotal and which would have been a first for me. I was angry, cranky, and unhappy with the lack of mustard at the Ted. But the Braves won, which is, of course, a plus. Two more and it's the division. Huzzah! Drat people and their cars and Atlanta's appalling lack of mass transportation. Hypocracy aside (she said, knowing that the car she was in contributed to the problem), I hate everyone.

Okay. Moral of the Blog: buy Sufjan, join Friendster, go Braves.