Cake Woman and I went to the show at the entry last night. Gay Beast rocked with an unspeakable fury. I got to say “hi” to Sheela, who also rocked out.
I heart heart heart Gay Beast.
Read one comment...
RADIO K PRESENTS MACH FOX with THE DIVEBOMB HONEY, GAY BEAST, and TIGHT PANTS!!!
at the Entry 8:00 PM
AFTER THE BURIAL with AMORA SAVANT, DEATH TO YOUR KING, CARNIVALE, MARQUIS DE SADE
Friend from high school (plus the musical stylings of Gay Beast, a terribly hard to google band that rocked my ass [musically!] a few months ago at Big V’s) or my coworker’s band which is hardcore/death metal/AMAZING!
Oh, that was a question, so there should be a question mark at the end, not an exclamation point. Cast your votes, especially if you want to come with.
Read 4 comments...
I had such a good time at the Doomtree show with Paul and Ashley. The beats were fucking out of control! We stood in line for an hour before getting in. I was cold, so I warmed up with three rapid beers before I started with the jumping around and the throwing of hands in the motherfucking air. I had a concert buzz for the rest of the night — that crazed energy and smile that pushes sweat out of me by the bucketful. I think that it was “Little Kids” by POS that I actually remembered, but I screamed as much as for Har Mar Superstar.
When I got home I cracked open a beer and made the drunk dials that I had promised, but only Melody was around to be bothered by my rambling innuendos. She apparently had a group of ladies over who were debating spitting versus swallowing, and she settled for me once and for all whether or not bus stop woman had been lying to me about the flavor of such a thing. We closed the book on an eleven year mystery. Hooray!
Read 2 comments...
I just bought a ticket from http://www.indietickets.com/ to Doomtree’s show at the Varsity on the 10th. Paul bought two. Go, buy your own ticket! Do it! Be there for awesome!
Read 2 comments...
Fuck you, Loggins!
Hall and I will not stand idly by while you California vagina sailors stab the american airwaves in the balls with your shit music!
Episode #2 has Hall and Oates versus, uh, McDonald and Loggins.
There are no winners today, but I felt the power of really smooth music.
I can’t deal with how awesome these Yacht Rock videos are. I just can’t.
Read 3 comments...
There is a rumor that Dashboard Confessional will be playing Northrup some time in the future, so I helped the designers come up with ideas. The Visine was Zach’s idea, the broken glasses and jailhouse tattoos were mine.
Hey, maybe I should get a tattoo like that for my first tattoo.
Read 3 comments...
And I’m sorry if I dissed you
I was a bit down Friday, so after taking a late nap I went for a drive into the black pools of night collecting in the streets. It’s hard to say where I went, but it wasn’t like riding a bike. The road glides effortlessly beneath you in a car. The air rushes past but leaves you untouched. The trip kept my head above water.
So today I woke up from pleasant dreams to the sound of the phone. I missed the call, but the answering machine revealed the caller to have been Cake Woman with a business proposition: if I were to replace the serpentine belt on her car she would provide me with delicious Maibock. For those of you who don’t know, I don’t need to be bribed to help my friends, and I don’t keep track of “debt” of favors unless it seems like someone expects me to owe them something, so really, if you need something done and you need help you should just ask and not worry about bribing me with beer. I do appreciate gifts of beer, though, even if, like in this case, I bought the beer in the first place.
Since I hadn’t eaten anything but Cheetos and a fudgie brownie since noon the previous day, Cake Woman and I moseyed up to Ready Meats, the local butcher shop. It was almost five at that point, so the store was packed with last minute shoppers.
I gave your mom the five o’clock meat rush last night!
Cake Woman is pretty goddamn funny. We proceeded to make every possible meat, sausage, and bacon joke while inside the store and walked out with a brat and two apple sausages. The butcher called Cake Woman “kitten,” which had the same effect on her as when a waitress calls me “sugar,” “darlin’,” or “get the fuck out, shithead.” Our meat was cooked, the beer was consumed, and I changed Cake Woman’s belt in less time than it took to get my tools out of the car. I didn’t even need the tools. We watched cartoons for a few hours after that, and almost watched Closer before she revealed that she had to work at seven in the morning.
As Cake Woman made her graceful exit I remembered the Dallas Orbiter show that I was almost missing. Despite the scarcity of parking on the West Bank I still managed to park for free. Mark Edwards was cool, with the layered on-site sampling of his own beat boxing, guitar, and singing. I heard the Ryan Lee Music band thing compared to Dave Matthews, which was not entirely inappropriate, except that I didn’t want to gouge out my own eyes so much. Well, whenever their awful synths played those hell spawn preset pads, yes, but the rest of the time it was all right. The old dude with the huge beard who was riding a scamp and then dancing while leaning against the bar liked it just fine, and said so loudly.
I had Beamish Irish Stout and Lodahl bought me a shot of Patron. I also drank four pints of water and had a gyro from the shop next door. I think that the Nomad might be my Wednesday night West Bank dinner spot, what with the gyros and stout and all. The one thing that I wonder about (and this will roll through my head all night) is if that cute waitress brushed past me three times in close succession to get my attention, or if I am justing building sand castles in my imaginary beach. Lisa said that doesn’t happen by accident. Melody agreed (hooray for late night AIMing). I may go back for the Beamish and a gyro on Wednesday just to scope out the situation, especially since I can make it my pre-art class meal. Or, if I were really crazed I could show up for that Roshambo business.
Oh, what am I saying? Cute dreadlocked waitresses aren’t into dorky computer science sophomores. She probably just had schmutz on her boob that she wanted to wipe off on an unsuspecting patron.
It was the other bartender who played Modest Mouse, anyway. I think. Never mind! GOD! I’m going to bed. Also, I’m gonna start calling women “kitten.”
Read 3 comments...