|
|
Saturday, November 24th, 2007
|
|
|
Firstly, I've spent the last two days immersing myself in the work of Bob Dylan. It started with the compound desire to see Todd Haynes' Dylan-inspired film, I'm Not There, open in limited release, as well as Tivo VH1 Classic's Thanksgiving Day BD marathon, including Dylan's 1994 appearance on MTV Unplugged, Martin Scorsese's excellent documentary No Direction Home and D.A. Pennebaker's concert doc/film Don't Look Back, chronicling Dylan's 1965 UK tour with Joan Baez, Donovan and Alan Price. All the Dylan-mania sent me and Denise to the Landmark on Thanksgiving evening, to see I'm Not There, which was interesting, but a little disjointed and, most likely, rather hard to follow, unless you know enough about the subject's history as a person and a performer. Anywho, if you are even a casual Dylan-head, I would recommend INT, for Christian Bale and Cate Blanchett's performances alone. Christian Bale is just, without a doubt, one of the best actors of the new school. He and Ed Norton are due Oscars any minute now. I can feel it. The right roles are out there. Waiting. A couple of weeks ago, I was completely overwhelmed with the desire to watch American Psycho. He's just so brilliant in that movie. So flat and passionless and, yet, so fucking insane and creepy. Insanity doesn't always come in the form of Columbine kids or Phil Spector's Jew fro. Sometimes it is, quite simply, right under your nose. Bale just embodied that subtle, seething madness so perfectly.
But, I digress.
Additionally, Cate Blanchett was nothing short of amazing, capturing the man himself at the height of his fame in the mid-late '60s. Her body, style, voice, affectations - everything - were all sincere and spot-on. When she heckled reporters and frolicked with the Beatles and talked about Michelle Williams' pussy, I believed it. The final shot of her smoking, stealing a sideways glance at the camera is so evocative it's eerie. You can see it in the trailer here. Bonus points to Todd Haynes for casting David Cross as Allen Ginsberg and depicting the infamous plugged-in Newport Folk Festival performance by showing Blanchett and band take the stage, only to blast the audience with machine guns.
Interpretive, indeed.
But, all of the above is just a by-product of the blissful time I've been having just being alone. Being alone is completely underrated. I dropped Denise off at the airport this morning and managed to spend the rest of my day, evening and night without even so much as setting eyes on another person. It's been awesome. When you live with two people and spend the majority of your nights out with friends and/or business associates, it is easy to forget what it's like to simply spend time with yourself. I watched a bunch of the heady television I constantly Tivo, but never take the time to really absorb. I made myself lunch. I did a little cleaning. I listened to music. I read. I'm a social being, so I do tend to go a little stir-crazy when I'm confined, but, nothing is better than just taking a day to do whatever the fuck you want to do, on your own timetable and without the interference of others.
Speaking of being a "social being," Denise was here for 5 days, visiting for Thanksgiving, and we had a lovely time. While I'm not sure it completely outdid last year's trip (i.e. Gwar, Magic Castle, etc.), we gave it a run for its money...
SUNDAY: Murakami exhibit at MOCA, shopping in J-town, dessert/drinks with the High family and the wrap party for our officemates' new stop motion short, Plastic Fantastic, which they just sold in development to Nickelodeon. Murakami was phenomenal and I highly encourage anyone in the LA-area who maybe reads my little corner of the Internet, to go go go. It's just fun. His art is childlike, yet subversive, bright, cartoonish, frightening and unusual. Case in point these two life-size sculptures, that greet you at the very beginning of the exhibition.
MONDAY: Dropped Denise off in Santa Monica, for a day of shopping and beachcombing, while I did my last full day at the office. Received phone call from a colleague at Extreme Music that would drastically alter Tuesday's chain of events. Later that night, had an amazing meal, as per usual, at Tlapazola. Then, went off to my friend's weekly Internet radio show taping, to party down for their 100th show with The Glass, Ostrich Head and Ashkon. While I could really care less about most rap, especially underground rap, the latter was actually pretty deft (or "def," if you're a wigger) on the mic and the gee-tar. He had a funny Mark Ruffalo look/charm to him and, now that I look, he was mos "def" sporting that same N.W.A. tee, as shown on his Myspace. Cool shirt.
TUESDAY: Clocked a half day in the office, where I found what I hope to be an amazing placement opportunity for Emilie Simon, an artist Joel and I did a music showcase event for some months back. Lunch at the amazing Indonesian restaurant near headquarters, then off to LACMA, for the Dali exhibition. Left Dali, only to head Downtown for "The Big Surprise." Managed to park, walk to the venue, get to the VIP entrance, scan tickets, make it to our corporate box, mingle with colleagues AND get seated, all with Denise blissfully unaware of who we were there to see. I don't know how "The Big Surprise" wasn't blown by someone excitedly talking about the show or wearing a telling t-shirt, but it wasn't. I was on high-alert, looking for potential hazards, and there were none. Odd. I de-briefed everyone in the corporate suite, as well, so that they would play along and not spoil the fun. Needless to say, she didn't know anything until the first words to "You Really Got Me" tumbled from David Lee Roth's mouth.
WEDNESDAY: Shopped. Had another delectable meal, this time at Louise's. Shopped some more. Went home and took it easy. Hung with the girls and watched "Project Runway" and "ANTM."
THURSDAY: Watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and noodled around on the TV/Tivo. Enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner at Cafe La Boheme, in West Hollywood, which was delicious, but not overly so. Caught the afore-mentioned late-evening screening of I'm Not There, before retiring for a 4:55am wake-up call and obligatory airport drop-off.
FRIDAY: See first part of entry.
SATURDAY/SUNDAY: See first part of entry, for more of same. Although, I might go to either the Homegrown Market arts & crafts fair or to Bergamot Station to check out some more art. Why? is also playing tomorrow night at Spaceland, should I become so inclined.
Further proof that I am only capable of "taking it easy" for approximately 24 hours.
With that said, I must now retire. I should be well-rested for the adventure of arts & crafts shopping later on today.
R
P.S. Blog update. Steve Bays of Hot Hot Heat? Hello. Please quit pretending you're Bob Dylan. I've been casually waiting for the proper forum in which to bring this up and now seems optimal. In short, it's rather blasphemous and we all know better.
|
|
Comments: Add Your Own.
|
|
Saturday, October 13th, 2007
|
|
|
Yeah, I'm amazed, too. I had sorta kinda plans, but they fell through and it ended up being not only fine, but pleasant, productive and just what I needed.
I've been melancholy-ish for the last week - which is very unlike me - but, thankfully, it was only peppered throughout the last few days, rather than all-consuming. Last Sunday, I had a big fight with my mother and the end result felt almost crippling. I literally missed a day of work about it because I couldn't manage to put on a brave face. That's the kind of control she has over me, in a way - my entire course can be diverted, my entire emotional path derailed, after one brief encounter.
With that emotionally-wrenching dispute serving as catalyst, I then proceeded to descend into a downward spiral of guilt, depression and self-doubt, anchored by my own brooding. The whole thing gave me pause, causing me to question the validity of several of my close (read: volatile) relationships, parental feuds included.
On Wednesday, however, I had a fantastic, enlightening, soul-searching conversation with Kelly, that I feel helped me tremendously through a very tough week. As anyone close to me knows, Kelly and I have had our share (and your share, and his share and the dog's share) of differences. Differences of opinion. Differences of friendship. Differences of emotional availability. Differences of presentation. Differences of tone. You name it, we've probably "debated" it. So, to that end, an open conversation with her, in a mindset and setting not clouded by us being angry at one another, proved to be very beneficial. We were able to speak freely about our own relationship, as well as the limitations and emotional issues surrounding my friendships, in general - with her, with Sam, with people I'm close to, but closed off from. It was eye-opening. I was up until 3am. I cried about it, but felt better. Then, my week resumed.
Beyond that, I honestly don't want to delve into "it" any further. I've put "it" behind me (sort of) and am looking ahead to other things perplexing, vexing and exciting.
