On Saturday my computer died. I hadn't even touched it or moved it for hours. It was playing some music through iTunes. Perhaps the Mail app was open. Then it started making a crunching noise. Not a good, "wow, my CPU is really churning through some data" kind of noise. But a "wow, that sounds like my hard drive is eating itself" kind of noise. Without running through my complete list of tech repair maneuvers, let's just say it was the first time in my computing experience that it truly seemed dead.
Enter Apple Computer tech support. If you're a gambler like me, you don't buy the "extended care" plan you're always offered whenever you buy a piece of tech gear. If you gamble and you lose, what Apple wants you to do is go down to your nearest Apple Store and belly up to the "Genius Bar". You can sign up online for a place in line, so you can limit your waiting to 2 hours or so. During which, you watch helpless souls try to figure out why their iPod doesn't play anymore. You watch a friendly "Genius" explain to an elderly couple how to set up and use a Mac - which is slightly more difficult than plugging in your VCR and setting the time. You check your place in line on the iMac G5 nearby. You check it again. And again. And again. At this point you start to wonder where you can buy the new Apple "ProCare" card. Only 99 bucks for the ability to actually schedule an appointment with the "Genius" of your choice, instead of waiting in line with cheap bastards like me.
And then... my name was called. I told the Genius who called himself "E" that I ran the hardware test CD and it said my drive was dead, so I wanna use my warranty while it's still in effect and put it in the shop. He told me to hold up and then plugged in his firewire drive. He couldn't find an OS. He asked me if I backed up my computer recently. I had done so, and he promptly erased my drive. He had me install the OS right there at the bar. Voila! Good as new. E is a goddamn Genius.
The moral of the story is this: Back up your computer as often as possible. So DO IT NOW. If not, I'll look forward to reading your rant in the near future.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Thursday, January 20, 2005
living large
Some people think that if you're taking business trips and living out of a hotel, then you've like hit the big time or something. You check into a room and stay there for weeks at a time. WOOHOO! High-rollin' playa. I used to think that. Then it became a reality for me. The only thing that's posh about hotel living is the fact that you can get out of bed and not do anything about its messyness. You come back from work and the bed is made again. Sweet. Other than that, hotel living kinda sucks. I have to reconfigure my mind to which channel ESPN is on. There's no stereo. And I feel like I'm fighting housekeeping about keeping a glass on the nightstand for water.
There is a strange phenomenon going on with the current hotel though. It's this weird game I'm involuntarily playing with housekeeping: Every day I come back to the hotel and find a new bar of hotel soap, wrapped in this hotel chain's paper, and there's another hotel-sized bottle of shampoo. It's always sitting on the edge of the tub on top of the bathmat, which has been folded in that weird hotel way to emphasize its girth. So I take the soap and shampoo and put it next to the tissue box. As of today I have 6 bars of soap and 5 bottles of shampoo. I can't remember how the numbers diverged, but it doesn't matter.
I can't honestly understand how somebody who takes so much care to fold the towels in such a way as to do the "fannning out in a clamshell shape" day after day wouldn't notice the growing mountain of soap and shampoo next to the tissues. Do they think that I can possibly use a whole bar of soap and an entire bottle of shampoo in one day? Why don't they take them back? I'm really gonna mess with their minds by putting all the stuff back on the edge of the tub when I leave. Apparently these things are invisible to them unless it's on the edge of the tub. Or maybe it's their way of letting me know I've hit the big time.
There is a strange phenomenon going on with the current hotel though. It's this weird game I'm involuntarily playing with housekeeping: Every day I come back to the hotel and find a new bar of hotel soap, wrapped in this hotel chain's paper, and there's another hotel-sized bottle of shampoo. It's always sitting on the edge of the tub on top of the bathmat, which has been folded in that weird hotel way to emphasize its girth. So I take the soap and shampoo and put it next to the tissue box. As of today I have 6 bars of soap and 5 bottles of shampoo. I can't remember how the numbers diverged, but it doesn't matter.
