An even ten days since my last post. Don't think i need to say for the umpteenth time that being an assistant professor can eat up all your time. Who'da thunk it?

My Stanford computer order was just sent to Dell today. Gee, that only took a month to get a computer ordered, not to mention the forthcoming construction and shipping times. And i thought MGH purchasing was a joke. Veronica tells me i need to just cut loose, barge into the purchasing department, and start screaming and throwing things. Perhaps.

Last weekend kicked off with Veronica and i heading to the Café Du Nord in the city for Seattle indie punk outfit Pretty Girls Make Graves. We first stopped by Thailand Restaurant in the Castro for a few vegetarian curry puffs. Then it was a ten minute walk down Market to the venue. V's friend Hakeem was working the door, and graciously pulled us out of line and into the club. Despite our best efforts, we only missed one of the two opening bands. At our arrival, a best of Johnny Cash compilation was playing on the PA to commemorate his passing earlier that day, and one or two members of the next band, the Fuse!, were setting up. Veronica and i found a place to stand about ten feet back from the stage, and were thus treated to the mesmerising epic preparation of The Fuse. For some unknown reason, each of the three musicians set up their instruments in succession rather than all at once, meaning it took them a good forty minutes to get a guitar, bass, and drums ready. The singer/guitarist was this deranged hispanic hipster wearing a swanky mod suit with a red shirt and skinny tie. The bass player looked more ordinary, but also had a nifty suit. If the preparations were any indication, they looked totally incompetent. I had a bad feeling we were in for a really horrible power pop set. After an intolerable wait, the drummer finally appeared (also in mod gear) and put together the drum kit, and the show began. The singer/guitarist sauntered up to his mic and said something incoherent about Johnny Cash. Then the music began. Lo and behold, they weren't retro at all, but launched into an emo punk set reminiscent of the Nation of Ulysses. All three completely rawked out, and left the stage and a good portion of their equipment a shattered wreck. During the set the guitarist made frequent trips into the audience, scaring the crap out of several indie kids who probably thought this nut was going to clobber them. The drummer wrapped things up by admitting he'd finished a bottle of rum on the way to the show, then picked up his cymbal stand and came within a cufflink of braining a fan in the front row. The best summary i can offer is that halfway through their set, Veronica told me "This might be the worst band i've ever seen", to which i replied, "These guys are f*#@ing awesome!".

Pretty Girls Make Graves were great too. I liked their set a lot, despite the fact that the first song, "Something Bigger, Something Brighter" from their new Matador record The New Romance, sounded god damn awful. But when i remember the show, i can't get past the insane brilliance of The Fuse. Their first album is due out in November, and you can bet i'll be scouring Amoeba for it.

Saturday V and i drove to the Berkeley to check out a few possible wedding locations for next summer. That's right, this two-year engagement of ours may actually be going somewhere! My collection of good intentions and lousy excuses seems to be running out. After surveying the beautiful Brazilian Room in the heart of Tilden Park, we headed down to Fremont. There we picked up my parents and headed to Milpitas for an Italian dinner followed by The Italian Job at the second-run theater. I haven't really cared for Mark Wahlberg since that horrible remake of Planet of the Apes (what was Tim Burton thinking?), so i wasn't giving him much of a chance in another remake, but it was actually very enjoyable. Seth Green as "the real napster" was a riot.

This evening i got sucked into City by the Sea on HBO. With a cast featuring Robert De Niro and Frances McDormand it was hard not to get sucked in. James Franco and Eliza Dushku put in good, gritty performances as junkies. The end is a little contrived, but you could watch De Niro thoughtfully paint a fence and it'd be fascinating.

Off to L.A. this weekend for the KROQ Inland Invasion III featuring The Cure (their shows are always fantastic no matter how old and fat Robert Smith gets), Duran Duran (not being a girl or gay, i don't really care), Hot Hot Heat (everyone's indie flavor of the month ... except mine, i friggin hate them), Interpol (yet another chance for them to redeem their live act in my eyes), Echo and the Bunnymen (a personal fave, looking forward to it), the Psychedelic Furs (saw them with the B-52s and Go-Gos a few years ago and they were terrific), and many others. Should be a good show if i can last. I'm more focused on my impending FIFA 2001 battle with host Matthew.