Taylor Hollingsworth is a man to watch.

Onstage, he is reservedly seductive.  But damn, can he play guitar.  You just need to watch him.

Also, tonight I realized that I am not a fangirl, and I do not get starstruck.  I probably realized this after Man Man.  When I see someone “famous,” I do not scream.  When I meet someone famous, I do not scream.  In fact, I simply don’t talk.  This isn’t because I’m stricken, but it’s more because my shyness takes on again.  I guess with people who have to deal with people like me all day, I can be myself.  But a “famous” person?  I don’t particuarly care about “famous” people more than I care about anyone else, and let’s face it.  They don’t care about me.

So when Conor Oberst unbuttoned his shirt, I did not have an orgasm.  When Taylor Hollingsworth looked in my direction (though likely not at me), I did not scream or really react, except by looking back and offering a reassurring half-smile and then looking away.  I do not want to suck the dicks of famous musicians.  Know why?  I wouldn’t be the first, and I wouldn’t be the last, and I wouldn’t matter.  That’s why.

Man Man made me skeptical.

Also, Ben Kweller played “Sundress.”  I think that was the highlight of the night for me, even if he did look like a 90s motorcycle gang member or my dad (attire).  Taylor Hollingsworth made the Mystic Valley Band worth it.  Actually, all the guys in the band were great.  Jason Boesel, Macey Taylor (he was a cool, nice-seeming guy who kept smiling), Nik Freitas, and Nate Walcott (who I couldn’t really see…).  Conor Oberst was cool to watch, but I would have preferred Bright Eyes.  And fangirls who yell stupid things during silences like, “YOU’RE SO SEXY CONOR!!!!!!!!111!!!one!!!!” ruin it for everyone.  Really.



Here is why I hate Pokémon.

It takes over your life.

Yesterday was Halloween.

So I have yet to get “crunk.”  Since I got to college, everything has been relatively tame.  I have been to two concerts–Land of Talk/Broken Social Scene (with, of course, Kevin Drew, Brendan Canning, and the Apostle of Hustle) and then Tim Fite/Man Man.  And my friends and I were invited backstage at the Tim Fite/Man Man one, but everyone thought we were lame because we wouldn’t get naked, jump around in the hot tub, and fuck them in the hot tub/shower/sauna.  In fact, it was just really awkward and I think it would have been less so if there were maybe more than five/six girls and one male.  Because the only male who really associated with us was Tim Fite’s secondhand man, Leroy.  I would like to give credit to the bearded man in the mint-coloured shirt who brought us towels and water, though, for when we wouldn’t take off our clothes in the sauna.  He seemed like he was trying to help Leroy out, but he also seemed to understand that we were just naive people sucked into a weird situation where we were pretty much expected to drop our pants.

I know I shouldn’t base my college career around my ability to get “crunk.”  It doesn’t matter, as I’m here to focus on my grades.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t particularly want to.  It would be acceptable in an intimate setting with close friends.

Just, last night was fun.  I mean, Jaimie and I put on our costumes (she was a lumberjack and I was an effeminate gnome whose mentor was obviously David the Gnome) and went out to eat at the Village.  And then we rented Donnie Darko and watched it in my room.  And then I fell asleep during the movie and Jaimie probably got mad because she hates sleeping people.

We didn’t get crunk like everyone else at VCU, though.  We had no parties to attend.

I’m wearing my gnome hat right now.

Another blog-related update.  Ummmm, I’ve decided that I’m going to write more third-person stories when I can.  I would call them fiction, but they mostly won’t be fiction.  Thus, I can’t call them microfiction either, so until I find a better name for them, they are stories and microstories, seeing as they’re not very long at all.  My purpose is the analysis of people.  It’s purely for fun.  But I do know that most of you only come here for music.