I can't honestly understand how somebody who takes so much care to fold the towels in such a way as to do the "fannning out in a clamshell shape" day after day wouldn't notice the growing mountain of soap and shampoo next to the tissues. Do they think that I can possibly use a whole bar of soap and an entire bottle of shampoo in one day? Why don't they take them back? I'm really gonna mess with their minds by putting all the stuff back on the edge of the tub when I leave. Apparently these things are invisible to them unless it's on the edge of the tub. Or maybe it's their way of letting me know I've hit the big time.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Fly the Friendly Skies
I've been on far too many airplanes recently. So much so that it's becoming less like a rare treat and more like getting on a bus. I've become aware of the power of alcohol for making the bus ride a little less nerve-ridden. On my most recent adventure, I made my way through the throngs of suits to find a bar in the "B-travel" section (which includes ATA, AmericaWest, and AlaskaAirlines). It was the only bar that had sports on the TV. I promptly ordered a pint of Anchor Steam. The guy sitting at the table next to mine slammed his pint, then followed that up with what I could only guess was a Jack n' Coke. Another woman bellied up to the bar and was there for about a minute and left a bottle of Heineken behind. What a magic trick! After looking around at all the people who looked like they travel more regularly than I do, and seeing how many drinks they had, I figured I better have another Anchor.
Time came to get aboard the flying bus, so I went down to the gate and boarding had already begun. I got into my seat and we took off. As we were passing through ten-thousand feet, the thought of urinating started becoming an obsession. But the "fasten seat belts" light was still illuminated, so I counted to 10 countless times. Finally the light went off and I turned to head to the closet in the rear they refer to as a "restroom". The beverage cart was already coming down the aisle, so I started toward the restroom in the front of the plane. Occupied. The first class attendant (named Cathy) ordered me to wait at row 6 - the first row outside of first class. Luckily there was nobody there, so I took a seat and tapped my foot for about 2 minutes.
One of the pilots exited the cabin and tapped Cathy on the shoulder. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the restroom which was marked "Occupied". He went in. Okay, so I'd been had. The restroom was never occupied at all and Cathy knew this. I had to go to the little zen place in my mind to get over this. Meanwhile another stewardess (named Theresa) came to the front to sub for Cathy, who had just gone into the cabin to provide a little naughtiness to the flight crew I'm sure. The pilot who had just dropped a load went back into the cabin. I waited another minute and started toward the bathroom, which I was now sure was free. Theresa blocked my entry and said, "No, you have to wait". I said "But there's nobody in there." She told me to go back to row 6. I saw that the beverage cart was still blocking my way to the restrooms in the rear. I was about ready to make a break for the front restroom, but instead I went to that little zen place in my mind again and politely said to Theresa "I have to use the bathroom." This really set Theresa off so she got in a huff and told Kirk (our other flight attendant) to move the cart so I could get by to the rear bathroom. I wonder if I should start wearing Depends to the airport. Live and learn.
Time came to get aboard the flying bus, so I went down to the gate and boarding had already begun. I got into my seat and we took off. As we were passing through ten-thousand feet, the thought of urinating started becoming an obsession. But the "fasten seat belts" light was still illuminated, so I counted to 10 countless times. Finally the light went off and I turned to head to the closet in the rear they refer to as a "restroom". The beverage cart was already coming down the aisle, so I started toward the restroom in the front of the plane. Occupied. The first class attendant (named Cathy) ordered me to wait at row 6 - the first row outside of first class. Luckily there was nobody there, so I took a seat and tapped my foot for about 2 minutes.