For instance, I went on a date with a cute boy.
While it did end a little anti-climactically, the overall feeling was (and is) very positive. No need to explain the minutia, other than to say that I had a lovely time with an interesting and attractive guy and hope that there is more to come. I have a horrible habit of becoming overly-analytical when it comes to members of the opposite sex that actually pique my interest both physically and mentally, as that basically never happens, so, I'm just gonna work at being more zen. Let the boys come to me. Yeah. Take that world.
Also, there is good music on the horizon - The Black Lips, An Angle, Eric Bachmann, Art in Manila, The Husbands, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Jesus & Mary Chain, The A-Sides - all in the next two weeks. Then, it's on to my long overdue trip to Dallas, for a much-needed sojourn with Taylor, Mikey, Eli and Robbie, before the treasure trove of food, booze, music and adventure that is to be mine and Denise's New Orleans vacation. Afterwards, it's back to Texas for a brief (and obligatory) familial visit, before I return to the crisp, sunny, blessedly anonymous streets of Los Angeles. Throw in a double dose of Buck (65, that is), Nov. 4 @ the Troubadour and Nov. 5 @ AFI Fest, for Big Rig, and it proves to be a pretty jam-fucking-packed month.
But, that's the way I roll.
In the words of one ever-so-wise Robbie - "I don't know how you do it."
I think he's getting a newfound respect for the demanding schedule that I keep.
Now, if only the rest of the world would follow suit.
Suddenly, I'm over this.
Good night.
Binks.
|
|
Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Monday, January 8th, 2007
|
|
|
Billions and billions of years ago, darkness was all that existed. Then The Master, ruler of the universe, created the planets and everything in them. But soon The Master became bored of this and created death, destruction and war. He enjoyed watching the peons die but soon even that became boring, he himself wanted to kill. So he began slaughtering the humanoids that littered the planets face, but that too lost its fun. He needed more of a challenge, so he created God-like creatures with whom he could do battle. But soon there were too many of these creatures, and he had to be rid of them. He conjured up all his power and created the most powerful he could..........GWAR.
Yeah, I totally went and saw GWAR.
It was amazing.
I mean, I like Gwen Stefani and those dancing Japanese chicks as much as the next gal, but you can't call them Balsac the Jaws of Death, Sleazy P. Martini or The Sexecutioner and get away with it. That's just on a completely different level. At this point, Gwen Stefani is Judy Blume and GWAR is Goethe or some other impossible shit you'd never bother to read. It's just beyond all comprehension.
Denise and I scored a sweet spot on the second tier of the GA area, above the pit. In front of the stage was still rather loose, so she asked if we could go down there. No can do, Bob. Look around. Speakers? Covered in plastic. Lights? Covered in plastic. Sound booth at the VERY REAR OF THE FUCKING FLOOR? Covered in plastic. I don't know about you, but my idea of a good time is not getting jacked off on by Jizmak Da Gusha, as he attempts to "spill enough blood to wake the maggot."
I'm pretty sure they played some songs, but I couldn't tell you which ones, so, I will just dream a little dream that they did, indeed, play the following: Sex Cow, Happy Death-Day, Womb With A View, Saddam a Go-Go and, maybe, if we were lucky, an acoustic version of Baby Raper.
In between "songs," the band had these interesting vignettes, spoofing historical figures. So, instead of assailing your ears with Spinal Tap-esque grunt metal, they would assail your eyes with an impaled Adolf Hitler, an armless/legless Dubya, or, just for kicks, a gutted Osama Bin Laden. Of course, you can't impale/de-limb/gut someone without blood and other assorted fluids, sooooo.........suffice it to say this wasn't a front row kinda show.
Oderus Urungus sported a huge fake cock, standing at attention, with a boar's head tip and five or six coconut-sized balls. Every once in a while, he would turn his back to the audience, while he sang, exposing his pale, white, 40-something, chicken cutlet ass cheeks, swinging his hips to and fro, so his bits and pieces would fling between his legs and smack his little rear. Very subtle. If all the death, destruction and dismemberment excited Oderus, he would suddenly ejaculate - a la Super Soaker (no pun intended) - and spray the adoring audience with his happiness.
On top of being quite the loverboy, Oderus also has a way with words AND appreciation for his fans. During one interlude, GWAR came upon their #1 fan, during their travels through Hell. Said "fan" was so in love, he had committed suicide, so he could be in Hell with the band.
#1 FAN: "Hey guys! Remember me?! I'm your #1 fan! The one that let you fuck my girlfriend with my cell phone!?"
ODERUS: "Oh, yeaaaaaaaaaah. I remember you. Although, I don't believe we fucked your girlfriend with your cell phone - I believe we raped her with a severed leg....or something."
(Proceed disembowelment.)
I mean, it's all gold.
Given the ferocity of said performance, a stunning Grammy nomination for the long-form home video Phallus in Wonderland and the fact that my 40-ish year old friend was able to not only stomach the show, but enjoy it, I give GWAR five out of five stars. Or skulls. Or maggots. Or severed lamb heads. Whatever.
|
|
Comments: Read 9 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Sunday, October 1st, 2006
|
|
|
Wow. September was a damn good month for music. I went to tons of really great shows, with great friends and great moments. I appreciate things like that. Good music with people I care about. That's what makes the world go 'round.
For your amusement, here's the skinny on a few of my concert exploits, all in 20 words or less.
Jamie Lidell/Daedalus @ The Getty: A FUCKING GOOD TIME. Just dancing and drinking and more dancing. Made up for RHCP sucking balls later that night.
RHCP/The Mars Volta @ The Forum: "That one was from '87, about as far back as we go." Anthony - quit being a cock. I expected more.
Henry Rollins @ Key Club: 'Roid rage at its finest. Backstage shenanigans, PG-rated, of course. Cute boys that hated me.
Punk Bunny/Bob Log III/Blowfly @ Knitting Factory: Debauchery personified. I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT.
The Black Keys/Beaten Awake @ Troubadour: One of my absolute favorite live bands. Unparalleled. NIN and TBK are two bands to have sex to. Trust me.
Punk Bunny/8-bit/Leslie & the Ly's @ Safari Sam's: Polio-stricken drag queens. Nintendo-beat Hancock Park rap. "Gem Sweater." Look it up on YouTube and be amazed.
Ratatat @ Troubadour: Fun, but visually uneventful. I busted my ankle that day, so gimp-dancing was in full effect. Lots of annoying hipsters.
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings @ The Fonda: Fan-fucking-tastic, the way a "show" should be. Sharon is a vocal powerhouse and a damn good performer. Crutches be damned.
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers @ Hollywood Bowl: POOL CIRCLE. Go to Ticketmaster.com, look it up, proceed to be jealous. Oh yeah, and STEVIE NICKS, kids, STEVIE NICKS.
Eagles of Death Metal @ The Stuff Mag Party/The Arclight: Jesse Hughes, The Piv, Franki Chan all in one place? And, it's OPEN BAR? Did I die? Is this heaven?
Rocktober should prove to be another fine month for music as I already have some good shows on tap, including Riverboat Gamblers, Bound Stems, Thunderbirds are Now!, Spank Rock, The Kooks, The Thermals and, quite possibly, the virtual treasure trove of fun that is CMJ. Now, if only this ankle would fully heal...
SIDENOTE: I just got a Myspace friend request from some fucking porn producer in Woodland Hills. What a retard.
|
|
Comments: Add Your Own.
|
|
Monday, September 11th, 2006
|
|
|
So, I went to see Rollins Band last weekend. Random? I know. Out of place? Sort of. Good time? Yes.
Kelly loves Henry (i.e. wants to fuck him), so she asked me earlier in the week if I could get free tix. Of course I could because Scotty is the man with the Key Club plan, so it was on before I could say I got a six-pack in me, alright!
