paolo

The other night Marshall, Carlos and I saw Paolo Nutini in concert. It was on a school night, so I was a bit leary of going. It's hell being old, let me tell you.

But I'm glad I went.

Marshall had tried to recruit more folks to go, but hadn't succeeded. Someone at his office, it seems, had thought he was going to see Pablo Neruda. (I wish!)

I don't know how being in a (supposedly) smokefree environment and only having drunk one (3 dollar!) bottle of water could make me feel hungover the day after, but it did.

The girl opening for him, Anya Marina, was cute as could be, and really genial. She came up a few feet behind us after her set and signed autographs and such for fans.
I'm afraid I didn't much like her music, however. It wasn't bad, it was just sort of dull to me.



Paolo himself seemed a bit drunk, or high, the whole time, but he and his band were great. Marshall seemed upset at the shortness of the concert, but it worked out well for me, since his laziness or whatever got me in bed earlier. It's a shame that he kept his head hung through most of the concert, since he's so pretty and everything.
Marshall, graciously made me a cd, so now I can maybe hear some of the lyrics to the songs I didn't know. Why is it impossible to make out a single lyric at a concert nowadays, or is it just me?

Anyway, more interesting than anything onstage was what was going on a few feet in front of us, a mid thirties woman with a potbelly and a dress so short I think her chair must have been giving her a pap smear.
Her short bleached blond hair was brushed up jauntily in the front, and she was dancing like some kind of manic cockatoo in heels. I half expected her to sharpen her nails on the balcony rail.
That alone was worth the ticket price.