Just before the Christmas holidays, I was looking forward to a spring trip to the US and a couple of nice professional opportunities. Now, a month later, the US trip is off, and one of those professional opportunities seems to have been a wash. Plus, I've been thrown an additional, heretofore unseen setback, and Anette got dealt a nasty financial body blow. So I'm, uh, off my heels a bit.
What to do?
I suppose the manly, 30-something answer would be that I should go out and get stinking drunk, howl at the moon and have my knuckles pierced.
But I was never very good at getting drunk, even when I was 30-something. It didn't, and doesn't, feel cathartic, or even pleasurable.
I mean, I like beer. And the occasional gin martooni. But...I'm just saying.
I'm a big believer in the healing powers of listening to a really loud rock band. And sticking your head inside their speaker cabinets for at least part of the set. But I'm still a bit of a novice when it comes to nightclubbing in Wien. I don't know where to find a good Kiss tribute band when I need one.
Some people like to scream at them that done 'em wrong. Or engage in sabotage or pranksterism. I recognize the value of such strategies. But again, I've never been very good at actually performing personal smackdowns. I've always enjoyed hearing about the Flaming Doo stunt. You know-- you place a paper bag full of dog poo on the doorstep of your enemy, set it on fire, ring the door bell, then run away. In theory, the victim is meant to come to the door, try to stomp the fire out, and end up with crap all over their loafers. But I'm sure I'd just set myself on fire.
Somehow I think I'm going to steer a middle course tonight. Prolly end up drinking one beer at the Fluc while listening to medium loud techno.
This is exactly the fate described in many of your great punk rock songs. I'm either very boring, or just bad at being bad.
[Late night postscript: I actually ended up going to a museum show about 1989 and the end of the USSR. I really enjoyed it. Sad.]