instant gratification? yes please.

I ordered a (camera) mobile phone yesterday from Verizon Wireless. A Samsung SCH-a670, for you techy types. (For you non-techy types, it's a cute little silver flip-phone with a color screen inside and on the back!) Yesterday, on my lunch hour I ordered it. It was free because I renewed my contract for two years and ordered it over the phone instead of at the store, netting me some sort of rebate, yada yada yada. So when did it arrive? Oh, today. Like less than 24 hours after I ordered it. I just activated it and plugged it in to charge up while I was home at lunch. So when I'm watching the Yankees-RedSox game tonight, I can text message and even picture message all interested and uninterested parties as to the game's progress and my progress through the cheapest available domestic light beer on tap. I'm wearing my "I Hate the Yankees" T-shirt, so I'm hoping that that and some well-timed eyelash-batting (npi) will get me some of this beer at no cost to myself. Naughty!

So anyway, my point is: getting something less than 24 hours after you order it is very pleasing.

Lastnight found this Nice Marmot at the Showbox Thyatah on First Avenue with Ms. Susse Speck for an Old 97's show. The doors opened at 8:00, but luckily nothing happened til we got there at 9:00. When Christy McWilson started playing. I could smell what she was cooking. Then Jon Rauhouse, who... plays? has played? Is closely associated with...: Neko Case, took the stage with his lapsteel guitar and several friends backing him. Mostly instrumental. He's a very talented individual. Ms. Susse and I could not believe our ears and grabbed each other for support when we realized that his second or third tune was: the theme from "Perry Mason." The same "Perry Mason" I watched noontimes during the summer when my mother was out of the house. The same "Perry Mason" Ms. Susse has been watching with rapt attention for the past few months, as often as possible. We were pretty much in raptures.

And then after a long and WANKY delay which led us to ponder our sleepiness, old age, and the possible diva'tudes of the headliners, the Old 97's finally took the stage for a raucous, swinging set. Every song has a new foot-tapping, hip-twitching beat. People should have been country swing-dancing to this stuff! So much energy coming at your membranes. (sleepiness gone in an instant.) The best was "Designs On You." It's got that yearning, veiled motives of love thing going for it--in the melody and the lyrics. The boys were hopping up and done, whaling on their guitars. I do love me some tasty guitars. (If you have the means, I highly recommend picking up a copy of Old 97s' "Satellite Rides." Their latest, "Drag It Up," I have not yet heard and cannot personally vouch for, but probably buy that before you get, say, "Bonnie Tyler's Super Hits.")

In brief, we had a good time, the band had a good time, the audience had a good time. (A good time was had by all, and we slunk off into the night.)

My husband is home sick from work today. A sore throat and tummy thing; sounds like the flu to me. He's taking it easy. Just climbing ladders and reconnecting the cable to our upstairs living room, moving the TV up there, and rearranging the furniture to accommodate it. Once the man gets something into his head, it's best to just get out of his way. In this case, I'm really pleased, because the rest of this plan involves me getting the WHOLE basement room for my quilting, scrapbooking, and whatnot. Where I can leave things a mess whenever I like! On the other hand, he refuses to call Verizon and update his billing address. That's right, we moved 13 months ago, but on his day off, he just can't quite....it's too much effort. I do the same thing myself, though. I'll spend hundreds of hours hand-quilting a quilt, but I simply don't have time to iron, so I just wear knits and jeans to work.

Remember to tell those you love that you do. And remember I love you, too. Now I have to clean off my desk and listen to "Designs on You" for the eighth time today. Toodles, you few, you proud, you readers of Nice Marmot.