One of the pilots exited the cabin and tapped Cathy on the shoulder. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the restroom which was marked "Occupied". He went in. Okay, so I'd been had. The restroom was never occupied at all and Cathy knew this. I had to go to the little zen place in my mind to get over this. Meanwhile another stewardess (named Theresa) came to the front to sub for Cathy, who had just gone into the cabin to provide a little naughtiness to the flight crew I'm sure. The pilot who had just dropped a load went back into the cabin. I waited another minute and started toward the bathroom, which I was now sure was free. Theresa blocked my entry and said, "No, you have to wait". I said "But there's nobody in there." She told me to go back to row 6. I saw that the beverage cart was still blocking my way to the restrooms in the rear. I was about ready to make a break for the front restroom, but instead I went to that little zen place in my mind again and politely said to Theresa "I have to use the bathroom." This really set Theresa off so she got in a huff and told Kirk (our other flight attendant) to move the cart so I could get by to the rear bathroom. I wonder if I should start wearing Depends to the airport. Live and learn.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
An Ant's Life
Remember that movie "A Bug's Life"? Remember all the cute little ants you rooted for to beat the grasshoppers, and when they won at the end you yelled "Hooray"? Is that the way you really feel about ants? I sure as hell don't. Especially after the rains brought an infestation into my kitchen this week. They creep me out to no end. I look at the minions scrambling around aimlessly to find a scrap of food (or a dead ant) to carry back to the colony and it gives me the willies. I certainly don't go "Hooray!"
Lily and I did a little research on how to rid ourselves of the heebie-jeebies, and we discovered that vinegar is a deterrent. And then through trial and error I found that it's not actually a deterrent as much as it throws their scent trails off; hence they don't make ant trails and gather. So after making a little playpen to contain them out of vinegar-soaked paper towels, I did some research on the web on how to make sure they didn't stick around.
Terro looked like the winner ant solution, so off I went to the local Ace Hardware to buy it. I also bought some traditional baits called "MaxAttract" just to make sure I covered my bases. Terro is some gel-type stuff that looks like the bottled hand sanitizing gel you might see people rubbing their hands with after getting off Muni. Especially the number 19 Polk. Terro gives you paper discs about the size of a quarter that state "PLACE TERRO HERE" so the ants will know where dinner is served.
Terro is to ants like shit is to flies. They circled around and on top of the globule I set out for them. And because it seemed so popular, I dropped a bunch onto the tops of the traditional ant baits as well. About 2 hours later there were probably 20 times as many ants in the paper towel pen as before. A day later, the ants dropped off to about 1/3 of the original bunch. I felt so proud that I'd done my husbandly duty of keeping the house safe from intruders that I showed Lily as soon as she walked in the door home from work. She said "aw". She felt bad that we had done this to them. I can't win. Hooray!
Lily and I did a little research on how to rid ourselves of the heebie-jeebies, and we discovered that vinegar is a deterrent. And then through trial and error I found that it's not actually a deterrent as much as it throws their scent trails off; hence they don't make ant trails and gather. So after making a little playpen to contain them out of vinegar-soaked paper towels, I did some research on the web on how to make sure they didn't stick around.
Terro looked like the winner ant solution, so off I went to the local Ace Hardware to buy it. I also bought some traditional baits called "MaxAttract" just to make sure I covered my bases. Terro is some gel-type stuff that looks like the bottled hand sanitizing gel you might see people rubbing their hands with after getting off Muni. Especially the number 19 Polk. Terro gives you paper discs about the size of a quarter that state "PLACE TERRO HERE" so the ants will know where dinner is served.
Terro is to ants like shit is to flies. They circled around and on top of the globule I set out for them. And because it seemed so popular, I dropped a bunch onto the tops of the traditional ant baits as well. About 2 hours later there were probably 20 times as many ants in the paper towel pen as before. A day later, the ants dropped off to about 1/3 of the original bunch. I felt so proud that I'd done my husbandly duty of keeping the house safe from intruders that I showed Lily as soon as she walked in the door home from work. She said "aw". She felt bad that we had done this to them. I can't win. Hooray!
Thursday, December 30, 2004
The Curse of New Year's Eve
I'm sick. No fevers or anything like that, but a nasty cough that would make anyone turn and run to get a SARS-style mask if they wanted to hang out and chat. It's kind of a bummer, seeing as how I'd like to go out and revel with the revelers and bid farewell to 2004. Still hoping for a dramatic recovery, but at this point it's probably better to watch the ball drop on the tele with Dick Clark... er, Anderson Cooper? The irony in that is how Dick Clark is "the man who never ages" and Anderson Cooper looks like he could be 60 (but he's actually 37).
