I spent the late afternoon and early evening at the Chicago Botanical Garden with Laura and Mom and Dad and Pippa. It was quite enjoyable, very low-key, with lots of flowers and waterfalls and bridal parties.

This and more at my Flickr site, and much, much more at Dad's.

Not really sure how I'm feeling right now. Will update later when emotions give way to creative venting. In the meantime, what's running through my head:

Drink with me to days gone by
To the life that used to be
At the shrine of friendship, never say die
Let the wine of friendship never run dry
Here's to you and here's to me

–Les Misérables

Once again, I return to you from the mosh pits of some of today's finest punk bands, moderately unscathed. I shall run through the highlights in chronological order. Noone I knew was starting off, so I went to the nearest stage and heard Hawthorne Heights, who were quite good. Next up was Mest, who played a fun set as always. They threw in a few fun little touches such as medleying Rancid's "Time Bomb" into Mest's own single "Cadillac." Unfotunately, I missed Relient K, who I'd been looking forward to seeing, but they switched the stages around partway through the day so I ended up at the wrong stage. After that, I swung by to see Dropkick Murphys, who played a bunch of classics, like "The Gauntlet" and "Barroom Heroes," as well as a rewrite of "Fields of Athenry" they had put together for a G.I. who died in Iraq. At this point, I took a break to get some food and wander through the merch tents, and it was there that I saw a familiar face.

As you might recall, two years ago I went to an exciting show at Nevin's Live at which I had beer spat down my front and champagne sprayed into my eyes. Duggan (the man with the champagne) and his band the Lost City Angels were playing the Warped Tour. I said hi and after a moment of shocked recognition, we caught up, talked about the past couple years, and he advised me to check out a band I hadn't heard of before, called Gogol Bordello. I took his advice, and with a parting promise to be at his set, made my way to Gogol Bordello's stage. They were still setting up when I arrived, so I sat through the second half of Skindred's show on the next stage over. It was a unique sound, a kind of metallic reggae with a sequencer underneath. But when Gogol Bordello took the stage, the word "unique" took on a whole different meaning. The band refer to themselves as a "Gypsy punk cabaret," and that's the closest description I can come up with. I really don't know how to describe the set. All I can say is, if they're passing through near you, be sure and see them. It's a one-of-a-kind performance. After Gogol Bordello finished up, I went and saw The Transplants, A group of modern-day punk rock legends: Tim Armstrong, "Skinhead Rob" Aston, and Travis Barker. The Transplants made way for The Offspring, who were just plain fun. They played a good mix of old and new, keeping the crowd singing along and jumping all over the place. For the last song ("Self-Esteem"), Dexter Holland pulled a fire hose on stage and doused the crowd in time to one of Atom Willard's drum solos. Almost spent, I made my way through the crowds to my final show: my old pals the Lost City Angels. They came out with a vengeance and turned my "almost spent" into a "just getting started." Their energy and powerful hooks kept my fist pumping and head banging up to the very last note. At last, exhausted, bedraggled, and sore, I made my way home, to a shower and bed. All in all, a day very well spent.

So... not much on the blog front lately. Since the wedding it's really been work, rehearsal, sleep, work, rehearsal, sleep, work, see Laura, read Harry Potter (reeeeeeeeeeeally good), sleep. Today I have an appointment with an occupational therapist about my handwriting problem. Not really sure how that's gonna go. I'm really starting to feel the crunch of stuff that needs to be done before school. Blah. But, I am going to Warped Tour this Saturday, for free, and there shall be much rejoicing.

Last night I found myself (^_^) staying up very late to lock horns with a very, very challenginig task. I had to pick out a list of nine courses that I thought I'd like to take to send in to my academic advisor. Nine. When I first ran through the course list, I marked twentyone as interesting, and I had to narrow that down to nine. And I'm only going to be able to actually TAKE four. College is too interesting. Do I take Intro to Shakespeare or Reading into Novels: 19th Century? Bible and Qur'an or From Ritual to Spectacle? I was up verrrry late.

I've also been cleaning my room (a fairly Herculean task), and indexing my album cover art in the breaks (most of the way into S now). And on that note... does ANYone know who REALLY does the comedy routine "History and Usage of the word F***"? It's always credited to George Carlin or Denis Leary or the like, but it doesn't show up in their catalogs.

And now, I have to pack, as the day after tomorrow shall be someone else's dancing day-- a couple of specific someones. Justin and Mae are getting married, and there shall be much rejoicing (yaaay).

Tunes: "When You're In Love," The Proclaimers (iTMS).

The birds sing. Sunlight glows and makes my room painfully bright. Eyes still half closed, I roll over in an effort to prolong this semblance of unconsciousness before I have to face the day. I start to curl up into a ball, and that's when it starts. I am suddenly aware of my calf, and know what is about to happen even though I cannot stop it. In slow motion, I feel my muscles tense and clench, sending a massive wave of pain through my lower leg. I reach down to touch it, and encounter rock hard muscle, tight and rigid. Biting my lip to keep from crying out, I rub my swollen calf, feeling the solid mass of flesh slowly begin to melt beneath my touch. After a while, my leg is once again soft and flexible, but still sensitive and tender. I lie beneath the covers, wishing in vain that I did not have to rise and face the rest of the day.

Tunes: "Between Angels and Insects," Papa Roach (iTMS); "Art is Hard," Cursive (iTMS).

I'm just plain fried.

I've been working a lot, and taking time with my friends when I can, but I'm really glad tonight to be able to just sit back with my laptop and not have to do anything. I've been making progress on my album cover art updates (I'm halfway through "D" now), chatted with friends, and uploaded a couple new pictures to Flickr. The Flickr thing concerns me, however. The new pictures I've put up are far better than anything I can ever remember having taken before-- and these shots were taken from a cell phone within a moving train. I feel like somewhere across the world a tree fell on someone's house, just to maintain a sense of order and balance in the universe.

Sorry, who/wherever you are.