We planned to go out after the show, so the two of us ended up looking a tad ridiculous, in stark contrast to the middle-aged punk doods and twenty-something punk wannabes. But, all dolled up, a'Rollins Band we must go. I had the good sense to bring my Vans, so at least I was ridiculous/ly comfortable. Henry was in fine form, wearing nothing but black track shoes, black ankle socks and black basketball shorts, and popping from all those scary, fucking rippling, 'roid rage-dripping, "Search and Destroy"-proclaiming tattoos he sports. Granted, the guy is in amazing shape for a 45-year old man, but, am I the only person that thinks he's a tad fucking SCARY? If I ever met him, I would just want to grab his little chubby cheek, pet his perfectly buzzed hair and tell him to just chill the fuck out. He's like Michael Douglas in Falling Down, I swear. Anywho, I'm blonde. He would despise me.
Moving on....
So, the show was great, with Henry doing that whole one-foot-planted-firmly-in-front-of-the-other-microphone-cord-wrapped-around-my-fist-sweating-profusely Henry thing and then, afterwards, we saw Scott Ian (of Anthrax) heading backstage with some girl a head taller than him (which I always find phenomenally funny). Then, I see this broad onstage that I recognize. Is it...nah. Wait. Wha? Nah. Could it...and, yes, confirmation, it's Lisa Fucking Loeb.
Yeah, I don't get it either.
So, we're waiting around, determining the scene, because Kelly loves the Henry and is adamant about getting backstage. Luckily, it's not a big deal for a couple of cute girls to go anywhere backstage because we essentially just walked back there, on the heels of some tech guy. We join about 15 people in the dressing room, including the afore-mentioned Scott Ian (with Lady Amazon) and Lisa "I only hear what I want to" Loeb. The beer fridge is tucked away in the private area of the dressing room, where the makeup mirror and toilet are, so I go in there to grab a drink. Then, I see something which I KNOW I can not tell Miss Mullen about, lest she steal them and try and wear them on her head.
I find Henry Rollins' discarded basketball shorts on the floor of the bathroom.
So, after wretching for about FORTY-FIVE minutes (just kidding, people, just kidding), I head back outside with my drink. Kelly is happily/drunkenly chatting away with Lisa Loeb, as I stand to the side. Then, out of nowhere, I hear "Yeah, Rebecca is TOTALLY hungry." At this point, I realize Kelly must be exaggerating/lying to Lisa "You say I talk so all the time so" Loeb and that I should probably corroborate. So, I turn around and Lisa "I don't pay attention to the distance that you're running" Loeb looks at me and says, "Are you hungry, honey?" Of course I say yes. How can I not? I'm neck-deep in Kelly's web of lies. Then, Lisa "I'm only hearing negative" Loeb starts rummaging in her big-ass purse, only to re-surface with a package of string cheese. She politely hands me the string cheese, instructs me to help myself to crackers from the hospitality table and then sends me on my way. I look at the string cheese, notice that it is Horizon organic string cheese and say, "Organic. You don't fuck around." To which she replies: "Of course not. I only eat organic."
I consume the unwanted, but much-appreciated, "I think that I'm throwing, but I'm thrown" string cheese and Kelly and I bid that bizarro crowd adieu.
From there, we head to Jones, on Santa Monica Boulevard, thinking we're putting crazy behind us. Sort of, but not really. Literally five minutes after we get inside, we're at the bar, waiting for the bartender, while I happily chat with some dood seated next to me. I feel this weird graze at the back of my neck, giving me just enough of a shiver to wiggle my head, but I chalk it up to the place being crowded and someone brushing past me. A few seconds later, I feel it again, much more forceful, and I realize that someone is running their fingers through my hair. And, I'm not talking about petting my hair. I'm talking about someone has their hand under my hair, at the nape of my neck and is running their hand through my goldilocks. I wheel around to find some fucking drunk weirdo giving me the half-lidded "heeeeeeeeeeeeeey" look, like he's proud of himself that he actually managed to get a girl to talk to him. I don't think he was expecting my "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU MOTHERFUCKER?" response because he seemed generally perplexed by my reaction. After a mini-verbal assault from your's truly, he shrinks away and I turn around to find afore-mentioned dood seated next to me losing his shit, laughing, as I, all of the sudden, get assaulted AGAIN by another guy. Lucky for this dood, he must have been making his way through the crowd, saw what happened and thought it would be funny to give me a good tousle. So, for the rest of the night, every time I was in the vicinity of Mr. Tousle, he would come at me, like he was gonna give me sex hair, minus all the fun. Sometimes the male gender is just beyond all comprehension.
Fast forward to this past Friday night, when I headed to Knitting Factory with Zerwas, to catch the amazing trifecta of Punk Bunny, Bob Log III and Blowfly. I don't think I have seen a better collision of bands in a long, long time. THIS was the bill to end all bills.
Punk Bunny is comprised of the following: (1) garter-belted, thigh-high wearing, bustier-ed P.O.A., who pretends to play a cheap Casio keyboard, but does nothing of the sort, except vamp and look like a garter-belted, thigh-high wearing, bustier-ed P.O.A. (1) lime green-tights wearin', frilly, ruffly pink women's underwear-sportin', Richie Tenebaum-headband-esqued "bass player," who spends far more time violently rubbing his package than he does absent-mindedly minding the strings. (1) Sixty-year old Zsa Zsa Gabor-a-like, in a tube-top, cheetah print swim suit, fishnets, fuck-me pumps and tons of bling, "singing" along and ever-so-slowly dancing with Richie Tenenbaum. (1) male rapper, dressed like Arthur Ashe on the court and proudly displaying a fake handlebar mustache, a la Ben Stiller in Dodgeball. (1) hot-ass chick, with, quite possibly, the most ridiculous body I've ever seen on a real, live woman, wearing a zebra-print strapless bathing suit, flesh-toned fishnets, banana-colored four-inch heels, bangles and sexy, layered porn star hair. All of the songs are "sung" to tracks, everyone gyrates manically onstage, there's a lot of phallic double entendre and all of the tunes are about "cock," "pussy" and
"ass-fucking."
One word: AMAZING.
Next is Bob Log III. Bob is a one-man band. Bob plays the guitar, sings and bashes the cymbals/tambourine with his left foot and the kick drum with his right. He has songs called "Boob Scotch," "Big Ass Hard On" and "Land of A Thousand Swirling Asses." Bob wears a one-piece track suit, adorned with rhinestones, and a sparkly motorcycle helmet onstage. The plastic faceguard to his helmet has a perfect hole cut in the front, where a handset to a rotary telephone resides. Bob speaks through the earpiece of the phone, using some sort of vocoder effect, giving him a crazy, distorted, evangelist-like squeal to everything he says/sings. During the show-stopping "Boob Scotch," a gaggle of women in the audience purchased Bob shots of scotch, took out their titties, "stirred it around" and then gave them to him, which he then happily consumed. On the last song, Bob asked for a couple of "pretty little ladies" to bounce on his knees - I mean, hey, it's the last song, right? Some girl shot out of the crowd immediately and took her perch on Bob's right knee (i.e. the kick drum side), but, a few seconds passed and no other pretty little ladies made their way. So, next thing you know, there I am, happily springing to and fro, to the cymbal/tambourine/Becca-bouncing sounds of Bob Log III. Zerwas has this on video, mind you, thank God. The song ends, I hop offstage and the guy behind me just leans in and whispers "points," ever-so-lightly, in my ear, as in "yeah, you earned 'em." Booyah.
Ok, do you know who Blowfly is? Can you even comprehend? Blowfly is the alter-ego of this semi-successful songwriter from the 70s, Clarence Reid, who started making pervy parodies of popular songs like "I Wanna Be Sedated" ("I Wanna Be Fellated"), "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" ("Should I Fuck This Big Fat Ho?") and "T.V. Party" ("V.D. Party"). (SIDENOTE: It all comes back full-circle - a Black Flag song, kids!) He's about sixty-years old, wears a sequined jumpsuit with a hood and a face mask and has two looooooooooooooooooooong coke nails on each hand. I'm talking inch, inch and a half long coke nails. That he point at you. And they stab you to your very soul. Scary. Anyway....he performs with a bevy of women, all dressed in bordello gear, who proceed to simply gyrate, hump, kiss, grope, strip and spank one another, as he sings his little ditties about pimping, dicks, "spreading your cheeks" and "pussy sucking."