Anyhows, New Years Eve has always been a lame holiday for me and probably countless others because the expectations are higher than Scott Weiland two weeks after rehab! I mean, what better holiday than a day where we're EXPECTED to go out and make a bunch of noise and get drunk and have a hangover the next day. But no such luck this year for yours truly.
This isn't the first time. I got really ill in the late 90's and sweated out my fever in bed. My roommate Luke busted through my door half-wasted at about 11 and looked at me cross-eyed while babbling something about a party, then saw me under the covers and turned around and yelled "WOOHOO" as he ran down the hall. The next year, my girlfriend got us tickets to Primus at the Oakland Arena. We had about 3 shots of Jaegermeister each before BART-ing it over. Once we made it inside, we got into a huge fight which forced us to leave before the show began. And most recently, I was on a job in Chicago and couldn't make it back to SF to be with friends. The saving grace was that Lily was able to come out and take one for the team.
So now I look forward to NYE 2005 to do some reveling. With Anderson Cooper.
Anyhows, New Years Eve has always been a lame holiday for me and probably countless others because the expectations are higher than Scott Weiland two weeks after rehab! I mean, what better holiday than a day where we're EXPECTED to go out and make a bunch of noise and get drunk and have a hangover the next day. But no such luck this year for yours truly.
This isn't the first time. I got really ill in the late 90's and sweated out my fever in bed. My roommate Luke busted through my door half-wasted at about 11 and looked at me cross-eyed while babbling something about a party, then saw me under the covers and turned around and yelled "WOOHOO" as he ran down the hall. The next year, my girlfriend got us tickets to Primus at the Oakland Arena. We had about 3 shots of Jaegermeister each before BART-ing it over. Once we made it inside, we got into a huge fight which forced us to leave before the show began. And most recently, I was on a job in Chicago and couldn't make it back to SF to be with friends. The saving grace was that Lily was able to come out and take one for the team.
So now I look forward to NYE 2005 to do some reveling. With Anderson Cooper.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Merry fucking Xmas
Done all your Xmas shopping yet? I haven't. None of it. Well, I actually got a few gifts for my family when were in Spain, but they weren't going to be Xmas gifts. But since we've now reached that time of year for MANDATORY gift-giving, the Spain gifts will be used for that purpose. And I suggest we all call it "X"-mas and not "CHRIST"-mas, because there is hardly a whiff of Christ in there anymore. Now I'm not advocating putting Jesus back in there as much as I'm advocating calling the holdiay "SHOPFEST" so we're aware of what the 25th of December really means. It means giving gifts and receiving gifts.
For some of us with a major tendency to accept guilt into our lives as a motivational factor, we will go to church and perform the requisite sequence of sitting, standing, and kneeling. But for a large majority of Americans, we do nothing more to celebrate this holiday than handing over credit cards and receiving merchandise which will be wrapped with paper and bows and put under a decorated tree. Don't get me wrong, I find it all really beautiful and heartwarming to spend time with friends and family and stuffing your gut like it's Thanksgiving again. It's just the blatant merchandising and mandatory nature of the buying that kills me.
So while you're out there on the night of the 24th, looking for that gift for cousin Charlie that you forgot to get, just remember that this is what Jesus really wants you to do.
For some of us with a major tendency to accept guilt into our lives as a motivational factor, we will go to church and perform the requisite sequence of sitting, standing, and kneeling. But for a large majority of Americans, we do nothing more to celebrate this holiday than handing over credit cards and receiving merchandise which will be wrapped with paper and bows and put under a decorated tree. Don't get me wrong, I find it all really beautiful and heartwarming to spend time with friends and family and stuffing your gut like it's Thanksgiving again. It's just the blatant merchandising and mandatory nature of the buying that kills me.
