quickley

Oh, Yesterday was a good day.

I received a handy-dandy travel-muggy coffee maker in the mail, an early christmas present from home. Took some time to actually do some housework and some homework (hmmm...) wishing that at some point, I could just get both things done once and for all.

Feeling accomplished, I took the afternoon to dye the dreds bright poppy red, in honour of our veterans. (no... not really)There's something very cathartic about dying my hair red. I've been doing it forever, and the cleanse of a fresh colour never gets old. It's a mess, there are latex gloves involved, the bathroom looks like a crime scene, and briefly, I feel like I'm bleeding buckets out of my head and all over myself. I love it.

It's very Greek, very Theban.
All it needs is laurels and sandals.

Oi... oi... oi...


Ok, so the colour had nothing to do with Rememberance day, although I did spend the process listening to the CBC, as I tend to do. I was vaguely moved, not so much by the subject, as the usually, calm, cool, collected reporters' deeply emotional response to the interviews she was conducting. I heard them say in the distance (although this could be wrong) that there are no more Great War vets left, which makes me kind of sad. I've been, as I imagine others are as well, more prone to taking a minute on Rememberance day in the past few years. I've been known to surround myself with wonderful, noble, conscious, litterate, traveled and friendly army bucks. The reality of what they do's become more aparent in the past little while. Some have ran away to war on me. War Sucks. Unfortunately, sometimes, someone has to do it. It's a very ancient feeling to watch the men in your life take up arms and leave home.

So.. sophoclitic?

So, now I've got a bit of a rageddy-ann thing going, and I like it. And I'm glad that I like it, because at it's orange-pink tinge, I was starting to feel really icky and wanting to forgo the dredhead all together. Fret not! I love it. So far, so good. I was deeply dissapointed that the camera I'd been using to document my latest transformation was, this whole time, void of film. The badnews is, no one gets to see my super awesome rock-star, pre-dread 'do, the goodnews is that no one gets to see the wretched bit.

Christos came over and shared some stouts, joints and riveting philosophical conversation before heading over to the Bell centre for the NIN concert. Oh gee. Just thinking about it makes my heart pound in my chest. It was fabulous. NIN, above any else, stands as my favorite bands of all time, and Trent Reznor an important influence during those formative plastic-pant face-paint, poetry-in-the-dark, angsty-goth years. It was quite something to see this force move, produce real sound, be alive and fill this enormous room. The setlist was nostalgic and therapeutic. Hah. Mr. Reznor, father my children.

The lightshow blew me away, I still can't believe it. The board-op was a madcap, must've had 'er brains connected to the boards by elecrodes, it makes me gasp. Many inspirationings and fabulous ideas are emerging for Theban Cycle. What a glorious and relevant opportunity to geek out, I'll never recover. And I think the most interesting effect was being in the red section when lighters sparked up all around the arena like stars... Nothing new to some, but I'd only ever seen this on TV. What an effect.

I'll never get over it. I could rant for days.

Christos says he owes me dinner... we'll see.