Random rant...Christmas Eve

Tis colder than a witches’ tit here in Seattle…yeah, I’m not sure what that really means either. Are witches prone to being chilly because one assumes they’re godless heathens? Is it because their houses are made from candy of which I’m pretty sure, that shit doesn’t provide proper insulation. Or perhaps it’s because they like to frolic about naked and have lots and lots of sex and drink themselves silly…or so I’ve read in the history book, but I’m sure things get lost in translation…

Where was I? Oh yes, its fucking cold here and we’ve been getting pounded with snow in the city. Lucky me, my wagon is stuck under a healthy amount of snow and I have been banished to the busing system, yet again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m dying to drive with the rest of the witless wonders of this city, but a 3 hour commute to work is a bit much. A little bit of snow and this city shuts up quicker than a virginal teenage book nerd clamping her knees together at a high school party. Prude.

(wagon is under there somewhere)

With long travels, comes my little retreat into my tiny haven of music being pumped through itsy speakers to my awaiting core …Lately, my iPod has been favoring Devothcka and its been getting me amped for the up coming NYE show. This morning thank god for the loud tuba, horns, violins and strong Latin guitar, because it mostly drowned out that of a demonic little bastard being, literally, dragged by his mother onto the bus. This little shit refused to walk and was screaming at the top of his lungs like he was being beat with barbed razor wire. She tried to sit him down and he refused to sit, of course, and thus pulled a perfect summersault over the side of the seat, worthy of Special Olympics gold medal, and landed squarely on his head. I laughed. Hard. She eventually took him to the back of the bus where he continued to wail, but I was sweetly involved with Devotckha and mentally figuring out how I’m going to dress up like a saucy wench for my big night out with friends. Woot.

Perfectly pointless entry, but I mostly wanted to remark on the spawn doing a flip onto his head. I’m still laughing; yes, I’m evil.

So snow season is upon here in the chilly Northwest, and with winter’s frigid fingers tap tap tapping on our back door, comes the onslaught of Action Snow Films. One that has had much hype is Travis Rice’s epic “That’s it, That’s All”. With an over $2mill price tag, the info that they used the uber pricey steady cameras that were used for Lord of the Rings and the teasers that were released months before the movie dates were set…it stood to reason that this film would be the Ace of all Aces.

I’ve been known to slack…a lot, and my procrastination on getting tickets for this film, bit me in the ass. The day of, I was left with nothing but shops informing me that it had been sold out, and that I was a jack ass for waiting so long. Fuck all. Thankfully a buddy of mine is a buyer for a local store and pulled a miracle; cause as I told him, his popularity would get tickets into the event before my tits would; and I was right. He got the last two LibTech reps’ tickets. And it only cost me a coffee, a vodka redbull and standing in a very crowded theater.

Here’s my simple take on the movie:
Chills. It could’ve been Serengeti hot up in that bitch; with me sweating gallons of my precious fluids and I still would’ve gotten chills from this movie.

When asked by the LibTech Rep(sponsor) of what I thought of the film I answered with a tally of times I said the following:
OH MY GAWD=14
FUCK=33
Oh wow=9
Utterly AMAZING=3

I think hair actually rose on my neck when I saw Jeremy Jones drop down, what seemed to be a completely vertical, mountain peak in Valdez Alaska. He was booking, one fuck up and he would be toast. Utterly amazing (that makes 4)

Of all the snow movies I’ve seen, this one by far is the most epic. I don’t think anyone else is going to touch it unless they’ve got one killer budget. Even then, can you top Rice’s flawless stunts or Jones’ high speed vertical runs?

