Monday, December 01, 2003

The White Stripes played a great show a couple of nights ago. They were playing some make-up shows for the postponed ones after Jack broke his finger over the summer. I had four tickets to the originally scheduled dates, which were used by me, a good friend, my brother and his girlfriend. Great show by the way, primal, Meg doing the dinosour stomp on the tom toms while Jack channeled some energy straight down from Robert Johnson/Muddy Waters/Stevie Ray Vaughn and all the others who tapped into the source. Seeing the Stripes now must be like having caught Dylan’s Wheels of Thunder tour or the Rolling Stones in 1968 or the Pistols in 76 or any of the greats at the moment when they completely put it together into a full frontal cortex wallop.

And of course wife wasn’t there. Showed no interest whatsoever in going.

But of course this is the story of our lives. We live our lives together alone. At times it feels like her interests are limited to going to a particular Japanese restaurant, seeing Oscar nomination likely movies, and rummaging at flea markets. I end up doing all the interesting things on my own. In the past year, I have been to a great Lou Reed concert, taken a trip to Eastern Europe to attend a surprise birthday party for an Uncle, gone on three ski trips, seen several movies that she didn’t want to see, had uncounted dinners, taken our child on uncounted afternoon adventures, not to mention the White Stripes show, all on my own.

And of course, getting off with myself, far more often than with her.

Marriage is the ultimate sham. You think you are gaining a companion when all you are doing is giving up your ability to do the things you want to do with somebody who at least pretends to be interested and giving up any chance of good regular sex.

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