Days and days

This past week, I was scheduled to cover three shows in as many days. Devo, Girl Talk, and Warpaint. I was originally just signed up for Girl Talk, but got arm-twisted into taking the other two as well. Devo ended up being a no-go due to complications with the label, but I had a pass and got to see the show anyway. Reviews for the other two are linked in my handy-dandy concert reviews feature at the right.

If you think the aforementioned schedule is insane, check out what I wound up with for April: 4/8 Ice Cube, 4/9 Bright Eyes, 4/10 nothing (but there's a Those Darlins show I want to attend as a civilian), 4/11 Joy Formidable, 4/12 Francis and the Lights, 4/13 Ani DiFranco. That which does not kill us makes us awesome.

Bobby and I tried, unsuccessfully, to get in for Destroyer last night. The line outside Doug Fir snaked through the parking lot and over to the hotel area, and we were a few people shy of getting tickets. Grabbed a couple drinks with Jarrod, who was scheduled to cover the show, and ran off to Samantha's birthday party across town. By the time we arrived, though, the restaurant was closing (at 10:30 on a Saturday????) and the party was nowhere to be found. Closed out the night at the Ringers' Warriors-themed party in Milwaukie instead. Busy, busy, busy as always.

In other news, Georgia has developed kleptomania. It started with my socks, which I have a tendency to leave on the floor. Miss Kitty began carrying them down the stairs and depositing them at the front door area, yowling all the way. Tired of taking them back up to my bedroom, I started leaving them in my laundry basket instead. Georgia quickly discovered that she could fish them out of the holes in the basket, and back downstairs they went. Then one day I came home to find a pair of my underpants in the entryway. They weren't clean ones, either. Now my small laundry items go in the hamper in the bathroom, where she can't get them. Frustrated by this development, Georgia has begun dragging pajama bottoms around. Sometimes they make it halfway down the hall, sometimes midway down the stairs, and now they're ending up next to my shoes at the front door. I'm not sure what the cat psychology community would say about this, but I'm certainly being more careful with my laundry these days. Bet she'd love to get her paws on my awesome Godzilla socks:



She only looks innocent.