I think its pointless for me to try and attempt the names of the stunts they were pulling, 1090 this, triple axle with a groin twist that…just know that it was a lot of sick shit being pulled off; it was matched with a pretty spectacular soundtrack and the visuals were phenomenal. Buy the movie, just do it, it’s great and sure to amp you for the upcoming season for attempting to emulate the pros and prolly breaking yourself in the process.

http://www.thatsit-thatsall.com/

ahhhh the lazy life

Where have you been? I’ve been fighting the good fight in a galaxy far far away along side other Jedi Masters….ok, so I’ve been, a straight up now tell me, asshole for not writing in two months; but ya know, work and stress and life and blah blah blah, shut the fuck up Mel. Yeah, I know, lame; but honest and for-truly, I’ve got like 4 entries I’m preparing dear readers…all 3 of you.

So while I search the words to paint a visual picture of the following bands: Cold War Kids, We Are Scientists, Kings of Leon and NKOTB-that’s right-NEW KIDS ON THE MUTHA FUCKIN BLOCK BEYOTCHES-DON’T TRIP; I thought I would wax a bit on my history with music and why exactly it moves me the way it does.

So a long long time ago…in the early 80’s I was knee high to me da’s knee; and when I wasn’t grabbing his beers for sips, I was either signing along to he and his buddies ‘jamming’ or somewhere very near by listening. They played covers, mostly I believe, and I say this because I don’t rightfully recall them playing original music. At any rate, due to the cover-nisity (fuck yes, I make up words like forshizzle) of it all, I became quite fond of the classics like: The Beatles, Zep, Mac, Fucking Eagles, and many many others.

I was such a ham that I would dig into those plastic little saucers called, say it with me history class- “albums”, and play things like Pointer Sisters and B52s while dancing around pretending I was either a soulful afro’d black woman or a red headed maven with a bee hive; and yes, I would “perform” for audiences of furniture or Bryer horses when my parents had no time for me.

I use to know how to read music; built chops to play clarinet…John Lennon’s “Imagine” was my first song learned on the piano…so too was Beatles learnt on the guitar. But fuck all if I don’t remember how to do any of that shit now.

At any rate, growing up in a house where the men; pops and bro, would play guitar and me and moms would hum along, gave me an appreciation for the craft. I associate, as most do, music with moods, moments, feelings and situations; thus the stuff moves me, saddens me, lifts me up, or helps me be bitter road ragger on the highways of So Cal.

so just a little tid bit of myself and my history...a real tiny tid bit, because this well runs deep-so deep it'll put your butt to sleep

Gotta love the 80's or 70's, who know. rad Pampers though

the year 1989. Me, in a training bra

I’m bored…yep, at work; surprise. I was sitting here, day dreaming underneath a late summer stormy/cold sky, about fluffy snow and the realization that time if flying way too fast, as it’s already September. Then GNR came on my iPod and I started wondering when Axl is going to release Chinese Noodles or Laundry or Republic or whatever his mythical beast he keeps trying to feed to us over the past 50years as actuality but we all KNOW it’s a figment of his holey doped out ex rocker brain! Which in turn, got me to thinking about my first concert; the connection? It was Guns N Roses. The year: 1989 LA Coliseum, opening act Living Color; headliner, on again off again geriatric retirees, The Rolling Stones; and GNR smack dab in the middle. Not bad for a band that was on their sophomoric album follow up to mega Appetite release, Lies. 89, that’s my 6th grade year, if you’re curious. Nobody ever said my stoner 70’s rock/earthy parents were the Cleavers or made the best upbringing decisions. At least it wasn’t Debbie Gibson.

I give props to Living Color for being a talented rarity, an African American metal/rock band (see how PC I am?) in a land of big hair butt rock; like: Warrant, Brtny Fox and Poison, to name a few. But I’m not whole heartedly knocking the expensive European extensions wearing Rock of Love failure front man Brett Michaels band; cause my bff does have their greatest hits album and yes after many MANY years of a blissful Poison free existence, we still remember all the words. Probably not the best thing to admit

*Side Note* I had actually wanted to go to Boingo's farewell tour that year but wasn’t allowed to because my evil 6year older brother claimed that a sea of bewbies would be flashed; exposing my gentile eyes to unspeakable acts of ungodliness; yet I got to see Axl parading around in assless chaps and using fuck liberally. Good call pops, GNR was a MUCH more wholesome choice for my first concert experience. Is it any wonder why I walk around covered in tattoos and ghost holes from piercings?

