This Is The Song That Never Ends

Today Kate and I were hanging out chatting about whatever. I could see this guy out the corner of my eye, slightly glancing at us, but it was one of those things you dismiss without thinking very hard. Then suddenly there he was, right next to me, wanting my opinion on something. He paused, as though somehow he'd forgotten what he wanted to say, and then asked if we thought a man who curled his sideburns would look gay. Kate and I proceeded to answer without really answering, that is, well, depends on the outfit, he'd probably look like a rabbi, maybe if he was a J-pop star, etc, but our witty banter seemed only to make him more uncomfortable, until finally he said, "take care," and hurried away. I don't know if he was trying to make conversation with two attractive young women, or if he genuinely wanted to know our opinion. If it was the latter, then he was probably inspired to ask since I myself have curly sideburns and must, therefore, be an expert on who should have them and who should not.

Of course, that wasn't nearly as interesting as Kate's story about the weird-ass woman who followed her around the dog park, but that's her story to tell, not mine.

Completely different topic, but I watched Meet Joe Black the other night, and I think the entire world should know my thoughts on it. Be warned, total spoilers ahead.

Okay, I did have a big review all typed out, but then I realized I was rambling. Plus I got distracted looking up pictures of Claire Forlani and Claire Danes on Google. Then I got indignant at some website that said Claire Danes' nose looks much less bulbous and protuberant since she got plastic surgery on it. Aaaaaanyway.

Yeah that's it.


Mess of Beer and Bodies

A review of last night's show:


Ty Segall at the Parkside was one hot, sweaty, beer-soaked mess. He went on first, for which Kate and I were much relieved. It's pretty fucking annoying when the act you came specifically to see doesn't go on till the wee hours of the morning. As it was, the show started about an hour and a half later than expected, but there he was, alive and breathing and screaming and yipping into the mic. The sound check consisted of him whooping and yelping and making funny faces from under his blond curls. He's very good live, so good in fact, that two or three or four guys thought it would be totally bitchin' to start moshing already. Unfortunately, the rest of us weren't quite amped up/drunk enough yet to join in, except for Dumb Drunk Bitch, who shook her tits and her stomach and stumbled and fell into them and us repeatedly. Kate got elbowed pretty pretty viciously by one flying asshole, and anytime one of them came at us, we shoved and punched and knocked them right back.

By the third band, oh boy. Some hot ladies screaming lustily at us, as we watched and moshed, slicked over with sweat and adrenaline. During one song, the pit got so intense I was actually sucked in, jumping up and down, bashing fools left and right, completely indiscriminate, my big red hoops swinging wildly from my ears. That was also when Kate got carried away into the depths of the crowd. When I finally got my head above to breathe, she was nowhere in sight, and I couldn't tell if the people smiling at me when I looked around thought I was cool or a total fuckwad loser. After a few songs she managed to wade her way back to where she'd been before, to my immense relief.

Alas, my plans for seducing Mr. Segall failed, though I came close to grabbing his butt when we walked behind him before he went on. I stopped myself, figuring it probably wasn't the time or place. Still, having a semi-famous guy right there is kind've exciting. Apparently whatever pheramones I'd intended to release into his face lay dormant until the third band, Mika Miko (also bitchin'), came on, when this sleazy-ass motherfucker somehow forced Kate away so he could stand next to me and ogle me with disturbing intensity while I was rocking out. It was when I started moshing that he, like Kate, got pulled away, but thankfully he didn't find his way back. Maybe he saw me punching those crazy fuckers and got scared.

The end of it was us being too wrecked to rock any longer and we caught a bus out of there.

Can you say whoa-oh?


What the FUCK Blogspot, you ass.

Okay, I really don't get this website. Somehow, when two of my friends made/adjusted their blogs on my computer, their profiles got all entwined with mine. Particularly the one who made her blog. When I tried to follow someone else, somehow I followed them as her, and accidentally changed her little follower picture and name to mine. What the eff? I can't even begin to understand what the fuck is going on with this.


Some Things Just Don't Happen

Today I was walking with a couple friends in the mission. We came to an intersection and watched a tiny dog across the street trailing behind its people as they went over the crosswalk. Picture it: little toothpick legs moving back and forth at the rate of a typist's fingers, making ever effort not to fall behind (despite the leash) and get squished by a car. A dog so small that the driver wouldn't even feel its little body under the wheel. When they got to the other side, the dog stopped in the gutter, knowing the task of climbing the curb was quite behind it. However, since the woman holding the leash refused to wait, the dog made its best effort. And got stuck. Those little legs just couldn't do it!

I'm not sure, but I think the woman finally bent down and lifted the dog onto the curb.



And A Hearty "Fuck You" To....

City College and SF State: Why, as educational institutions, can neither of you provide classes for your students? Are we really expected to graduate or transfer one day and get degrees, or would you rather see us spiral downward under the weight of fees and classes we are required to take but can't get into? Yes, I realize everyone needs to take an English class, but shouldn't you realize this as well, and thus provide? Give us our fucking classes so we move on in life already!


Calm Before Storm

I have to say, as much as I love being back in the city, after a year (today marks it), I'm already getting the itch again. Y'know, that itching, that bug in the brain, the bee in the bonnet, these feet are twitching to be off again. Not now, or tomorrow, or next month, but soon enough. Somehow, eventually, this here girl will be on the road again. And where to? It seems as though New York City is tugging at me, as it has at the best of them. From there, maybe Paris, somewhere in France, somewhere in Italy, somewhere off this continent I've been my whole life.

I don't know if school for a straight five or six years is really ahead of me. There's something bigger, I think, and I need to figure out what it'll be.