So while you're out there on the night of the 24th, looking for that gift for cousin Charlie that you forgot to get, just remember that this is what Jesus really wants you to do.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
music can kill
So aside from my previous rant about wearing earplugs to shows to avoid face melt-age, it appears that there is now a convincing body of evidence that music can indeed kill. Just today, I read an article about the former guitarist of Pantera - "Dimebag" Darrell - was shot and killed onstage by a gunman in the audience. Now I guess I'm gonna have to recommend that in addition to the earplugs, everybody should wear a bulletproof vest to any and all metal shows, and a bulletproof helmet wouldn't be a bad idea either.
I know I'll be getting a letter soon from the USHMA - United States Heavy Metal Association - declaring that I have singled out metal as the only violent type of music warranting such protective gear. But I also know that with all the moshing and people wearing spikes and lyrics talking about beating the crap out of your neighbor and such, it's hard to point the finger in any other direction.
On the other side of the spectrum (not really, but hear me out) - John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers is doing the unthinkable by recording and releasing 6 albums in 6 months. Now if that's not a death wish, I don't know what is. I only hope the subsequent touring schedule doesn't kill him in the process. But then, that would be the Chili Peppers' legacy, wouldn't it?
I know I'll be getting a letter soon from the USHMA - United States Heavy Metal Association - declaring that I have singled out metal as the only violent type of music warranting such protective gear. But I also know that with all the moshing and people wearing spikes and lyrics talking about beating the crap out of your neighbor and such, it's hard to point the finger in any other direction.
On the other side of the spectrum (not really, but hear me out) - John Frusciante of the Red Hot Chili Peppers is doing the unthinkable by recording and releasing 6 albums in 6 months. Now if that's not a death wish, I don't know what is. I only hope the subsequent touring schedule doesn't kill him in the process. But then, that would be the Chili Peppers' legacy, wouldn't it?
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
What a week!
Last week I flew to Detroit. As many of you may know, TNSC co-founder Alan Chimenti is close friends with another famous Lee - Lee Iacocca, the former president of Chrysler who once said "Don't die waiting for prosperity to come." Chrysler has fallen on hard times lately, and taking a cue from the success of Apple Computer, they've decided that he's the Steve Jobs of Chrylser, and they're hoping that Iacocca can produce the same kind of magic.
Iacocca got in touch with AC and begged him to edit a huge monstrosity of a piece for a trade show that was happening ASAP in Auburn Hills, Michican. It was to be played on 9 screens side-by-side with pictures moving from screen to screen in a motion they referred to as "screen gymnastics". Fascinating. Well, it turns out that AC was booked (as he always is), and Iacocca begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Luckily for Lee and for me, I was available. So off I went to MI.
I had a meeting with the boardmembers of Chrysler Motor Corp. where Mr. Iacocca was thrilled by the fact that a person named "Lee" would be editing his masterpiece. He insisted I call him "Lee" and not "Mr. Iacocca". I obliged, even though I knew he was not really Lee, that his real name is Lido. But I smiled and played along with his little game of trying to be a "Lee".
The Chrysler video team and I worked furiously to get the "screen gymnastics" to work correctly, and they even brought in Mary Lou Retton to choreograph the gymnastics. Fascinating. In the end it was a wonderful installation to behold, and Mr. Iacocca, I mean Lee, was so exploding with joy that he gave me a ticket to see the world champion Detroit Pistons play the main contenders to their throne, the Indiana Pacers. Of course I jumped at the opportunity to see a game of such magnitude and with nearly courtside seats.
Lee sent me to the game with his nephew, who I wasn't too thrilled about going with, but what was I gonna do? Well, we got to the arena and Iacocca's nephew, whose name is also Lido proceeded to get really drunk. I mean belligerent and sloppy drunk. He MUST have spilled about 5 of my beers, so I probably only drank one over the course of the game. And a boring game it was. The Pistons were getting blown out, much to the dismay of the home fans. Then came the hard foul on Ben Wallace and the reactionary shove on Ron Artest.