They were rad, and thanks to singing along with “It’s So Easy”, I said ‘fuck’ for the first time in a lifelong onslaught, in front of my dad. From what my 11 year old brain remembers, they rocked it; but then again they were probably slurring in a heavily drugged/drunk induced haze, one cord away from projectile vomiting “OMFG Axl’s creamed corn is on my bra!!” on the groupies showing their titties in the front row (see bro, titties after all).

I don’t remember much of the stones themselves, but what I do remember is a majority of the crowd was there to see them. And while everyone was standing rocking out, my cousin Joel and I were passed out in our chairs. I do however remember standing up once or twice on my seat to catch a drift of what was going on; and being BLASTED by the sound of their music. Seriously, as I sat down, the surrounding people actually blocked the music enough that it sounded like I was listening to the stones from outside the venue. But if you’ve seen footage, I can sum it up like this: Jagger walks around, does some old mannish hip shaking dance/Idol-esque arm air punch; leans up against Richards and they both sing into the mic, while the other members look someone bored and dying for their ensure.

I may mock, but don’t worry, it hasn’t escaped me that one day, I too will be an ensure and vodka drinking granny with tattoos picking up on the youngest piece of meat that’ll give me the time of day; possibly with fake boobs at that point.

Hi, I'm Melissa!

So Saturday found me bored, sitting in the corner of the unusually Hip Hop filled bar of the Cha Cha with D; one less of our trash talk trifecta, the 3rd who was joining later…At any rate, sitting at the bar, having D wrinkle her OCD nose at the fact I was nursing my cocktail, we took a break from the lively mocking of misguided Seattleite attire for the evening to discuss the infamous “Seattle Freeze”. The theory that the fine people of this city are that of cold hearted superior asshats that don’t want to give you courtesy, the time of day, or the spit out of their own mouth to save you from thirst in the Sahara.

Now, I didn’t think this legend was particularly true, as I have a hard time making nice and meeting people in the first place; shocking, but true. I didn’t realize the Freeze was actual until I became single, at which point I noticed it wasn’t so much a freeze as it was people were just fucking passive. I’m thinking it’s the lack of vitamin D from the lack of sun filling up them up with joy joy joy; where? Down in their hearts.

So as I’m sitting at the Cha Cha, I decide to conduct a little social experiment to make the night a little more entertaining (by that point, the clothing choices had become a little ridiculous and sad-who wears an off the shoulder orange mesh top with a pink lame Rizzo jacket?). So I started introducing myself with a handshake, to random strangers that came into range of my monkey arm length reach, just to see how they would react.

Victim #1
Me: “Hi, I’m Melissa!” (This would become my power play opener of the night)
V1: I’m Joel
Me: beg pardon?
V1: Joel
Me: It’s nice to meet you!
V1: I just got out of a 4 year relationship…
Me: I wasn’t-no, I was just being nice. Um, wow, I’m sorry dude
V1: it’s ok, it ended on a good note and we’re still friends its fine
Me: super

Victim #2
By this point, several people were trying to bypass the bar line to get service, at which the tender was turning them away
Me: Hi, I'm Melissa!
V2: nice to meet you (no name given)
Me: (undaunted) the bartender has been telling people to wait in line; I don’t know if you’ll have much luck (big cheesy smile)
V2: Oh, well, I work here, I figured he would. I’ll go to the other side to get help (and thus he sprints off, I presume, frightened but proceeds to stare at me with coworker; great, I’m back in high school)

