I woke this morning with my left eye crusted shut...just as if someone had painted rubber cement over it while I slept. Damn it! Pink eye is no fun. It's a mild case, but still--it's one of those conditions that only small dirty children are supposed to get, like my other favorite childhood condition: impetigo. Yuck.

Where am I going with this? Nowhere. Just wanted you all to share in my sticky misery.

Tuesday night E. and I went to see Morrissey at the Oakland Paramount theater...
it was fun, as much for the people watching as the music. I feel a little proprietary about the 80s look that's back in fashion. When we dressed that way, we just didn't know any better. It was bad and ugly the first time around--but the kids wearing it today have movies and the internet as reference...don't they know how dumb those pencil-leg jeans and stupid stripey shirts with the thick wastebands look?

I think we both felt our age a little, though there were plenty of folks older than us. The Smiths reached their height of popularity, after all, in the 80s, and even Morrissey's solo popularity was probably early to mid 90s. The 23 year old girl I work with, for instance, was entirely clueless. "Morrissey," she said. "I think I've heard of her."

We got lucky in one respect, though. Only two young angsty boys threw themselves on stage and had to be dragged off. In Stockton the night before, so many people rushed the stage that he cut the concert short.

I thought about how odd it is that musicians become such a focus of passion. You rarely see a writer rushed at the podium, believe me...even other forms of celebrity get less bodily contact from fans. I think it's because music is so emotional--it stirs people up, gets deep into the psyche.

Anyway...I'm tired and a little under the weather, so that's really all I have to say today.

JPR