Wii and Beach House; Errand & Cindy; Waco & Thanksgiving
11/20
Cindy came over for a little Wii Sports and then we went to the Prole to catch Beach House.
Beach House's debut had just hit Pitchfork a week or two earlier, and it showed in the relatively small turnout. Regardless, it was a wonderful show.
If we are to take Beach House's name literally and use it as a metaphor for their music, then this figurative house is decrepit, and long abandoned. Not condemened, because that would imply that someone actually gave the thing some attention. A thick layer of dust is on everything. The door hangs on one hing. The floor boards are rotten, the furniture and upholstery tattered. Sunlight, peaking in through the grey clouds outside on the beach (which is desolate), trickles in and scatters as it hits the dust in the air. Sand litters the floor. Everything is sepia toned.
This structure, as with the music, is all that's left of some sentimental memories, memories that belong to ghosts.
That's the sound of Beach House. Old, wheezing, ghostly, sentimental. Quiet organs lay a backdrop for soft, slow guitar.
And the effect came through even more in person. Great little show.
11/21
I usually take the liberty of skipping out on school for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and so this Tuesday marked my last night in town. As such, there were things to do. At the time I thought I might take the Wii home with me, and so I made a Best Buy run to pick up a copy of Excite Truck, using some gift certificates I had earned in buying my TV. Then, off to Whole foods to pick up a few items from the grocery store for Dad, on to CVS to refill some prescriptions, and then finally home to spend a little time with Cindy.
11/22
I think I may, actually, have gone into school for a half day, or something at least passing for one. Then, on to the road, stopping off at Wendy's for a second attempt at that bacon jalapeño cheddar melt thingy, which was certainly enjoyable (man I'm hungry). The drive back to Waco was, maybe, a little busy, but nothing major.
When I arrived, Dad had a good dinner for us: curried pumpkin soup and bruschetta.
11/23-5
The rest of the holiday was pretty quiet. There was a minor skirmish over my accusations that Dad had screwed up the turkey. We broke out the smoker on Saturday to do the Christmas turkey, and I proved that I'm not wrong, I'm just an asshole, when we properly brined the turkey and it turned out delectably. We also did some pork roast and ribs which were wonderful as well and provided me with meals to return to Houston with.
Becca and I went to Cricket's on Saturday night and had a couple beers before we were herded out in the rudest, most assholeish manner possible. I was waiting for Rebecca to come out of the bathroom, was told to leave, asked if I could wait for my sister and was told that, "There's only one exit. She'll figure it out." This was all well before 2:00, by the way. I shot the guy the finger and left, wishing that I could take my tip back.
But anyway, all in all, a nice, quiet holiday. Good food (mostly) and good times with the family.
Cindy came over for a little Wii Sports and then we went to the Prole to catch Beach House.
Beach House's debut had just hit Pitchfork a week or two earlier, and it showed in the relatively small turnout. Regardless, it was a wonderful show.
If we are to take Beach House's name literally and use it as a metaphor for their music, then this figurative house is decrepit, and long abandoned. Not condemened, because that would imply that someone actually gave the thing some attention. A thick layer of dust is on everything. The door hangs on one hing. The floor boards are rotten, the furniture and upholstery tattered. Sunlight, peaking in through the grey clouds outside on the beach (which is desolate), trickles in and scatters as it hits the dust in the air. Sand litters the floor. Everything is sepia toned.
This structure, as with the music, is all that's left of some sentimental memories, memories that belong to ghosts.
That's the sound of Beach House. Old, wheezing, ghostly, sentimental. Quiet organs lay a backdrop for soft, slow guitar.
And the effect came through even more in person. Great little show.
11/21
I usually take the liberty of skipping out on school for the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and so this Tuesday marked my last night in town. As such, there were things to do. At the time I thought I might take the Wii home with me, and so I made a Best Buy run to pick up a copy of Excite Truck, using some gift certificates I had earned in buying my TV. Then, off to Whole foods to pick up a few items from the grocery store for Dad, on to CVS to refill some prescriptions, and then finally home to spend a little time with Cindy.
11/22
I think I may, actually, have gone into school for a half day, or something at least passing for one. Then, on to the road, stopping off at Wendy's for a second attempt at that bacon jalapeño cheddar melt thingy, which was certainly enjoyable (man I'm hungry). The drive back to Waco was, maybe, a little busy, but nothing major.
When I arrived, Dad had a good dinner for us: curried pumpkin soup and bruschetta.
11/23-5
The rest of the holiday was pretty quiet. There was a minor skirmish over my accusations that Dad had screwed up the turkey. We broke out the smoker on Saturday to do the Christmas turkey, and I proved that I'm not wrong, I'm just an asshole, when we properly brined the turkey and it turned out delectably. We also did some pork roast and ribs which were wonderful as well and provided me with meals to return to Houston with.
Becca and I went to Cricket's on Saturday night and had a couple beers before we were herded out in the rudest, most assholeish manner possible. I was waiting for Rebecca to come out of the bathroom, was told to leave, asked if I could wait for my sister and was told that, "There's only one exit. She'll figure it out." This was all well before 2:00, by the way. I shot the guy the finger and left, wishing that I could take my tip back.
But anyway, all in all, a nice, quiet holiday. Good food (mostly) and good times with the family.
posted by L. Maxwell Ward at 11:01 AM