Victim #3, 4, 5
V3: (to V4) I have to piss, order me a drink (I fail to introduce myself)
V4: (whines) I don’t KNOOOOW what to get him
Me: get him a shot of tekillya!!
V5: that’s racist. You assume because he’s Mexican, he’ll want tequila?!
Me: touché fucker, but I suggested it because we’re in a Mexican themed bar
V5: (says something else, trying to be clever about being half Pilipino/white and his right to being racist-blah blah blah; at this point I start to lose interest in him)
Me: Hi, I’m Melissa! (To both)
V4: I’m Holly!
V5: I’m Ryan
(Friend returns, I ignore and turn back to D)

Victim #6. Not really a victim, as he’s the bartender and his earned tricks are based off of his ass kissing personality.
Me: What’s your name?!
Tender: Joe!
Me: thanks for treating us to great service-PEACE OUT!

New bar, one last victim and the 3rd member to the trifecta, Anna, has arrived. Now, the last victim was by far the friendliest, but I’m guessing it’s because he was gay, and I’m not meaning in just the homosexual way, but in the intended way of the word’s roots, to be happy; cause fuck all, if he wasn’t one happy and friendly dude.
V7: I’m Chad!
And with that, he stayed and chatted with our table about chlorine, hair and a whole butt load of other stuff I can’t remember because it was close to last call and I was becoming quite sleepy with a tummy full of vodka and bad sushi.

I will conduct more tests, as this forces me not to sit in the corner with a “don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-carrying-Ninja-Stars-in-my-bra” look. And who knows, perhaps I will meet some new friends and end up with some crazy stories of pants pooping, cheesy domino's tattoos, puking and bar fights to share with my children someday

PEACE OUT!

Radiohead, White River Amp 8/20/08

Oh. My. Fucking. Gawd.
My mind has been blown; I am the Jon and Radiohead is thy prostitute.

From the minute they took the stage, I knew I was in for concert going experience that might possibly have blown my first going experience (GNR/Rolling Stones, entry coming soon), out of the hemisphere. I was stone sober for this event, sitting amongst the periodic funny smelling smoke clouds and frankly, I’m glad I was. I felt like I was able to enjoy the show without bladder emergencies and absorb every fucking detail that was being given to me.

The weather seemed fitting…emo ‘I’m an agro spent youth and NO ONE GETS ME!’ gloom, would be an understatement. The clouds looked like angry murky grey waves viewed from the ocean floor, with the ever looming threat of a downpour; which didn’t actually start until ‘Dollars and Cents’, at which point I could say “Radiohead has made me proper wet in the pants” and literally mean it. I embraced the rain with my face turned to the sky; the cold however and being able to see my breathe with frozen toes in the middle of August-no so much.

I would’ve never bought a ticket for this show on my own. Not that I dislike them, I have managed to get almost every album for my collection, but more for the fact that I assumed, rightfully so, that it would be sleepy-time event, where a comfy la-z-boy recliner would be greatly benefited over the ass callus producing seats that the builders presume are acceptable. The price of tickets for a show of this caliber normally waylays my decision against the splurging. Thankfully, Anna prevailed and had an extra ticket; with regrets of it being in the lawn section, to which, I cared not-even with the rain. From my vantage point, Yorke was approximately a size that could fit on my thumbnail; again, I didn’t care. It’s not like this is a Manson show where you want to see every detail cause they get crazy on stage; this is a kick back gig, ie: sleepy time. So needless to say, I didn’t’ deem it necessary to be close enough to watch Yorke’s crazy flailing Charlie Manson moves
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rau4i1PohH8

(Thom Yorke sizes may vary)

The stage was flanked by large monitors that not only showed the band, but adapted to the curtains of LED. Speaking of LED’s…before the show started, we noticed the stage hands rolling out several rows of tubing from the top of the stage. Seizures be damned, cause once that shit got going, you were hypnotized with an array of patterns, flashing and a kaleidoscope of hues to capture every song’s mood. The pairing of lighting effects to the music just pushed their performance over the top; far beyond anything I've exerpienced in my concert goings.