In short, it's fun for the whole family.
I have so many scandalous photos from this evening of "music," that I need to download them and erase them ASAP, lest someone think I'm more of a pervert than I really am.
After the show, Zerwas and I went to buy some Bob merch, including a couple of posters. I wanted the Bob to sign my poster (hey, we're friends, my cash and prizes have essentially been on this man's knee, for Chrissakes), so I sent the merch dood out to collect him, while I minded the booth. No one stole anything under my dictatorial rule and, finally, Mr. Log emerged to sign my goods. He signed a poster for me and one for JCD and then proceeded to give me the "hey, you're the lovely little lady I bounced on my knee!" I gave him the tight-lipped "yep," he told me "that was fun" and Zerwas and I went off into the night, me to regain my dignity and he to probably spank it for the rest of his natural-born life.
Never have I seen so much titty in one day. He must have been in hog heaven. If I was, he had to be.
|
|
Comments: Add Your Own.
|
|
Sunday, August 13th, 2006
|
|
|
...when he said "breakin' up is hard to do."
It's discouraging, really. In a multitude of ways.
I've come face to face with a blunt realization in the last couple of months - that I, ME, the ever-so-devout-it's-only-a-no-until-it's-a-yes-Rebecca, can't always get what she wants. Not in life, not in love, not in personal happiness, not in career, not even in my burrito from Taco's Plus.
Case in point - my mother.
I could go on for days. The very word, as it spills from my mouth, is uttered with a tone of disdain and dread. Mother. I don't call her "mom," I call her "mother." Our relationship has devolved to the point that any conversation that isn't peppered with character assault and accusation and the resultant click of the phone, is considered a "good" one. I, honestly, don't know what to do with her anymore. Every once in a while her true colors come out and she reaches that breaking point, the point where her harbored resentments and deep-seated ill-will pierce through, allowing her to say what she really, truly feels. Basically, she doesn't like the person I've become. She doesn't approve of the life I lead, the goals I've set for myself, my career path - hell, my life path - the company I keep, the way I talk, act, think, feel. If we, as two adults, were to meet, we wouldn't even get past the pleasantries. As it stands now, there aren't even any pleasantries to get past. When I talk to her, my heart quickens, my chest tightens, my breath goes shallow, my eyes well up with tears. My very body senses what is to come. With this business of her surgery looming and her skewed perception of my unwillingness to be by her side, I don't foresee any mend to our relationship on the horizon. If anything, the last couple of months may have done irreparable damage to the paper-thin relationship we had. I don't know how old you have to become before your family starts to think of you - and accept you - as an adult, with a life of your own, with responsibilities, people you are accountable to, people you care about outside of your own blood, your own (read: VALID!) thoughts and opinions, but, for me, I'm 26 and have yet to reach that golden age. I am, and always will be, my mother's child. I put up with her tirades and her stressors because I love her, because she is my mother and because I am incapable of really "breaking up" with her. I am a glutton for punishment. The veritable rat at the pellet bar, coming back again and again, for more and more of the poison. I HATE that period of indecision and doubt that occurs after an argument - the "are we" or "aren't we" factor of choosing to hash it out, remain mad, pretend like nothing happened, scream, fight again, forget about it, move on. What to do, what to do? I don't even know if I care anymore about healing my relationship with her. I have enough problems in my life and doesn't it make sense to excise the things that poison your day-to-day? But, even as I type the very idea, I know I don't have the balls to do it. I could never just let my mother go. She has been too good to me and I know it. For all her faults, and all of mine, and all the ways we don't get along, I could never, truly, say she is a bad person. I have never wanted for anything, really, and I am forever indebted to her in a number of ways. Nothing is ever free. All I ask is that she pretend, pre-fucking-tend, to give a shit about me as an autonomous person, removed from the emotional trappings of being her daughter, and that she realize that, contrary to popular belief, everything I do is not in an effort to thwart her efforts as a parent and rub my independence in her face. I am distant from my family for a reason and it started long before I moved 1500 miles away.
Chris can't manage a break up, either. But, I don't really expect him to. He is far away, at this point, and there is no real, tangible reason for him to leave a life he has grown accustomed to and a woman he cares about, when there is no concrete need for him to do so. He lives far away. He works far away. He has no life here...yet. If he and I were in the same city, confronted with the idea that anything could be real between us, maybe things would be different. I would like to think they would. All I have to go off of are his assurances that his life would be turned upside down if he were to be here. I can't even say with any certainty that my feelings for him are real. The logical, objective Rebecca knows that the person I see before me is one viewed through rose-colored glasses. Any notions I have about what life would be like if he were to move to L.A. would inevitably be trumped by the reality of the situation, which is this - he is a 35 year-old man, who is in an "open" relationship with a girlfriend he has been unfaithful to, but honest with. He is somewhat self-absorbed. He admits to being cheap. He is an attractive, charming, charismatic guy, working in a field that allows him a non-stop flow of beautiful, accommodating women. He gives good talk, but so do I. Maybe we are both natural-born bullshitters and this "Mexican stand-off," as Joel has so accurately deemed it, is just some dramatic test of wills to see who can make the other cave to our wily charms. I have no idea. I want to think that everything he tells me is true and sincere, but, I pride myself on being smarter than the average bear and, therefore, it's hard for me to just throw caution to the wind. And, luckily, I don't have to. Much like he doesn't have to worry about breaking up with his lady, I don't have to worry about him and his intentions. For the both of us, the other is not an immediate problem. All I can say is that I genuinely feel that I have an inkling about what it means to say you have a "connection" with someone (as trite as I've always felt, and still feel, that colloquialism is) because I think (read: THINK!) I may have glimpsed that with him. Only time will tell (another hackneyed expression containing a thin veil of truth) and only then will I be able to honestly say I gave it my best shot, when I thought I may have had something great at my fingertips.
I just feel very stressed right now. My throat and chest feel tight and I am tired, but my mind is racing. My career is not moving at the pace I had hoped, my personal relationships always seem to be in some sort of turmoil and my emotions are at an all-time high. I almost never feel this way. I try not to let bullshit get the better of me. I'm worried about my finances, my piss-poor love life, Jolene moving out, Robbie moving in, the emotional burdens of my family and my deep-seated desire, nay need, to feel like I have it together at all times. Normally I feel as if I do, but, right about now, I feel as if I'm unraveling ever so slightly. A little at a time. Bit by bit. I don't like having all these uncertainties in my life and I'm not used to feeling like things are out of my control. I'm a firm believer in only worrying about the things you can change, but, I'm finding it harder and harder to discern what those things even are.
I have to just keep telling myself that my life isn't so bad. I can't really complain, right? I mean, how fucking self-involved would I be, to sit here and wax poetic about my mountain-out-of-a-molehill problems, when things could be, and are, so much worse for so many other people? Kelly insists that I need to approach everything with a zen-like sense of all-encompassing Ghandi-love. Just take in all that negative energy and spit it back out into the ether, as good vibes for a lost soul. I'm getting there, slowly but surely. I've written myself a couple of pretty nasty emails that my mother didn't receive because of my own better judgment and steady hand. That's a good start. Part of my problem comes from the fact that I feel guilty about letting myself have a pity party. I don't allow myself to really take a minute to accept my own feelings as valid and worthwhile, because I'm too busy trying to rationalize them away. Sometimes I hate being so self-aware.
Rebecca
ADDENDUM: I just re-read this entry and, in the interim, the CD moved to track 2 - "MAKE UP YOUR MIND AND DO WHAT YOU WANT TO DO." How apropos.
|
|
Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
|
|
|
Stolen from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) drjayphd.
The Who, Offspring, Blink 182, The Clash, The Sex Pistols in "Top 50 Most Conservative Rock Songs"
Conservative magazine National Review has assembled what they describe as the "top
50 conservative rock songs of all time." The magazine based their selection on a
broad criteria: the songs had to be well-liked and express classically
conservative ideas "such as skepticism of government or support for traditional
values."
