I’m trying to snap out of this growly mood that I’m in at the moment, but am having some difficulties. This whole moving thing is turning into way more trouble than it’s worth, and I’m seriously considering moving into a cardboard box in a remote corner of Tibet and being done with it already. But first, my weekend…

I spent Friday evening with my family in celebration of my mother’s birthday. She’s not doing well…enough said. It was nice being there, even with issues of her mortality ever more present. I ended up going there Saturday afternoon and helped her out in the few small ways that I could.

Saturday night was the GF show, and I ended up driving out to Cleveland Heights to meet my punk pal, take a look at the place that she wants me to take so that she won’t have to break her lease, and went to Tommy’s for some yummy spinach pie and orange soda. Got to the show just in time to see the two opening bands. The second of which, The Start (which I’ve seen mentioned in AP a few times), was just…awful. I was sort of trapped in one of those “can’t look away” trances for much of their performance.

By the time GF took the stage, I was pretty perplexed by the crowd and the entire experience as a whole. It was just…weird. I’m not really sure where to start, to be honest. The show itself was phenomenal. The sound was incredible and I love John Feldman more than ever. They played a lot of old stuff, I was thrilled to hear Miles Away, and John pulled about a hundred people on the stage to single Mable with him. He dove into the audience about a half a dozen times, threw out his guitar, hugged and kissed his fans, and generally spread the love.

That band probably has the best live show of any band that I’ve every seen. They get into it as much as the fans, love their fans, and put on an incredible performance. At one point he addressed the people on the balcony and it went something like this:

“Fuck all of you people sitting on your lazy asses. I’m fucking thirty-seven years old and I’m still doing this. I hope you never come to a fucking Goldfinger show again.”

At which point I was already thinking about the evolvement of musical tastes that inevitably begins to occur as one ages. It seems that it becomes almost “uncool” or “immature” to display anything more than a mild foot tapping and head bobbing at a show once you reach a certain age. Some bands will even voice distaste at their shows for people who (yikes) sing along with the lyrics. Before the show, the girl who went with me told me about a Costello show where she was seated in the third row, and when she stood to dance and cheer for the man, people started yelling at her and, eventually, throwing things at her to get her to sit down. The distraction was so great that Elvis eventually took notice and addressed her, pointed her out and told her that she could stand and dance and sing as much as she wanted.

Sure, I’m only twenty-seven, not exactly an old woman yet, but I really can’t imagine going to hear a band that I love and not displaying SOMETHING (be it dancing, singing, jumping around embarrassingly with the young pups) when I hear the music that I love. And isn’t that the point, really? Isn’t that what music is all about? If I wanted to sit down with a bored expression and a chip on my shoulder than I would go to some open mic poetry event in a too-trendy-to-show-enjoyment part of town and be done with it.

Moving on, we went to the W after the show for a drink, which I should’ve skipped to be honest, and I was home relatively early that evening. Yesterday was spent being a bum, watching television, cuddling with dogs, and alternately reading and DVD watching.

The house situation is just…a mess. Friday evening Jess was hugely angry at J again, telling me that she wanted him to “pack his shit and find someplace else to stay” and that she wanted to break up him with again. I was relieved (I’m a horrible friend, aren’t I?), knowing that this was the out that I was looking for. No need to worry now, right?

I’m so naïve.

Apparently they must have worked it out because after all that (I mean, she TOLD me that she was calling her realtor to tell him the deal was off), she called me yesterday to tell me that they got the house. She really can’t talk to me about anything else because J is always around her, so I’m not really sure what the hell is going on (or even whether or not they still expect me to move with them).

Not to mention I have another offer from a girl I work with at the night job to take over her lease on a third-floor studio in Cleveland Heights. I’m sort of tempted by that offer, though there are some drawbacks. Pros? It’s in a cool area, it’s cheap, I can have pups. Cons? Longer commute (my commute now is nonexistent), no yard to speak of (will be a pain in the ass with the dogs), far from friends and such (though not too bad), and it’s pretty darn small (but cute).

That cardboard box in Tibet is looking more and more appealing as time passes.