The LED set up:
http://www.radiohead.com/themostgiganticflyingmouthforsometime/ViewEntry.html?EntryID=52

the power to run it:
http://www.radiohead.com/themostgiganticflyingmouthforsometime/
Suck this *band points at crotches* money hungry electric company swine! We’ll go green and use solar power and lower the emissions. You ain’t getting our duckets!

In terms of sound…I haven’t been to many blockbuster shows, I just prefer the intimacy of smaller theaters over the crowds and sometimes horrific blown out sounds of the bigger venues. Given that fact, I must say the sound for this show was by far, some of the best I’ve heard, big or small. The clarity, fullness and the fact that you could make out every note without the need for earplugs, was something my ears and body took in with great pleasure.

Given the combo of the near flawless sound and dazzling visuals, a few key songs stood out in my mind:
Pyramid Song- The stage appeared to be underwater, swimming in a blue lit hue, Greenwood, (Johnny I presume), channeled Jimmy Page, by playing his guitar as a stand up with a bow, creating a creepy whine, which carried on while Yorke played the piano at a slower tempo than the recorded version.

(Pyramid song)

National Anthem-began with a red laser light show; best described as taking a laser pin and going crazy against the wall, in a breakneck way that makes your cat go nuts. When the song starts to build with the horns into a general mess of noise and the repetition of “its holding on”, the red laser continues but is now joined by all the tubes being blue lit in a fashion that resembles a fuzzy t.v. screen, a la Poltergeist. Imagine that blue fuzz, coupled with the bright red snaking through it, and you’ve got ocular assault.

http://www.flickr.com/photo_embed.gne?id=2784896402

(just a taste of the above mentioned)

The Gloaming- started with a monitor panel on the floor of the stage, beating like a heart, in an emerald green hue in tempo with the base drum. When the chorus of “They should be ringing” with the building of the music, the LED tubes lit up, replicating a very fitting, emerald green ‘downpour’ onto the stage. I must admit, the coloring reminded me of the Wizard of Oz’s Emerald Castle.

(the Gloaming)

And one point, in all of their glorious flawlessness, Greenwood and Yorke take main stage to do an acoustic version of Faust Arp; to which Yorke screws up on the lyrics a few times; proving that he/they are not super human. He proceeds to start singing Neil Young's "Tell Me Why"; mumbling the words he doesn’t know; laughs; says “fuck it!” and continues on to finish the intended song. It’s good to see bands have fun and laugh in the face of mistakes instead of having teen temper tantrums and destroying their equipment before storming off in a “Mom won’t let me wear this slutty top-STOP CONTROLLING ME!” hissy fit off the stage. (yes, I like run on fluff sentences)

How to Disappear Completely. Sent Anna into a 50's musical love lorn look, with folded hands under her chin and one foot raised

Idioteque-was impressive for the bright white lighting patterns; you tube video attached
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cvoFGXQrRo
(of course the video does it no justice. Key word search radiohead+white river, for more videos)

(Idioteque)

Set list:
01. 15 Step

02. Reckoner

03. Optimistic

04. There There

05. All I Need

06. Pyramid Song

07. Talk Show Host

08. The National Anthem

09. The Gloaming

10. Videotape

11. Lucky

12. Faust Arp

13. Jigsaw Falling Into Place

14. Climbing Up The Walls

15. Dollars and Cents

16. Nude

17. Bodysnatchers

Encore 1

18. How to Disappear Completely

19. Arpeggi/Weird Fishes

20. Idioteque

21. In Limbo

22. Street Spirit

Encore 2

23. You And Whose Army? [Thom dedicates to the people who demonstrated against the WTO in Seattle in 1999]

24. No Surprises

25. Everything In Its Right Place

In all they played a 2hour set and I was pleased that I knew all but one song "Talk show host" and was a little sad they didn't play my fav "Exit music (for a film)"; which I understand...noboyd wants to pass out in a puddle of drool in front of their peers. I think next time they come through, I will have to shell out the money for closer seats, just to get the full effect of band member visuals.

