talking about the weather is a failure of character

The preceding title describes adequately my feelings on the matter. I accept that I live in Texas now and there will be a point at which I must endure endless dialogs ranging from 'Hot, huh?' to the even more scintillating 'dang skeeter, it's a'swelterin'.' But what I failed to leave room for in such absolution was my absolute fascination with the sudden, violent southern storm.

And it positively poured out of the sky, the kind of rain that forces people back inside and off the roads. I was at the Carousel, site of last month's badish date, to see my ex-neighbors' band Kentucky Shade. In the middle of their set, the power went out. The whole freaky ambiance of that place got further magicked by candelight and a sudden, 'oh, fuck it!' decision on the part of the freakishly Natasha Lyonne-esque bartender to allow smoking inside.

Then, Stanley Roy and the Pigfuckers, who were following and whom I had heard some good buzz around (weird-ass local queerish rock stuff), started in on a freaky banjo/xylophone/craaazy vocals, since the Shade was without acoustic instrumentation. I sat around with a group of cool-ass girls, two of whom has been in NYC during the freakish blackout of a few years ago. I wished, not for the first time, that I could have experienced that.

But, I was eventually compelled home to rise early for work in the morning. As usual, the anxiety of trying to get up that early prevents me from sleeping soundly. When I arrived at work, even though I was feeling like a used condom left on the street, I proceeded to partake in the caffeine wars and slayed at work and functioned with absolute manic efficiency.

Last night's fawking highlight was an east Austin 60sish soul/funk dance party, preceeded by weird tripped out beach-shimmying music. I ran into Stanley Roy (of the aforementioned Pigfuckers) and after maybe flirtatiously praising their acoustic set, I remarked on the feeling of being in Psycho Beach Party.

Ended up at a much lamer party unfortunately adjacent to a Toga Party (fuck da college hood!), which was eventually transformed into a Wet Toga Party by another sudden and astonishing outburst of rain. After supposedly heading home, I drunkdrove circuitously through the crazy rainstorm, because I did NOT fucking drink that hard to not have a burger at 4 am.

The weekend is just getting warmed up, y'all.