There is no free wi-fi here. I am forced to either write or read a book. I’m currently reading Me Talk Pretty One Day, but I’m not in the mood for reading. I’m listening to a Morrissey concert from October 27, 2007, night 4 of the 5-night stand in NYC’s Hammerstein Ballroom. I was there. I was not, however, in the right side section (Julia’s side) where Mr. NritH recorded this show. Fine job, the audio is done quite well. Listening to it brings back some good times in my head. I’m going back today, not to that time, just to New York City. The place I didn’t like until my last day there. Weird, huh?
Jack The Ripper is the song that’s one right now. It’s one of the best versions of it I’ve ever heard. I should know, I’ve only seen it played about 16 times. A little crazy, right? The intro to it is great, so is the rest of it too. It is always such a great song to hear live, I do like the studio version better than the album version, but seeing it and feeling it and actually being there for it makes it a world and a half better. Especially when he opens with it. My friend April once told me it was very ballsy of him to open with it. Now I realize it really was! He opened with it when I went to LA, or, Moz Angeles. Now those were some great shows. I went all the way out there knowing not a sole (or soul) and ended up making quite a few friends.
8 times in LA, 5 in New York City, still never enough.
I’m only 10 songs into this recording. I listened to it on the way over here with my dad. Still not sure if he would like Moz or not.
The National Front Disco just came on. He’s got a lot of flack for this one, but I love it so much live. There’s so much that’s said, yet so much hidden. Could mean anything really, what is it to you? I think sometime when I’m drunk I could sing it, but it wouldn’t mean as much as it would if I were English. Not English like the way most American’s are, but the kind of English where you are actually from England, not from when my ancestors came over and murdered quite a few people to take this over. Reminds me of another Morrissey song, This Is Not Your Country. Also, it’s July 4 this week! Go celebrate your dependence.
I don’t know the name of our flight attendant, but I bet her name was Betty or something along those lines. Not very friendly, but she got me a Sprite in a timely manner and even got my cup thrown away before we were about to land. There were about 15 people on our tiny flying machine. Rather a small, uninteresting flight if you ask me. Not that you asked me, why would you have?
Wi-fi isn’t free here either.
I’m waiting on Carole and Sarah to pick me up here at baggage claim. I have claimed my bag, it’s mine, not anyone else’s. I’m fortunate that my aunt let me borrow it. Still, it’s mine. I was going to write something interesting about the flight, but I can’t remember and I really don’t give a shit. I’m here, that’s it, right?
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