Taking the top spot was the Who classic, "Won't Get Fooled
Again" while the Sex Pistols "Bodies" came in 8th. The latter is described as a
"anti-abortion anthem." "I Fought the Law," covered by the Clash, Dead Kennedys
and recently, Green Day comes in 15th. Blink-182's "Stay Together for the Kids"
is 17th, and the Clash's "Rock the Casbah" takes the 20th spot. The Offspring's
"Why Don't You Get a Job?" is the 48th "conservative rock song" of all time.
Interestingly, many of the cited artists - like the Clash's Joe Strummer
- were notable left-wing advocates and many of the bands actually appear on the
list of punk voter
supporters including the Offspring and Blink-182. Sex Pistols frontman Johnny
Rotten's recent "Bodies" saying:
Every woman should have the choice when they face it. [...] And if
you construe that as being anti-abortion, then you're a silly cu... sausage.
- "Won't Get Fooled Again," by The Who
- "Taxman," by The Beatles
- "Sympathy for the Devil," by The Rolling Stones
- "Sweet Home Alabama," by Lynyrd Skynyrd
- "Wouldn't It Be Nice," by The Beach Boys
- "Gloria," by U2
- "Revolution," by The Beatles
- "Bodies," by The Sex Pistols
- "Don't Tread on Me," by Metallica
- "20th Century Man," by The Kinks
- "The Trees," by Rush
- "Neighborhood Bully," by Bob Dylan
- "My City Was Gone," by The Pretenders
- "Right Here, Right Now," by Jesus Jones
- "I Fought the Law," by The Crickets
- "Get Over It," by The Eagles
- "Stay Together for the Kids," by Blink 182
- "Cult of Personality," by Living Colour
- "Kicks," by Paul Revere and the Raiders
- "Rock the Casbah," by The Clash
- "Heroes," by David Bowie
- "Red Barchetta," by Rush
- "Brick," by Ben Folds Five
- "Der Kommissar," by After the Fire
- "The Battle of Evermore," by Led Zeppelin
- "Capitalism," by Oingo Boingo
- "Obvious Song," by Joe Jackson
- "Janie's Got a Gun," by Aerosmith
- "Rime of the Ancient Mariner," by Iron Maiden
- "You Can't Be Too Strong," by Graham Parker
- "Small Town," by John Mellencamp
- "Keep Your Hands to Yourself," by The Georgia Satellites
- "You Can't Always Get What You Want," by The Rolling Stones
- "Godzilla," by Blue Oyster Cult
- "Who'll Stop the Rain," by Creedence Clearwater Revival
- "Government Cheese," by The Rainmakers
- "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down," by The Band
- "I Can't Drive 55," by Sammy Hagar
- "Property Line," by The Marshall Tucker Band
- "Wake Up Little Susie," by The Everly Brothers
- "The Icicle Melts," by The Cranberries
- "Everybody's a Victim," by The Proclaimers
- "Wonderful," by Everclear
- "Two Sisters," by The Kinks
- "Taxman, Mr. Thief," by Cheap Trick
- "Wind of Change," by The Scorpions
- "One," by Creed
- "Why Don't You Get a Job," by The Offspring
- "Abortion," by Kid Rock
- "Stand By Your Man," by Tammy Wynette
All the more reason to use the term "silly cunt sausage," if you ask me.
|
|
Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Thursday, January 26th, 2006
|
|
Sunday, December 25th, 2005
|
|
|
Approximately 80 days remain.
2006 SXSW Music Festival Performers Include
This is a very preliminary list of performers scheduled to appear at the 2006 SXSW Music Festival. All of this information is subject to change.
The Adored (Los Angeles CA) • Annie (Bergen NORWAY) • Arctic Monkeys (Sheffield UK) • Belle and Sebastian (Glasgow UK) • The BellRays (Los Angeles CA) • Be Your Own PET (Nashville TN) • Blockhead (New York NY) • The Boy Least Likely To (Wendover UK) • The Brokedown (Los Angeles CA)• Neko Case (Tacoma WA) • Cat Power (Atlanta GA) • Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (Brooklyn NY) • Clor (London UK) • Jason Collett (Toronto ON) • The Cribs (Wakefield UK) • Cuff the Duke (Toronto ON) • Jamie Cullum (London UK) • Dashboard Confessional (Boca Raton FL) • Death In Vegas (London UK) • Death Vessel (Brooklyn NY) • Dengue Fever (Los Angeles CA) • Destroyer (Vancouver BC) • Die! Die! Die! (Auckland NEW ZEALAND) • Dirty Pretty Things (London UK) • Jorge Drexler (Madrid SPAIN) • Dr. Spock (Reykjavik ICELAND) • The Duke Spirit (London UK) • The Earlies (Manchester UK) • Echo & The Bunnymen (Liverpool UK) • Editors (Birmingham UK) • The Eighteenth Day Of May (London UK) • Elbow (Manchester UK) • Empire Dogs (Stockholm SWEDEN) • Erase Errata (San Francisco CA) • Faker (Sydney AUSTRALIA) • Flogging Molly (Los Angeles CA) • Forward Russia (Leeds UK) • Glass Eye (Austin TX) • Gogol Bordello (New York NY) • Jose Gonzalez (Gothenburg SWEDEN) • The Go! Team (Brighton UK) • Headphones (Seattle WA) • The Hellacopters (Stockholm SWEDEN) • Clarence Frogman Henry (New Orleans LA) • The Juan Maclean (Dover NH) • Kaki King (New York NY) • Kalas (Oakland CA) • k-os (Whitby ON) • Sharron Kraus & Christian Kiefer (London UK) • Lady Sovereign (London UK) • The Like (Los Angeles CA) • Los De Abajo (Mexico City MEXICO) • Luminous Orange (Yokohama JAPAN) • Barbara Lynn (Beaumont TX) • The Magic Numbers (London UK) • Magnolia Electric Company (Chicago IL) • Serena Maneesh (Oslo NORWAY) • Mates of State (East Haven CT) • The Morning After Girls (Sydney AUSTRALIA) • The Most Serene Republic (Toronto ON) • Mystery Jets (London UK) • My Summer as a Salvation Soldier (Reykjavik ICELAND) • Neon Blonde (Seattle WA) • Nickel Creek (Carlsbad CA) • n0 things (Brooklyn NY) • Of Montreal (Athens GA) • Beth Orton (London UK) • Peaches (Berlin GERMANY) • The Plimsouls (Los Angeles CA) • Robert Pollard (Dayton OH) • Ramblin' Jack Elliot (New York NY) • Saves the Day (Princeton NJ) • The Secret Machines (New York NY) • Marty Stuart and his Fabulous Superlatives (Hendersonville TN) • Tarantula A D (New York NY) • Susan Tedeschi (Jacksonville FL) • Towers of London (London UK) • KT Tunstall (London UK) • Two Gallants (San Francisco CA) • Tom Verlaine (New York NY) • Vetiver (San Francisco CA) • The Whigs (Athens GA) • Whitehouse (Edinburgh UK) • Witch (Brattleboro VT) • Wolfmother (Sydney AUSTRALIA)
Oh, and, in other news. I think I'm still in love with my ex-boyfriend.
Actually, I'm positive I'm in love with my ex-boyfriend.
Yeah, we'll talk about it later.
|
|
Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Thursday, November 24th, 2005
|
|
|
It's 5:30am and I managed to wake myself up, out of my discontented sleep, from sheer worry. My previous post has been on my mind quite a lot because I'm one of those people that, no matter how mad I am or how gut-wrenching it is, when I get embroiled in an argument, I like to see it to the end at that very moment. I like to hash it out right there, right then, because the stewing period, where everyone just sits and fumes, is completely useless and miserable for no reason. There are plenty of times that I've let things just sit because, for one reason or another, the other person or I could not emotionally handle the situation then, or, it would do too much damage to speak when we were heated. Sometimes, I let it sit just to be passive aggressive. But, know that I am thorougly unnerved and worrisome until the situation is resolved. I hate that incubation period.
