Hi there, campers. It's Monday, and I'm currently in the midst of a sick day. On the way out to Long Island on Saturday morning, I'd felt that tell-tale sensation in the back of my throat that normally indicates that a cold is on the way. Adding insult to injury, within moments of walking into my Mom's place, I was hit by high-powered allergy attack, courtesy of some mysterious, weapons-grade allergens that reside in the basement (where our kids like to play). I spent the remainder of the weekend trapped in a facsimile of hell, largely unable to enjoy the autumnal splendor of that part of the world at this time of year. We went to the beach a couple of times in an attempt to air out my head (see pathetic, cadaver-like photo at left), but that provided only passing relief.
Somehow, I managed to safely drive the brood back into on Sunday afternoon. Combatting the unpredictable lane-changers on the Long Island Expressway is an all-sensory assault on a good day (really, is it too much to ask for you to signal first?), but couple it with sneezing fits and larynx-shredding coughs, and you develop a real, meaningful affinity for your seat-belt (just ask my kids). Once home, I doped up on Alaka Seltzer Cold and fleetingly watched a bit of the Emmys (dreadful) and "America's Next Top Model," easily the least promising "cycle" yet.
After an achey, sleepless night, I rose feeling a bit like John Hurt's character in "Alien," and promptly decided that I would be a liability in the workplace (or at least, more so than usual). Wanting to spare my co-workers the annoyance of my hacking (and accompanying groaning and complaining), I decided to sit the day out. Neither the work load nor my bank account will thank me for it, but I had to do it.
My quandary now, however, is that I'm supposed to go witness the triumphant and unlikely return to active duty of fabled 90's shoegazer godhead, My Bloody Valentine tonight at Roseland. Yes, as I'm quick to point out, I am one of the lucky few who actually "saw them when they mattered" back in the early 90's on the Loveless tour (read about that here), but this is a show I've been excited to see.
Health permitting, I'm gong to try to go. I'll be forsaking beer (which, evidently, is a no-no alongside Alka Seltzer Cold) which is not something I'm usually keen to do, and I will be bringing earplugs. Anyone who plans on catching the live MBV experience without earplugs is an idiot. I may not be in top form, and the band's deliberately listing rhythms and sensory-engulfing aesthetic may not be exactly when the doctor ordered, but I'd never forgive myself for missing it. Hope to see you on the other side.
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My Groggy Valentine
Hi there, campers. It's Monday, and I'm currently in the midst of a sick day. On the way out to Long Island on Saturday morning, I'd felt that tell-tale sensation in the back of my throat that normally indicates that a cold is on the way. Adding insult to injury, within moments of walking into my Mom's place, I was hit by high-powered allergy attack, courtesy of some mysterious, weapons-grade allergens that reside in the basement (where our kids like to play). I spent the remainder of the weekend trapped in a facsimile of hell, largely unable to enjoy the autumnal splendor of that part of the world at this time of year. We went to the beach a couple of times in an attempt to air out my head (see pathetic, cadaver-like photo at left), but that provided only passing relief.
Somehow, I managed to safely drive the brood back into on Sunday afternoon. Combatting the unpredictable lane-changers on the Long Island Expressway is an all-sensory assault on a good day (really, is it too much to ask for you to signal first?), but couple it with sneezing fits and larynx-shredding coughs, and you develop a real, meaningful affinity for your seat-belt (just ask my kids). Once home, I doped up on Alaka Seltzer Cold and fleetingly watched a bit of the Emmys (dreadful) and "America's Next Top Model," easily the least promising "cycle" yet.
After an achey, sleepless night, I rose feeling a bit like John Hurt's character in "Alien," and promptly decided that I would be a liability in the workplace (or at least, more so than usual). Wanting to spare my co-workers the annoyance of my hacking (and accompanying groaning and complaining), I decided to sit the day out. Neither the work load nor my bank account will thank me for it, but I had to do it.
My quandary now, however, is that I'm supposed to go witness the triumphant and unlikely return to active duty of fabled 90's shoegazer godhead, My Bloody Valentine tonight at Roseland. Yes, as I'm quick to point out, I am one of the lucky few who actually "saw them when they mattered" back in the early 90's on the Loveless tour (read about that here), but this is a show I've been excited to see.
Health permitting, I'm gong to try to go. I'll be forsaking beer (which, evidently, is a no-no alongside Alka Seltzer Cold) which is not something I'm usually keen to do, and I will be bringing earplugs. Anyone who plans on catching the live MBV experience without earplugs is an idiot. I may not be in top form, and the band's deliberately listing rhythms and sensory-engulfing aesthetic may not be exactly when the doctor ordered, but I'd never forgive myself for missing it. Hope to see you on the other side.
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