Hola amigos, so I know I was just rapping at you a little bit ago but I had something else I wanted to say so I’m back again with another dose of what’s-on-in-Nate’s-life for you. You know you need it. So I was just complaining the other day about how I don’t love the rock and the roll so much anymore. Turns out I was totally wrong. I totally heart the rock and the roll. This is like the time I thought I didn’t like books anymore but then I re-read that Calvino novel and remembered that actually I love books; I just needed Calvino to remind me of it, and to make it clear that the problem isn’t books, it’s grad school. Likewise with the rock-roll performancery.
Evidence:

Ye Olde Triple Rocke Socialle Clubbe is having its ten year anniversary celebration. There are two, count ’em, two rock shows I will be attending as part of the anniversary festivications. One, the Lawrence Arms. They’re one of the bands I have
a tattoo for. I’ve been seeing these cats make music in various bands for almost half my life. Give it another two years or so and I will have been seeing them play for more years than the time before I first saw them. Long story short, I love them. If you don’t, I respect that, but don’t tell me or we can’t be friends.

Two, Naked Raygun. Raygun are (is?) a classic Chicago punk band (and let’s face, Chicago is the capital of punkdom just as it’s the capital of the midwest) – more commonly known by their full legal name, Naked FUCKING Raygun. It’s gonna be awesome. I’m so super excited that I don’t have a metaphor or simile to use as a comparison with which to express to you the extent of my super excitement. And I’m like a robot ninja when it comes to metaphors, a veritable jet plane, so you know it’s got to be a lot of excitement if it’s enough to overload my metaphoric circuitry.

If you’re in the upper midwest, tickets available are here.

And actually it’s not just two shows, it’s three. I’ll be New Years Evening it in Chicago at a show featuring the Lawrence Arms again, and two of my other favorite Chicago (ie, really good) punk bands – the Methadones and the Arrivals. And I thought I didn’t like rock anymore. What was I thinking? That’s just it, I wasn’t thinking.

The icing on the cake: dear old friend Jim will be passing through the Twin Cities en route from Portland to Chicago and joining me and my lovely wife at both of the Triple Rock shows, and riding the bus with me to Chicago. Good old friends, good old music, they’re what a slowly aging gent needs. Oh yeah, and rock climbing and bouldering. Need that too. My brother and I are turning into climbing nerds. We talked for a long time the other night about where to put our feet on this one route – not like while we are at the climbing wall, but while we were walking the dog late at night by our apartment – and today we bought those hand strengthener things to help work out for climbing, the ones that are like the handles for pliers without the pliers part. Destination: forearms like Popeye.

Now to bed, then up early for another fucking day of fucking grading. And writing. And reading. And cleaning. Fuck. Seriously – Fuck. Really really wish I didn’t have all this shit to do. Motivation and amount of work appear to be inversely proportional.

Yet! Yet, I will persevere, a model of equanimity and poise, my present happiness suspended via top rope from a future moment toward which I climb, an evening of rock rock rock. [Please note the pun here: rock climbing, rock music… I kill me. That reminds me, like I said, I did my sort of comedy act the other day. I neglected to include in that report that I made up this lightbulb joke: How many capitalists do we need to change a lightbulb? None! We don’t need capitalists for anything! Ha! Ha! Like I said, I kill me. Or at least I embarrass me publicly.]

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