Shinedown and the Start of Hell

Ahh, that lovely feeling of waking up after a night of rocking out at a concert. It's kind of like that ache you get after working out. It's a good ache but dully irritating, even if it is reminding you of how awesome you are! So, I went to a concert last night and need I say that it was fantastic!!! The entire show was pretty amazing.

Skillet was the opening band and if you like alternative rock I recommend scoping them out. Normally I'm not too keen at being around for an opening band but these guys were the exception. Not only did they have a great stage presence but they were funny, interesting, and, dare I say, exotic! Normally you have a bassist, a guitarist, a singer, a drummer, you know the deal. Often you will also get a keyboardist thrown into the mix. Well, they didn't stop there. For a few songs they also had a cellist and a violinist which makes them epic in my book. Live performances with something more exotic than a keyboard is rarely seen. I was all !!!!

The second band, Puddle of Mudd, was how I expected them to be. And I was none too impressed. They were fun but their stage presence was kind of goofy. Some of their songs brought me back to my high school days, though. It's odd knowing I grew up with a band and they are no longer headlining.

The third band, the band I went to see, was Shinedown. They were as I expected them to be as well. Fantastic!!! It was such a great show. They were energetic, passionate, fun, and of course their music is love!! Brent Smith, the singer, sounded exactly as he does in his songs. That's something I like to pay attention to. Sometimes you'll get a band that their voices have changed or they just can't hit the notes that they do in a studio. Well, he blew me away! Their energy was contagious and friendly, mellow and totally accepting of every single fan in the audience. I loved it!! I also managed to get the attention of the drummer, Barry Kerch, and he lobbed a set list at me. It went high but hit the hands outstretched behind me and fell right in front of me at which point I scooped it up. I never managed to get a set list before so that was pretty sick! I was cheering that the set list had the date and the place on it. The place was lovingly titled "New York Fuckin City". Again, if you like alternative rock, check them out.

It was a good ending to my break considering that tomorrow is the start of yet another semester of school...hopefully the last as an undergrad. I'll probably put up a journal at the end of this week telling you how much I'm going to love and/or hate my schedule and my classes for the upcoming months. Then I'll probably stop making journals. But, you can bet that I'll still be active as often as I can be. I just can't get enough of you people!! You're addicting!! Wish me luck!

Thanks for reading!

Book Review: Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman: As a Neil Gaiman fan I try not to be prejudiced when reading his literature. I like to venture into a book without previous thoughts of books and how fantastic they were. I feel like I succeeded with keeping my love for Gaiman literature at bay and have still found that this book is now one of my favorites.

We meet a man, nicknamed by his father, Fat Charlie. Not that he is fat anymore, but once his father gives a name, it sticks. He happens to be a son of a god. Anansi, his father, being the god in question. Fat Charlie was always embarrassed by his father's actions to the point where he, at the beginning of the book, contemplates inviting him to his wedding to an Englishwoman: Rosie. Very soon we learn that his father has passed away and we also find out that Fat Charlie can be embarrassed without the need of his father. It is the definition of normalcy. Fat Charlie has made himself completely normal and cannot handle the eccentricities of life. That is, until he comes in contact with his brother, Spider.

Fat Charlie takes advice from a few old ladies of his home town which will soon act like cruel Fates in Fat Charlie's life. Unlike the Fates of mythology, however, these old ladies are simply assisting in the choices that Fat Charlie makes. In a way, they are part of his web, part of his story and they simply tell him which strand of web to follow, if he wants to follow it at all. Desperate for solutions, he will often follow their advice instead of the advice of his own smothered conscience. If he could just open his eyes perhaps he would find that he's more like his father than he thinks.

We follow Fat Charlie through an odd assortment of events that are typical of Gaiman creativity. Just like Spider's manipulation in Fat Charlie's life, we find ourselves weaved into a web that we feel there is no escape from. Helpless marionettes being controlled by some outside force when, in fact, we weave our own webs and simply need to make a choice, a daring choice, to be ourselves. To, most importantly, sing our own songs.

There is so much to talk about in this book but I would not want to spoil it for you. So let me just end by saying that this book is a story of mirror images, and mirrored people. An example is the mirrored image of Fat Charlie in Spider. Not only in look but in how opposite and how alike they are. The story is easy to ready, funny, exciting, and daring in its creativity. Gaiman makes you work for an answer but does not make it too hard to find it and to be given confirmation soon after. This is the working evolution of human kind and of a story, a very important one. A voyage of discovery that very rarely comes to fruition in literature in such a phenomenal way.

My only warning is to not read this book if you are deathly afraid of arachnids or birds. If not, please pick it up and give Gaiman a chance. If you are already a Neil fan, pick up American Gods first.


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"Newt remained curled in the chair. He held out his painty hands as though a cat's cradle were strung between them. 'No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's...'
'And?'
'No damn cat, and no damn cradle.'"
-Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut