I lied. But at least I can work at home? This means no drinking with Muffy tomorrow. Fuck.
Last night, I went to see Casiotone for the Painfully Alone with Macho Man, Mrs. Macho Man and ... a guy for whom I don't have a blog nickname. Macho Man bought my ticket, otherwise I probably wouldn't have gone. I'm not a huge fan or anything. But I do love, love, LOVE the Entry. And I love, love, love that the Entry has a Wikipedia page.
I left early because I was wiped out (and I'm a million times more wiped out today. I doubt I'll make it past 10:00 tonight), and quite frankly, the show wasn't very good. The first opening band was fucking terrible. Can't remember their name, but it had "unicorn" in it. It was a guy and a girl who sang -- and I use that word very, very loosely -- over samples or their own pre-recorded shit. Their last song consisted of the two of them screaming, while the guy (who was wearing some sort of mask and tapered, acid-washed jeans) danced on the floor. Again, I'm using the word "dance" in the loosest possible context. Mrs. Macho Man and I were concerned that he may actually have been having a seizure.
Y'all know I love to support indie artists. But fuck, man. I have standards. I don't like weird for the sake of being weird. And masked, flailing screamers with asymmetrical haircuts and tapered, acid-washed jeans are weird for the sake of being weird. You cannot tell me any different. They did have a keytar, though. But I think that was more for ironic purposes.
Sometimes it's so very easy to understand why people hate hipsters.