Lido got really excited and amped up. He sprayed as he shouted in my face "DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!?!!! BIG BEN SMACKED THAT LITTLE BITCH ASS!!" I looked over and saw Artest lying on the scorers table. When I turned around, Lido yelled "BIG BEN SMACKED YOUR ASS!!!" in the direction of Artest, while simultaneously knocking the beer out of my hand and right into Artest's face. I immediately turned and hurried toward the concessions stand, fully aware that this may be my last chance to buy a beer before they stopped selling. As I was about to reach the top step, I heard a ruckus and turned to see Lido getting pummeled by Artest. People all over the place were scrambling to get out of there, to get in there, to get a piece of the action. A group of fans with Pacers gear shoved their way through everybody including me and pushed me out into the hallway, where security was yelling "EVERYBODY GET OUT!!!" I've never felt so unwelcome at any time other than at Lucky 13 after last call.
I pretty much figured that Lido wouldn't be coming out of the arena anytime soon, much less getting up at all. He probably had a lot of paperwork to fill out with the police. Luckily my flight was the red eye, so I grabbed my bags from the hotel and headed down to the airport. I saw the video of the riot replayed over and over on SportsCenter as I waited for the flight. Poor Lido.
The next day I went to a Charlie Hunter show with Critters Buggin at the Independent. And I forgot my earplugs.
Iacocca got in touch with AC and begged him to edit a huge monstrosity of a piece for a trade show that was happening ASAP in Auburn Hills, Michican. It was to be played on 9 screens side-by-side with pictures moving from screen to screen in a motion they referred to as "screen gymnastics". Fascinating. Well, it turns out that AC was booked (as he always is), and Iacocca begged and pleaded, but to no avail. Luckily for Lee and for me, I was available. So off I went to MI.
I had a meeting with the boardmembers of Chrysler Motor Corp. where Mr. Iacocca was thrilled by the fact that a person named "Lee" would be editing his masterpiece. He insisted I call him "Lee" and not "Mr. Iacocca". I obliged, even though I knew he was not really Lee, that his real name is Lido. But I smiled and played along with his little game of trying to be a "Lee".
The Chrysler video team and I worked furiously to get the "screen gymnastics" to work correctly, and they even brought in Mary Lou Retton to choreograph the gymnastics. Fascinating. In the end it was a wonderful installation to behold, and Mr. Iacocca, I mean Lee, was so exploding with joy that he gave me a ticket to see the world champion Detroit Pistons play the main contenders to their throne, the Indiana Pacers. Of course I jumped at the opportunity to see a game of such magnitude and with nearly courtside seats.
Lee sent me to the game with his nephew, who I wasn't too thrilled about going with, but what was I gonna do? Well, we got to the arena and Iacocca's nephew, whose name is also Lido proceeded to get really drunk. I mean belligerent and sloppy drunk. He MUST have spilled about 5 of my beers, so I probably only drank one over the course of the game. And a boring game it was. The Pistons were getting blown out, much to the dismay of the home fans. Then came the hard foul on Ben Wallace and the reactionary shove on Ron Artest.
Lido got really excited and amped up. He sprayed as he shouted in my face "DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!?!!! BIG BEN SMACKED THAT LITTLE BITCH ASS!!" I looked over and saw Artest lying on the scorers table. When I turned around, Lido yelled "BIG BEN SMACKED YOUR ASS!!!" in the direction of Artest, while simultaneously knocking the beer out of my hand and right into Artest's face. I immediately turned and hurried toward the concessions stand, fully aware that this may be my last chance to buy a beer before they stopped selling. As I was about to reach the top step, I heard a ruckus and turned to see Lido getting pummeled by Artest. People all over the place were scrambling to get out of there, to get in there, to get a piece of the action. A group of fans with Pacers gear shoved their way through everybody including me and pushed me out into the hallway, where security was yelling "EVERYBODY GET OUT!!!" I've never felt so unwelcome at any time other than at Lucky 13 after last call.
