09/07/2003 - 1:12 p.m. | good news

I got a little better Friday night, but it was sort of an artificial better, which is hardly any better. Better better better. Woke up at � some � point feeling a bit groggy and expecting more or less an average day. Then, at 1:30, a telephone call from Michelle:

M: Nate, do you want to go to a rap concert in Chicago?
N: When?
M: As soon as possible.

Funny how plans sneak up on you like that. Hell yes, I would like to go. Get ready, get picked up, pick up Imran, on the road by 2. While waiting, I checked the mail and noticed we�d received some sort of household survey, the introduction to which is truly amazing. It compliments on being one of the smartest households or best shoppers or something. I�ll find a quote when I find the letter. Anyway, I started filling that shit out. �Yes, I do plan to own a horse within the next six months.� �I always use Kotex feminine pads!� And so on. This kept my busy for a while, which is good, because some bad shit was sneaking up on me.

By which I mean a panic attack. I don�t discuss these with people while I�m having them, but they are just truly, truly awful. For starters, you feel simply miserable. I couldn�t think of one thing in the world that really made me happy. What an awful feeling. Everything just seemed stupid and trite and hateful. I�ve been that way a lot lately. Now, hold on. This isn�t suicide talk or any shit like that. 100% promise I�ve never had even the remotest desire to �fix� things that way. I just want to find something that makes me happy, and at times like that, it seems that the chance of it happening is at the very least a long way off. Secondly, talking becomes almost impossible for me. I mean, honestly, I�m not a super conversationalist to begin with, but I do make my little jokes or whatever, and I guess that�s worth something, even if it�s not very much. Anyway, I�d listen to Michelle and Imran talk, and I�d think of something to say, and I�d flip out mentally. �No, man � don�t fucking say that shit! It�s so boring and useless! It�ll just annoy them while they�re trying to have a real conversation!� And then my logical elements would argue, �No, you fucking nut � you�re just having a panic attack� They aren�t bothered by what you say. It�s actually probably much creepier on their end that you�re silently sitting back here with your eyes darting around.� Rebuttal: �Well, if I�m having a panic attack, I�m fucking crazy, and they don�t need to be bothered about that shit because I would obviously feel the need to mention it for attention or some shit, you stupid third wheel!� And on and on and on and on. It becomes this tremendous battle for me to do anything, and I really don�t want to try explaining it because it makes me sound so crazy, and I just want it better. I�d tell them what was going on, but then they�d probably want to help, and there�s no way they really could because I just have to help myself.

So I get mostly quiet or mean instead. Great move, fucktard. See, what actually ends up fixing me is being alone and trying to find some tiny bit of happiness to grow from (this is why I take so many walks and bike rides and shit� working off some energy and listening to music sort of help me out)� but I apparently start taking emergency measures to be alone, such as trying to push everyone away. Very childish shit really. Disagreeing just for the sake of not agreeing and stuff. I�m a horse�s ass and feel terribly guilty. I bet they regret inviting me. Stupid fucking Nate.

Anyway, this is all sort of underscoring everything at first. We arrive at the Tweeter Center right on time and head towards our seats, which aren�t too terrible considering the tickets were only 10 bucks and Imran had bought them the day before. The sound quality isn�t too great, but then again, neither are the opening acts. I�m still silently bugging out and trying to work up the nerve to run off as unnoticeably as I can. Because it�s a semi-outdoor place, there are all these grasshoppers leaping about and scaring the crap out of people. I was watching this one on the top of the chair in front of me for a long time. It would walk to one side, look around over the edge, decide that this probably wasn�t the way to go, turn around, walk to the other side, and repeat. My brain was desperately trying to turn this into a metaphor, but sometimes you�ve just got to say no. This group of three people came up to the bug�s seat a little while later, and having never encountered nature before, made themselves looked like asses. The girl saw the bug and started quietly freaking out. So, Dude #1 pulls out his cell phone antenna and tries to jab at the grasshopper from a safe distance. Grasshopper�s like, �Ha, nice try� and stays right where he/she is. Dude #1 daunted, Dude #2 steps up and tries a half-hearted swipe at the bug with his ticket. Again, �What the fuck was that?� No movement. So now, they�re completely out of options, and I�m nearing my limit, so I leap over the seat and just brush the guy off, giving them a look that I hope would say, �Grasshoppers aren�t poisonous.� [Side note: Back in third grade or something, I was in a spelling be, and my mnemonic device for spelling �poisonous� was �Pooh is on � oh - us,� as in it was first on the other person but then it got on the speaker as well. I am so smart.] Hell yes, you should be sheepish.

