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So Stars was sold out tonight, and lucky me, the entire church was packed with teenagers. Yet I still managed to take a prime seat at the front, despite pissing off the girl who was forced via east coast heartiness to scooch her fine ass over. And while I definitely made it through Hey Rosetta's sloppy but enthusiastic cellos, I cannot get over the fact that I am just not that into Stars.
I made it through maybe five songs before I just gave up and left? That Torquil guy is a fucking tool, ladies. He's just. He practically fell off the stage as soon as they got on, and was all falling into the front row's underage arms, AND THEY THREW FAKE ROSES INTO THE CROWD and Amy Millan is arguably the frumpiest rock star ever, yes? When she pulled out her flute I promised myself I could go at the end of the song. Eeeeegh. Why so old, Stars? Gen X, no one's into you anymore. Go hang with Coupland and his apocalypse fantasies or smthg.
ANYWAY. Four concerts down, I've officially maxed out my low level indie cred with three different colours of stocking from superstore, so. We can all move on now and I swear I'm not going to anything by myself again for a fucking year.
On the non-antisocial side, last night me and the granny gang went to see King Lear. As a ballet. Set to Shostakovich. It was genuinely moving in parts, but I won't lie: I was there for the tight shirts and the no shirts and the sweating and leaping around the stage in rly rly tight pants.
But you know what probably the best part of my weekend overall was? That R.Pattz boy. Thanks for being there for me, kid. You and your waxy moustachios.
I made it through maybe five songs before I just gave up and left? That Torquil guy is a fucking tool, ladies. He's just. He practically fell off the stage as soon as they got on, and was all falling into the front row's underage arms, AND THEY THREW FAKE ROSES INTO THE CROWD and Amy Millan is arguably the frumpiest rock star ever, yes? When she pulled out her flute I promised myself I could go at the end of the song. Eeeeegh. Why so old, Stars? Gen X, no one's into you anymore. Go hang with Coupland and his apocalypse fantasies or smthg.
ANYWAY. Four concerts down, I've officially maxed out my low level indie cred with three different colours of stocking from superstore, so. We can all move on now and I swear I'm not going to anything by myself again for a fucking year.
On the non-antisocial side, last night me and the granny gang went to see King Lear. As a ballet. Set to Shostakovich. It was genuinely moving in parts, but I won't lie: I was there for the tight shirts and the no shirts and the sweating and leaping around the stage in rly rly tight pants.
But you know what probably the best part of my weekend overall was? That R.Pattz boy. Thanks for being there for me, kid. You and your waxy moustachios.
