It's my turn to bitch...
Five days have passed, and ladies and gentlemen, I'm still bitter. I'm not gonna name names, but my babysitter is still on my shit list. As you might have guessed, I'd really been looking forward to going to the Glorious Noise 5th Anniversary BASH for months now. It's not like this was just another party; I knew this was gonna be a hell of a night. I was totally looking forward to seeing Jake, Derek, Quasar Wut Wut, and Riviera, and buying the brand new, soon-to-be-officially-released Riviera CD Capital. This should have been a secret to no one, including my babysitter. In fact, when we made plans with her, we specified that a) we'd be going into the city to see bands, and b) that we'd be home between 1am and 1:30, and was that okay with her? She said yes; we sorta believed her, not having any reason not to. The date was on, and I was thrilled. It gave me a real good reason to look forward to October 21st, an otherwise arbitrary date.
Then, two hours before we were to leave, she calls us, nonchalantly mentions that she can only babysit until midnight. WHAT????!?!?!?!?! Fortunately, my lovely wife Mrs. Murphy got that phone call, and when she mentioned that we originally said that we were going into the city, and that we would need a bit of time to drive, the sitter said, pleasant as you can, "That's nice. You can be a little late, as long as you come home as close to midnight as possible." Whether or not it was intended as such, I viewed it as the lowest form of blackmail, pure and simple. It was far too late to get another sitter, and how convenient for her to call us with such incredible notice. I bit the bullet, we ended up having to NOT GO TO THE CONCERT I'D ONLY BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO GOING TO FOR MONTHS. I felt stupid to have had to tell Jake Brown (GloNo major domo) that we were happily coming, that we couldn't wait, and then have to call him back an hour later and say that we just got screwed by our babysitter, and it wasn't even good sex. Jake, if you're reading this, I can't express to you how much I was anticipating that concert, and how devastated and bitter that our babysitter's last-minute newsflash totally assasinated our original (and far better) plans.
The beautiful Mrs. Murphy and I ended up going to see Man Of The Year, the Robin Williams movie where a Jon Stewart-type figure gets elected president. Frankly, I dug it; I'm always a sucker for liberal porn. The critics were somewhat tepid in their response; I liked it enough so that I don't feel like I've been ripped off (not by the movie theater, anyway. The 
babysitter is another story...). I'd give the movie a B, pushing a B+.But what a sorry tradeoff. Nothing against Mr. Williams, but I sure as hell could have used a double shot of Quasar Wut Wut and Riviera. For what it's worth, I've seen both bands and can vouch that they both put on a hell of a show. And all accounts of the show that I missed unanimously tell me that I missed out on one hell of a good time, that "Santa Monica was definitely set on fiyah!!!"
I think that the least that my babysitter could do is buy me the new Riviera CD.
