Well, that turned around nicely. Go Bears!
This handheld massager must have a time limit on how long it will run. When it shut off, it felt like it was telling me “that’s enough.”
And that’s how I found myself saying to an inanimate object: “You don’t know me. You don’t know my pain.”
El Pintor sounds exactly like the Interpol I remember from 2002. This record is more 2002 than a joke about Michael Jackson holding his baby over a hotel room balcony. El Pintor evokes the past so vividly that Interpol must’ve consciously set out to essentially re-create its first record on purpose. Bands never admit to doing this, because nostalgia-humping is generally considered to be an artistic sin. But if you’re still interested in hearing new Interpol music at this point, I suspect you want that music to sound like El Pintor.
Our regular babysitter went back to college on the other side of the state. She recommended her friend who’s still here in town. We were all set until the friend got called in to her full time job unexpectedly for tonight.
Dinner reservations at Kaze and the Pop Goes the Evil show at MOTR were in jeopardy. Finally, about an hour ago someone responded to my desperate plea on Care.com. Four good references, a clean background check and available on short notice.
Hope the kids like the new lady.