I pretty much figured that Lido wouldn't be coming out of the arena anytime soon, much less getting up at all. He probably had a lot of paperwork to fill out with the police. Luckily my flight was the red eye, so I grabbed my bags from the hotel and headed down to the airport. I saw the video of the riot replayed over and over on SportsCenter as I waited for the flight. Poor Lido.
The next day I went to a Charlie Hunter show with Critters Buggin at the Independent. And I forgot my earplugs.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
ear-splittin' madness
Me and a bunch of pals went to Bottom of the Hill on Saturday night to see some bands none of us had ever heard of, much less heard before. That can be a rewarding experience if you're up for something new. Kinda like going to the same restaurant where you always get the same thing and then just closing your eyes and pointing at the menu and going with it. Except you might have to eat again because your choice turned out to be filled with cilantro and eggplant. You wouldn't go to another show to clear your ears out. I digress. The bands at Bottom of the Hill were: Smegma, Comets on Fire, and Wolf Eyes. And the articles that got us off our barstools to venture out to Potrero promised "ear-splitting madness" and "face-melting volume". One article even said "The latest release from Wolf Eyes will molest you. That is for certain." Well sheeit, where do I sign up? Without actually providing a review of these bands, I will say this: Volume promised, volume delivered. If you ever read an article that talks about a band being so loud that it melts your face, bring some damn earplugs. I even reminded my friends that if you're old like me, BRING EARPLUGS. Did they? No. We were at the front corner of the stage as Comets on Fire setup, and I put in my earplugs so's not to get my ears split. The first crash of the cymbals and guitar crunch were so loud that as I looked around the crowd you could see two sets of people - the people who weren't looking at the band, but looking at their friends with fingers firmly planted in their ears and expressions like "my face is melting from the volume", and the other people with earplugs nodding heads in slight headbang-age. One person in my group remembered to bring one earplug, so only half his face melted. Wolf Eyes was the kind of band that likes to use a lot of feedback, and by that time we had moved to the back of the room but even there people were holding their fingers in their ears and looking around like "What the hell? They're melting my face even way back here!" A lot of people were tired of being "molested" by Wolf Eyes so they left en masse. I hate wearing earplugs, but I hate my ears ringing for the next day or week even more.
After the show we went to Baghdad Cafe and I had a Sloppy Joe, fried mozzerella sticks, wings, and mac and cheese. God bless America.
After the show we went to Baghdad Cafe and I had a Sloppy Joe, fried mozzerella sticks, wings, and mac and cheese. God bless America.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Whoa, my very own section!
First off, thanks to the Robot for seeing that I needed an outlet to vent/rant, and giving me my very own forum to do so. I'm a little concerned as to what will happen to the TNSC rant section now, given that my rants were a healthy portion of that section in the past. But ya gotta love that new rant section being right there in plain view of all TNSCers, with no clicking necessary. Perhaps some TNSCer with aspirations to have a section named after him or her in some future version of the TNSC website will follow my lead. I'm still trying to figure out if this section will contain some musical angle to it, since I am Lee Lee the MUSICAL Bee, but just for grins, let's do that: I missed the Mclusky show at Bottom of the Hill last Saturday, and I fear that I'll live to regret that. They sound kinda like a modern day PIL, so if you're into that sorta thing, go to their site and listen.
Okay, so what's on the dartboard this week is post-election realization that those computerized voting machines were RIGGED! I know, it's hard to believe that more people might have voted for somebody other than that son of a Bush, but reports are coming out from all over the place that we might actually have elected somebody with a brain into office instead of Goober. If you wanna read any more on the political buzz about secession, here's an article that says we probably aren't allowed to.
Stay tuned...
Okay, so what's on the dartboard this week is post-election realization that those computerized voting machines were RIGGED! I know, it's hard to believe that more people might have voted for somebody other than that son of a Bush, but reports are coming out from all over the place that we might actually have elected somebody with a brain into office instead of Goober. If you wanna read any more on the political buzz about secession, here's an article that says we probably aren't allowed to.
Stay tuned...
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