I�d reached about wit�s end by that point, so I took off towards the lawn behind the pavilion, and this was when I started to at least feel better. For one, the sound quality was much better out there. It�s as if they designed the building to be one giant speaker for everyone on the lawn. So I perched in the grass in the sunlight and spaced out a little and listened to a cover of �Purple Haze� and things just sort of worked themselves out. I didn�t feel any happier really, but I didn�t feel sad anymore. Things were OK, as far as things get. Headed back to Michelle and Imran and tried to sell them on the merits of going out on the grass. Imran took some convincing, but we did finally get out there, and I think the show was better for it.

The earlier acts have kind of blended together in my mind, but once the bigger headliners came up, I started to enjoy myself. Talib Kweli had some amazing lyrics, and I gain more and more respect for the freestyling community every second (�Fuck George Bush, we�re not the Dixie Chicks�). Also, I thought the girls he has singing backup and dancing were a really cool touch. I would like two of those please. What else was good were these two drunken white guys rapping in front of us the whole time. Couldn�t here them, but I bet it was swell. The Roots came out after that, and they were just amazing. Besides doing a brief homage to Sir Mix-a-lot�s �Jump On It� in their opening song (the reference was probably understood by me and about six other people), they are just all amazing musicians. I mean, I sort of liked their stuff beforehand, but seeing them live blew my mind. Each member of the band was given a big chunk of time to just play on stage by himself and basically show how awesome he was. And they were! Even as one who doesn�t appreciate percussion as nearly as much as he should (so says Spritz), watching the drummer and bongo player sitting at the same drum set, rotating spots, and playing the whole damn time was mind-blowing. Must stop saying �amazing.� The Roots were pretty much what we had come to see, so we stuck around to hear a little of O.A.R., which has a following comparable to a less famous Dave Matthews Band, but I guess Michelle has goin� out that needed doing, so we left at about nine when we finally found her car.

We got pulled over, which sucks tremendously. $95 ticket � ick. We even put together $100 to pay it then, but he apparently doesn�t give change. A racket, I swear. That sort of put a damper on the ride home, making it a) more depressing and b) slower because getting caught (assumedly) makes one paranoid and not drive so damn fast. Michelle got a call from one her many suitors, and the methods she used to not hurt his feelings and still turn him down made me want to physically harm myself. �Well, maybe if my friends want to go�� AHHHH! Just say no!! If you yourself really did want to go and were interested in this fellow, you wouldn�t give a flying fuck about your friends and you�d just go! I am aware that she was just trying to be nice, but creating hope that really shouldn�t be there is in the long run a lot worse. Sets the guy up for an even bigger fall. And the thing about sort of leading the one guy on while really liking his friend? Seriously, from an outsider�s perspective, que cruel. I would much rather have my hopes dashed completely right away then to be led along optimistically and then finally set afloat alone. Editorial complete.

On the radio, they played this new Chemical Brothers song featuring the Flaming Lips. �The Golden Path.� I can�t download anything, so you should do it for me, and I will be there in spirit. And possibly in person if you invite me over. Also, saw fireworks (the huge kind) on three separate occasions on the drive home. Any idea why?

Michelle dropped me off, and I spent the rest of the night with Kyle, Spritz, Brytne, Kirk (!!!), Allen, and Kitty. DDR and foosball and way too much fried food, which is OK because I hadn�t really eaten shit all day. Everyone learned what a fantastic hula hooper I am (my one natural talent), so we looked up the world record. 88 hours. That�s totally doable physically, but you also have to have it all on tape and have a doctor present, so that�s still a ways off.

Girl at gas station: Come on, everybody! The train�s leavin�!
Drunken Brytne: Fuck the train!

What an amazing substance.