So, of course, I have been rolling all of these issues with my mother over and over in my mind and debating whether or not I am completely wrong, a little wrong or completely right. I'm not sure yet, but I did, actually, have a rather productive conversation with my mother yesterday afternoon that helped shed a little light on the situation.
Ultimately, what it all comes down to, is that she is utterly resentful of the path I have chosen in life.
Yeah, I know, no biggie. You don't have to tell me.
This is not my assumption, this is an admission from her. She said she never wanted another child or another man in her life after I was born because she did not want anything else to distract her from loving, teaching and raising me and only me. She said she tried her best to preen me for big things, by encouraging me in school, etc. and that she, of course, always wanted me to be a doctor. I pretty much thought I was going to be a doctor until I was 17 or so and decided music was more important to me than professional school, debt and a lifetime of doing something I didn't have my heart in any longer. When I reneged on a full ride to my family alma mater and changed the entire course of my life to go into entertainment, it obviously didn't sit well. With anybody.
So, to this day, I am still reaping the furies I sowed EIGHT YEARS AGO. She literally admitted that she resented the fact that I ever decided to go to USC and "move away from her," thereby "shutting her out" of my life. I was flabbergasted, first of all, at the sheer gall that she would admit something so selfish and then, second of all, that she would feel that my life was her's to lead. I always knew deep down this was the situation, but I didn't really see that it would ever come to a head. She's always made comments about my school debt (accrued for what she probably feels was a useless collegiate endeavor), my salary (far below my intelligence and worth but, HELLO, welcome to Hollywood) and my current status on the corporate ladder (I've been out of school for less than 2 years - I haven't really been given my Sherry Lansing or Lyor Cohen keys to the throne YET), so I was well aware that there was a vat of ill will just lingering under the surface.
I pretty much said that she needs to either get on this bus or get off. My life has been too volatile and too stressing and too soaked with dishonesty and betrayl as of late that I, seriously, don't have the time or emotional strength to put up with additional heartache from the one person who should be trying her best to make me feel better. You either decide to be supportive and make a valiant attempt to be understanding or we cease and desist any mention of my workplace, career goals or future plans in this business. Done. End of story. No time for this.
She made no decisive promises about her allegiance (of course) and only turned the conversation around to, once again, make it seem as if I left home, moved to LA and set about the rest of my life only to remove her from the picture. And here I was thinking that I was the selfish, self-centered one because I'm an only child? It never ceases to amaze me how many parents take their children's actions so completely to heart. Does anyone in their right mind that knows me as a person really think I would alter the entire course of my life to spite my mother? What kind of bizarre, self-indulgent bullshit is that??? The entire idea is completely ludicrous. But, I guess it's just some sort of mental catch-all for losing control of your child's destiny and seeing them take the uphill battle when you felt they were destined for so much more. I don't know, I don't have kids, but that's just fucked up.
She says I started to pull away from her and the rest of my family when I was in junior high and I've only gotten farther and farther since. She also said that she thinks my friends, especially Denise, had a much greater influence on me than she or anyone else in my close family. Well, I wouldn't say I had screwed up teenage years (because they could have been MUCH worse), but our relationship was definitely very rocky during that time and, as all kids do at that age, I turned to my best friends for solace. The idea that they could have ever explicitly influenced me to take the path I took, however, is pure nonsense. All my friends did (including Denise) was encourage me to pursue my own goals because they knew I was smart, determined and capable enough to get what I wanted. Anyone that knows me will vouch for the fact that I am not a flighty, irresponsible or gullible person so, the idea that my own MOTHER would think I am so easily led is very insulting to me.
At the end of the day, I think we managed to hash out some of the main issues. We'll see how long it all sticks. Ultimately, if she's not supporting me financially, I don't see that her opinion is of my utmost concern. If I fall on my face, I fall on my face. It's obvious that she is incapable of being truly supportive (she can only feign a passing "go team!"), so, why drag myself through the mud by seeking approval and/or encouragement that I'm either not going to get or is going to be transparent and false? It sounds very impassive when I put it in black and white, but I think I've just decided that I have enough problems without inviting more from someone who can't even muster a grain of happiness or pride for the things I've done thus far. I'm almost 26 years old and things aren't changing - I'm not moving back to TX anytime soon, I'm not going to grad school to get legit and I'm not trading the life I want to lead for something she thinks I'm better suited for, so, I'm done.
That's it. I'm just done. We talked about it and it either comes together or it falls slowly apart, as it has been for years. Her contant disapproval has always just added fuel to my fire, so maybe I'll go run a label or head up a studio just to spite her for real this time. Working with Joel has been, more often than not, a wonderful, rewarding experience and I've earned a lot of creative and professional license from him, allowing me to play first-hand with powerful people and millions of dollars. We're going into business together, joining forces, and taking the road less traveled (again). I can either take another corporate job and, inevitably, have a "boss," rather than the friend and mentor I have in Joel, or, I can see where his vision goes and give it my all.
I'm up for the latter - who's with me!?
Feel free to be inspired, while I go back to bed.
|
|
Comments: Read 10 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005
|
|
|
When am I going to learn to stop calling my mother before I go to bed? All she does is infuriate, upset and berate me, which, it just so happens, is the perfect recipe for a night of restful slumber.
I'm a fuckin' masochist and she's fuckin' crazy.
She kept hanging up on me and then, when I kept calling back, she finally just picked the phone up and left it off the hook. So, in a moment of fury (and weakness) I sent her an email that pretty much summed up my feelings and ended with:
"Happy Thanksgiving. I'm glad I don't have to be there to put up with your petty tirades."
Sums up my feelings, indeed.
|
|
Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Tuesday, October 25th, 2005
|
|
|
Exposition: Our hero (Encyclopedia Becca), accompanied by her faithful cohort (Kelly), bravely attempts to escape the social perils and pitfalls of one Bugs Meany-esque Paris Hilton, while out and about on the LA party circuit. Humor ensues.
Rising Action: Encyclopedia Becca and Kelly arrive on the scene at the Sony Pictures Lot in the beautiful city of Culver City (the city so nice, they named it twice!), to attend Rock & Republic's L.A. Fashion Week premiere event. After mingling among the open bar with a veritable Ferris Bueller-worthy cast of weirdos, skeezes, Euro-trash, hipsters, models, fashionistas and druggies, the two take a seat for the nipple-baring antics of size zero clothes-hangers, cleverly disguised as "models." Absolut tonics in hand, our consummate party girls engage in a fierce battle of Where's Waldo celebrity-watching, including the likes of Eve, one freakishly pregnant Katie Holmes, Victoria Beckham (sans Posh Husband), Serena Williams, Natasha Henstridge, Josh Brolin, Skeet Ulrich (In answer to your question, "What the fuck happened to THAT guy?:" I have no idea.), Jonathan Silverman, Mena Suvari, Jesse Metcalfe and...
Climax: The most useless, scorned and (go figure) talked about woman in Hollywood - our antagonist - Paris "Nightvision Makes Me Look Skinny" Hilton. Paris Meany arrives to a flurry of paparazzi and flashbulbs, vamps her "good side," takes a couple of photos with adoring "fans" (?) and then proceeds to spend the rest of her sojourn on her Sidekick.
Falling Action: Ten minutes into the fashion show, Paris Meany is a faint memory and has already taken leave, presumably to powder her nose. (ahem) Josh and Skeet seem to be enjoying the wealth of unleashed A-cups, leaning intimately into one another and laughing aloud. Clothes are mildly interesting. Music rocks yo momma - Duran Duran accompanied by a live orchestra. What theee effff?
Denouement: Our heroes retire to the VIP section for more vodka teasers, the alluring turntable mischief of DJ AM and the occasional celeb run-in. Paris Meany threatens Encyclopedia and Kelly once more, making her presence known for a brief moment, only to retreat to her Beverly Hills manor for, what is hoped to be, an evening of cocaine-induced self-loathing, but is, more likely, just an evening of counting money and fucking Greek bazillionaires.
