The Smiths and non-denominational agreements

One of the gals from my knitting group invited me to a Smiths evening held at a very cute little bar by someone who works across the hall from her. I had told her the story of finally getting on stage to hug Morrissey a few years ago. Even though I was a bit old for such things it was a long-held wish of mine to do one day. I described, as I always do when telling the story, that he smelled like church. Like pinewood and incense. Ahh. So obviously, I was gung-ho for an all Smiths night.

Such a strange mix of young and old. 20 year olds in their pencil tight jeans and converse, giddy with their retro-ecstasy and tired and slightly sheepish looking 30 year olds(myself included)(and actually, even more oddly, a high number of which, were neurobiologists), giddy with nostalgia. It was so interesting to see the new fans dancing and happy and the old fans hiding in the corners.

I pointed out to my friend J that a textbook, oldschool Smiths fan was present. We made a check-list of attributes:
1. Quiff
2. In the corner
3. Over 34
4. Dressed in black
5. Sitting with legs crossed
6. Not smiling except maybe a little grimace

This, of course, could also have described Samuel Beckett or an Irish priest but the lines of distinction, so fine....

Har har.

Anyway, it was fun until they stopped playing all Smiths and started playing Smiths-linked music. Seriously, if I wanted to go to an 80's retro night I could have gone to any bar any night of the week here in Montreal. The youngsters were loving it but I could see that the over 30 set were annoyed. We dragged ourselves out of reclusivity(new word?) to pay homage to The Smiths and were robbed! Well, ok, it wasn't that bad. Blur, Sundays, New York Dolls...all good music, but it would have been way cooler to hear all Smiths.

I even went into town, after 9pm, on a weeknight for it! I'm usually in bed by 9:30! Didn't get home till 1am and somehow, lost one of my favourite scarves. Not sure how since there were about 12 people there, it was tiny and I only sat in one place. I'm still annoyed. Some bastard took my scarf. Some impostor, for surely, no real Smiths fan would steal a scarf.

So today, I am so tired. So very tired. At about, 4pm I hit the wall of insanity. It was nice actually. A sort of languid, spaced-out confusion which is progressing into a black-out, I presume, at any moment. Don't do good with lack of sleep. No matter, only 40 minutes left of work and then I can pass out on the train and drool all over the window ledge.

Yesterday, I wrote about one hundred blogs and didn't publish any of them. They were all tied up to a recent event. Someone told me something that indicated a great lack of understanding or caring toward me and the responses I wrote were many and prolific. In the end however, I decided it was futile. I used to try so hard to have everyone understand me all the time. I'd work myself into a fever thinking of ways to rephrase things to make someone agree or understand. Now, I say screw'em. Futile to try to make someone believe what they clearly prefer not to. Now, I wash my hands and rise above. Can I get a non-denominational agreement in lieu of an amen?

Oh ya!