The only reason my life force did not disappear from the face of the physical plane of existence this afternoon is because of Battles. Their new album “Mirrored” sent me into a controlled state of rage that resulted in body contortions while driving that probably looked like a Zombie who was ripping on a bowl of crack, meth, and DMT while trying to dance to “Thriller”. Shit Goddamn!
In otherwords, the MCAT is turning me into a cracked out zombie riding a roller coaster of uppers and downers.
Going to DC tomorrow for a weekend of British Council Student Ambassador Orientation training. Lord knows I am looking forward to a break.
Thursday, August 16th, 2007 is MCAT Day. Stay off the roads, keep your children inside. Shit is going to be INSANE!
I met this really friendly Englishman named John in my Existentialism class. We got along quite well, so we decided to go for a round of drinks with his friends at the Speakeasy bar in the student union right after our class. Turns out I met some of the only self-proclaimed Indie-Kids in Belfast, and was convinced into seeing Cold War Kids on Monday night with them at Limelight.
[kml_flashembed movie="http://youtube.com/v/rHN1EqhuqzM" width="425" height="350" wmode="transparent" /]
It was quite a good show, they played quite a tight set on their kickoff show to promote their new album Robbers & Cowards. Too bad it was “Free Jack Night” and my friends bought me two additional beers, because towards the end of the set my mind was not on what was going on infront of me, and instead was on what was going on inside me that would be going on, on me if they didn’t finish the set quickly.
When I was finally able to part the crowd like Moses would have a pit of venomous snakes, I found I was far from alone in the bathroom. Apparently a kind Black man (probably the only in the venue, and I say this not to raise eyebrows, but to put this whole new “cultural world” I am living in) was given the duty of collecting every horrible male deoderant and cologne in one room to spray you with your favored scent and wipe your filthy wet hands. He only had 2 one pound coins in his tip basket. I felt bad, afterall, the man did just watch me take a leak and then proceeded to hold the faucet on and wipe my dirty hands for me. I reached into my pocket, and his eyes lite up like the eyes of Ralphy in A Christmas Story. As I hoisted out the 20 pence coin, the only coin left in my pocket, and placed it into his palm open to the heaven, he stared down in Shock and Awe at the Queen herself as if she by some Dumbledorian incantation had come alive and said “Hey, Fuck you Buddy!” Seeing that he has a dirty towel in one hand and alms bowl in the next, I decided I was clearly outmatched carrying only my fully loaded fists-of-fury, Liberty and Justice, and booked it out of there.
That’s my Cold War Kids Story. Here are some thumbnail pictures.