In our next installment....
Encylopedia Becca and Kelly Search for the Magical Worm of Jose Cuervo, in none other than Sin City.
Until next time, keep readin', kids!
redhotdiva
|
|
Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Tuesday, October 4th, 2005
|
|
|
Tagged by intlpopstar.
The rules: List five songs you currently love. It doesn't matter what genre they
are from, whether they have words, or even if they any good, but they must be
five songs you are really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the
songs, and the artists in your journal. Then tag five other friends to see what
they are listening to.
"Physical (You're So)" - Nine Inch Nails - This is a great hidden track from the Broken EP (#98, to be exact), that is just the perfect amalgam of sexy, Reznor-y, lilting vocals, drudging guitar and screaming bouts about lust and rough sex. Who wouldn't want Trent to purr I want your rough house baby and scream I want the touch of your charms? Plus, it's an Adam Ant cover, to boot. Uh............SOLD.
"Seventeen Years" - Ratatat - Go buy Ratatat. Now. Stop reading. Leave. GOODBYEEEEEEEEEEE.
"I Wanna Make It Wit Chu" - Desert Sessions - Yet ANOTHER side project from Queens' Josh Homme. This time its cool, monotonous vox, peppered with tambourine, keys, Dean Ween on guitar and PJ Harvey singing back-up. This record is waaaaaaaay random, by the way.
"Slipping Away" - Nine Inch Nails - For me, The Fragile was a largely forgettable album - a lot of slower, ambient, ethereal Reznor tracks that really didn't need to take up two whole disks. However, we did get the title track, "Starfuckers, Inc.," "The Great Below" and "Into the Void," the origin of this remix. This is just a cool re-working of what was already a good song.
P.S. Can you tell how much I've been re-discovering my NIN albums before and after the show?
"Chances Are" - Sheryl Crow - I got this disk (Wildflower) in the mail at work and decided to give it a listen, on the off-chance I would like a song or two. Well, the verdict is still out, but this song is a given. Lose the strings and it sounds like a lost track from The Globe Sessions, the only Sheryl CD I've ever liked and attempted to wear out.
"Sexy Results" - Death From Above 1979 - I have been extolling the virtues of DFA 1979 for months now, ever since I had the honor of seeing them three times at SXSW. This song has a great beat (which I am ALL about), saucy lyrics and just enough shimmy for a lil' White Girl Shuffle. I have decided I want to be in a band. I want to be in Death From Above 1979.
Consequently, I shall tag: riantlykalopsic, ewelbeefayen, likwidnyte, taylorroom101 and gimetzco.
This could be interesting.
|
|
Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Monday, October 3rd, 2005
|
|
|
I would like to dedicate Nine Inch Nails / Adam Ant's "Physical (You're So)" to myself and Kelly, since we have been on FI-YAH lately and deserve a good, long, hard song about rough sex.
Enjoy.
|
|
Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Sunday, October 2nd, 2005
|
|
|
Ahhhhhhhhh.....the memories.
Last night was a completely random evening - the kind I love most - chock-full of amusing misadventures, aching loins, near-mutiny and trips to the Valley. And, it had a fuckin' rock 'n roll soundtrack, to boot.
Case in point: Met KelMul at The Bowl for the soothing sounds of Queens of the Stone Age and Nine Inch Nails - a rock show of spiritual proportions - only to, basically, get horny for 2 1/2 hours watching Homme's swagger and Trent's brawny arms attack the mic. Geez of Nazareth. Where can I find a 40 year-old that looks like that one?
But, I digress.
The show was amazing, although I do believe the NIN Coachella performance was better, if not simply for the fact I was on the front row. Queens were actually quite good. I've seen them several times and they always come off tight as hell, but a little boring. This time around, however, Josh and crew were bringin' it down, especially their Cro-Magnon/Un-frozen Caveman Lawyer-esque drummer, Joey Castillo, formerly of Danzig (yes, Danzig). Josh is just one of those people that you watch and realize they were put on this earth to be a rock star - he has the chops, the look, the attitude, the posture - he's poised and ready to go. And, he can carry a tune. The band did an extended version of "No One Knows" for their final number and Josh did a great solo vocal breakdown, in between all of the throbbing guitars and Caveman drumming. Very satisfying, indeed. Sadly, I missed half their set, but did show up just as they started one of my favorite songs from the new record (which is their best, in my humble opinion), "Burn the Witch." A nice lead in to.....
NINE INCH NAILS.
Possibly one of the most tantalizing shows a music fan can see, as their repertoire allows every song to be either a hit, a fan favorite or a fuckin' cool remix of either. "March of the Pigs" and "Wish" were quite literally AMAZING. "Closer" had a very weird arrangement - no keys to be found - and came off very stale. There was no balls behind it, whatsoever. It was painfully obvious that Trent only plays it to assuage the crowd, not for any kind of real value. Unfortunate. "Only," my favorite song from the new record, was a little rushed and lacked the dancey vibe and vocal histrionics of the album version. But, aside from those two beefs (and the fact that they didn't play my all-time favorite NIN song, "Piggy"), I would say a good time was had by all and that the show definitely lived up to the ticket price (i.e. FREE). I've seen a lot of bands in my day - some terrible (we'll talk about that later), some life-altering and most simply mediocre - but, I can safely say NIN is a band that you can always count on to deliver. God bless Trent's broken, black little heart.
The real fun didn't start, however, until after the show.
Kelly and I hopped on The Bowl's shuttle bus to head back to my car, parked at Hollywood & Highland. Little did we know that we would get the Helen Keller of public transportation behind the wheel, putting us into our very own private, random disaster of Seinfeld-ian proportions. It's kind of a running joke with me and my friends that, at shows, I always end up next to "that guy." The guy who's drunk like Robert Downey, Jr., beating up on folks like Tom Sizemore and annoying like Andy Dick. Trust me, this is standard. This time around it wasn't so bad - Kelly and I just had some fat gothy bitch yelling about marrying Trent or some shit. Jesus H. Christ. Do you really think that man wants your fat gothy ass????
No.
At the end of the day, he's a man. He either wants some WASP-y Aryan princess with 6 foot legs and a landing strip or an exotic femme fatale that will show Trent fuckin' Reznor who's boss in the bedroom.
He does not want your fat gothy ass.
ANYWAY........
On the bus, we, of course, end up next to these two drunk, obnoxious frat guys from LMU (aka "that guy" x2), cracking jokes the entire trip, being ridiculously loud and stumbling everywhere. At that point, no one would have thought they would have more brain cells, let alone more of a sense of direction, than our freakin' bus driver. Funny how things turn out.
So, we depart, Kelly and I are talking and I start to notice that it seems to be taking longer (and we're moving faster) than we should. Hollywood & Highland is only a few blocks from The Bowl, but, even with traffic, it shouldn't be taking this long. I start to look around and realize we are North bound on a feeder next to the 101. What the hell kinda route is this? I point it out to Obnoxious Guy #1 who then proceeds to ask the bus driver where we are going because we are supposed to be going to Hollywood & Highland. She mutters something and he turns back around looking satisfied with her answer, so I figure this is just some crazy-ass way to avoid traffic. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm......
Then, we make a completely hilarious and random stop, in the middle of some block, to pick up two guys, who proceed to stay on the bus for thirty seconds and then get off. From that point on, Obnoxious Guy #1 begins to yell "PICK 'EM UP!!!!" every time we pass anyone on the street. At this point, he officially drops his previous title (the afore-mentioned "Drunk Guy #1"), replacing it with "Amusing Drunk Guy #1." After loading and unloading Random Guy #1 and Random Guy #2, I come up to the front and ask the lady point blank where she is taking us - we are obviously NOT going to Hollywood & Highland, we are in FUCKING STUDIO CITY, for Chrissakes. She hems and haws, saying something about routes, etc. and then we pull over again, where there is another event staffer in a yellow jacket. She opens the doors, Kelly gets up to talk to the guy, to explain that we are going the wrong way, and then Drunk Guy #2 drives the point home by yelling "Hey everybody! Are we supposed to be going to Hollywood & Highland????" To which he receives an agitated and resounding "YES!!!!!!!," that would have struck fear into the heart of the most stalwart of bus drivers. And, just when you think it can't get ANY better - the staff supervisor says my favorite line:
"Well, I guess you had better take them back."
