Maniacal laughter

It almost killed me, but I’m done with the quarter, and, if you consider Vienna more of a vacation than a school term (I do), the academic year as well. In what will be remembered as one of my most spectacular comebacks, I completed three weeks’ worth of work for my writing class in one gruesome afternoon and evening: researching, writing, and revising my final paper, as well as assembling the portfolio and writing a cover letter. But it’s done! I tend to work well under sharp deadlines, and up until around 8:30 last night, I believed midnight was such a one. I emailed my prof asking if he expected me to break into Padelford to turn in the portfolio or what, and he said turning it in before noon today would be fine. I was glad, but lifting my deadline panic led to an immediate cessation of writing. I cudgeled myself through it, and it’s done, dropped off next to the prof’s office over a half-hour before the functional deadline. The paper itself is not that good. Look how much I care: [deadpan stare].

On the positive side, I now have an almost disgusting amount of knowledge on the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, which Kelly informs me is a serious fetish with her little sister Lindsay, who I hope to marry one sweet day. Maybe this will boost my chances.

Dash and Jared played at a party on Wednesday night, St. Patrick’s Day. If you went, you don’t need any description of the extent to which they rocked out; but if you didn’t, let me be the first to tell you: they rocked out hardcore. Dash and Jared had a band freshman year, when I first met them in the dorms, called the Rob Crotty Band (they named it that to get Rob onboard as the lead singer). Everyone told them how great they were, but they actually were pretty awful. Now that Dash has another two years of guitar and song-writing experience, they’re in much better shape. They’ve been described as The Buzzcocks meet Bob Dylan, which is fairly apt. They have at least a few songs that I honestly feel could be radio hits, especially Dash’s magnum opus, a power ballad called “Honesty”. Dash says, “I dare anyone in this city to attempt a power ballad.” There’s your challenge, Seattle. And of course, Jared is almost supernaturally skilled at guitar, if not especially gifted lyrically. I showed up to the party with my seven accomplices, and the hosts wanted to charge me $2 just to get inside. I argued and got in free, mostly because they thought I looked like I wasn’t going to cause any trouble – I was dressed in green from head to toe, sandals, pants, sweater and all. Ironically, I didn’t realize it was St. Patrick’s Day until after I’d left the house, but I don’t think anyone believed me when I told them that fact.

I am so sad: look what I’ll be missing because of stupid study abroad. The Postal Service and The Shins at one show? Sounds pretty tempting. Too bad I’ll miss it. What’s that? Built to Spill and Cat Power perform as well? Now I’m really getting upset – oh there’s more? Tupping Christ, Sleater-Kinney, The Decemberists, and The Long Winters are there too? Oh man. Is there a box-knife handy, or maybe just a few dozen cyanide capsules? When I first found out about Sasquatch Fest’s line-up, I came within an inch of canceling my trip to Vienna. Seriously. Remember how much fun I had last year? This time is certain to be even better! Again, so sad – just look how short the sentences in this paragraph are, if you need proof of my emotional distress.

And a note to the indie-deficient: “Tupping Christ” is a quasi-British expletive, not a band. No, Quasi won’t be there. Jebus. (“Jebus” isn’t a band either).