HA.
So, we find the freeway entrance (no joke!), enter Southbound and the entire bus erupts in cheers. The end is in sight, but our bus driver's idiocy remains off the charts, so, she exits Cahuenga off the 101, putting us half a dozen blocks (or more) East of Hollywood & Highland, in a ridiculously large bus, in wall to wall Saturday, Bowl-fleeing traffic. Drunk Guy #1 and #2 have hours worth of material at this point, but they are (apparently) annoying the driver (and breaking her concentration, perhaps), so, at their insistence, she let's them exit the bus. Traffic is moving RIDICULOUSLY slow, so much so that Kelly and I could walk to our cars faster. So, we start asking if we can get off. She refuses, saying the police will stop the bus and her supervisor will not let her unload us in the middle of the street. Kelly starts arguing out loud, saying that she let the other two guys off, this is bullshit, we're hostages, for God's sake - LET US THE FUCK OFF. Our car is right there!!! She says she can't. So, in an act of open defiance, an act of heroic proportions, some modern day Harriet Tubman fucking PRIED the back doors of the tram open, with his or her bare hands, freeing us into the night and into the middle of Hollywood traffic.
Ticket to Hollywood Bowl: $49.50 face. Shuttle bus fee: $3.00. Hearing a drunk guy scream "PICK 'EM UP!!!!!!" at your unwitting bus driver: PRICELESS.
Unfuckin'believable.
redhotdiva
P.S. "PICK 'EM UP!"
P.P.S. More on the suckfest that was My Chemical Romance and the suckfest that was Cory Hurwitz's 30th birthday "bash" later.
|
|
Comments: Read 4 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Saturday, October 1st, 2005
|
|
|
Movies: Rockumenteries, Jockumenteries, and possibly Bachumenteries, but never, ever Jacque Chiraque-umenteries....I hate French people...except for Sophie Marceau. She'd be a keeper, unless she started in with her bullshit. Then I'd have to kick her to le' curb.
P.S. Tonight's My Chemical Romance show was a MASSIVELY UNDERWHELMING EXPERIENCE. I've never been to a show in my life that was so geared for angst-y fourteen year-olds.
I'm too old for this shit.
Details later. Nine Inch Nails / Queens of the Stone Age is tomorrow, so that will put my goth-poser evening in its place. Thank God for some certainties in life.
|
|
Comments: Add Your Own.
|
|
Tuesday, September 27th, 2005
|
|
|
This weekend should be jam-packed with fun-filled activities, if only I can survive my office move and make it to Friday. Friday night is My Chemical Romance / Reggie & the Full Effect / Alkaline Trio with Bryan, Saturday is (hopefully) NIN / QOTSA / Autolux and (possibly) Corey's 30th birthday bash and then, Sunday, is "A History of Violence" with Nonaka and Triple A. Oh yeah - I'm also forgetting Pappas' Thursday birthday happy hour/party.....
Sheesh.
I'm more popular than a cheerleader with beer-flavored nipples.
|
|
Comments: Read 4 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Monday, September 19th, 2005
|
|
|
Good to know that Karin has enough money to go to the Austin City Limits Festival, but is broke when it comes to paying me and Rachel back for the hundreds of dollars we've spent on rent and past due bills, since she FUCKED US ROYALLY on her move out. I swear - you only think you know someone. Ultimately, there are only a handful of people in the world that you can truly rely on. Karin, unfortunately, is a friendship casualty for me, I guess.
What a fucker.
|
|
Comments: Read 30 or Add Your Own.
|
|
Sunday, September 18th, 2005
|
|
|
|
My mother seriously brings out the worst in me. She makes me do and say things I can't even believe I am capable of. First off, I have been calling her ALL DAY. Probably twenty to twenty-five times today because she hasn't been answering. I even called once and it was busy, so I called back in a few minutes, only to have it ring and ring and ring. Once I started to get worried, it occurred to me that she is probably just fucked up enough in the head to think she is teaching me a lesson by not picking up, since she's been all pissy-pants about me not calling regularly. So, here I am, worried that my mother has had (another) heart-attack and is dead on the floor, only to have the realization that, no, she's probably just being a fucker. And, guess who was right? I swear to God, I love her and she is a great person in so many ways, but she literally makes me murderous. The times in my life when I have been my most evil and violent and disrespectful and upset and angry and embarrassed can all be traced back to her. Don't get me wrong - I have little room to truly feel shit on. I have never really wanted for anything. I have an education, a car, material possessions, etc. all because of her. But, that still doesn't change the fact that she is, oftentimes, mean, vindictive and judgmental. After finally answering the phone, she railed on me for twenty minutes about how I never call her, how I'm always horrible when I do and how I "don't even care about my family anymore." She then proceeded to tell me that she left me voicemails a couple of days ago, which I, honestly, never got. She never calls me, I always have to call her, so, if she had called me and I had known, I would have called back. Everytime I talk to her, though, the first and only thing she wants to talk about is my work situation, even though I have told her time and time again that that is the LAST thing I want to talk about. I seriously spend nine hours a day feeling stressed and abused, at a place where I know I'm not wanted, doing work that is undermined left and right by shady, condescending assholes. Do I REALLY want to re-live that with you on the phone, after I get home???? No. And, to think that I would is completely ludicrous. Just know that if anything big happens (like me getting fired), you'll be the first one to know -- if you pick up the phone. Jesus Christ. I can't believe that I had a relatively leisure Sunday, only to have it dissolve into (another) argument, more tight, tense shoulders and the overwhelming desire to simply hide my head under the covers and cry. I don't normally succumb that easily to pressure - that's how you can tell that I am literally nearing my breaking point. There are some days where I feel as if I'm doing a good job and I can see the bigger picture, despite all of the drama and the backstabbing. And then, conversely, there are the days when I realize that everything I have been doing (accomplishing?) will be fruitless in the end or turned 180 degrees and used against me. The only reason I am holding on to this fucking terrible job is because I am loyal to Joel and because I am hoping that the prize at the finish line will be carnage and destruction as LG implodes and success and fortune when we go it alone. Now, all I have to do is see if I can withstand the horror of God knows how many more months. I have to get out of here. This has no place to go but up, right?
|
|
Comments: Read 18 or Add Your Own.
|
|
|
Mom: Long time, no hear.
Mom: Why???
Mom: Daphne Ann, what should I give her for a wedding gift?
Me: she is really marrying that trooper?
Mom: What should I spend?
Mom: Yes.
Mom: She is pregnant.
Me: NO
Mom: Donna wished Carolyn to secrecy but then Carolyn did not get the invite in time so was pissed and told me. Right after she sends the invitations.
Me: of course she is
Me: Nice.
Mom: So I heard anyway.
Me: Further proof that you can't fully trust Aunt Carolyn!
Mom: Don't be that way. I was pissed too.
Me: well, I will call you this evening, but I can't talk right now - I'm going to the movies.
Me: What were you pissed off about?
Mom: We both said we were not sending anything.
Mom: Because she had not sent me an invitation.
Me: but, you finally got it?
Mom: Okay call me later. I will find out if you want to get her something also.
Mom: Bye.
Me: ugh
Me: bye
Me: I love you, Mom!
Me: Aren't you glad I'm not preggers?
Mom: I love you too, baby!!!
Mom: Don't be an ass!!!
Mom: Bye.
Me: ahaha bye
|
|
Comments: Add Your Own.
|
|
|
accomplished.
blank.
cheerful.
uncomfortable.
drained.
hungry.![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
nostalgic.
cynical.
stressed.