Reaching for the Gold

(US men win 4x100m, by a fingertip)

I’m groggy. I stayed up past my old lady bed time of 10pm to watch the Olympics; more exact, to watch the men’s 4x100m relay. Holy FUCK, talk about an exciting race, probably one of the best relays/race I’ve seen. Most of the excitement stemmed from the French talking smack about "smashing" the US; which isn’t my beef, some are just better; but when you throw in the shit talk, you deserve huge disappointment. Show some fucking class, much like my oh so ladylike self. BURP. So we had the lead, until the 3rd leg of our team lost it a bit, to the point where the 4th leg, 33 yr old Jason Lezak, had a body length to gain on first place. Going into the turn, I thought we were getting the silver, thus ending Phelps race for 8 golds, but the final 50meters Lezak somehow found the strength to pull on the Frenchy poop head; which trust, when you’re sprinting, it’s hard to pull out anymore. He took one massive dive to the finish and out touched by .08 of a second. The French’s response: “they didn’t win, they just out touched”. However you want to call it, the Americans got the gold and Bernard was left at the wall staring in disbelief before putting his head down.

In my opinion, the chance to even go to the games is heart fulfilling enough; silver, gold or bronze, you’re the best of the best. If there is one thing I regret in life, it is not realizing my dreams of giving it a shot for the Olympics. From the time I was 6 and my parents dragged us out on a warm summer night to some street to watch the torch be passed en route to the LA Coliseum; me with my M&M’s and boredom, not knowing what it all meant; listening to people cheer and peering through legs to get a view of a jogging man carrying a lit torch…that’s all it took, that was my first remembered Olympics. The rest is history. I dreamed from then on to try and attend. I was too big for gymnastics and too slow for track and once I witnessed Janet Evans in 88’, it was swimming all the way for me.

Maybe it’s my days of winning our league championships that bring Queen’s “We are the champions/We will rock you” into my head when I watch epic swimming events like this…at any rate, it’s a good song for the rivalry that France created against the US. Perhaps it’ll go along with Phelps if he wins all 8 gold medals. Even if he doesn’t, which is my belief because that’s just too much fucking pressure on the poor kid and let’s not forget the other great swimmers out there; but if he does, he’ll have earned every pretty snatch that will now be thrown his direction because of it. Keep on playa, you are the Champion


(Good Golly Phelps advertising the bod to the masses)

Pandora, not the box, but the site

As the wagon is still broken and I ride the public trans with the rest of the Hellevue drones, I am developing quite the addiction to Mocha's; tall non-fat, no whip, extra chocolate-Mocha’s, to be exact.

How is this your problem? Well, you clicked on this page, so it just is…and now I get to offend your eyes with my incoherent caffeine rambling words and utter bullshit. Ramble On…

I know I’m behind the times and just recently discover the joys of Pandora. And I know it is there to introduce you to new music you may have never heard of based off of the music selections you input into their genome…and on that level, it’s fucking fantastic (like: waking up in your bed after a night of drinking, naked, and there’s a body lying next to you and SCORE, they’re actually attractive! Now only if you can remember if you actually GOT some) Although, the site has introduced me to loads of new music and as of late, is sadly replacing my uber radio crush, KEXP; there’s one thing it can’t do: dedicate an entire station to just one band. Sometimes I have a hankering for a particular band, and of those sometimes, I don’t fully have the album collection; and damn it, I don’t want to use up my limited skips and rejections in hopes of hearing this band. Like Veruca Salt, I WANT IT NOW! Is it so damned hard to satisfy a fucking itch?! Possibly if it’s in the unmentionable region and you’re out in public, so you try to do some sort of squat, leg cross shift, to make your clothing do the itching for you, without having to blatantly reach down and scratch.

Ok, time to ween off the java, seriously

So the pros: It breaks down bands/songs you choose, into key elements and determines other music that fits the style, thus possibly introducing you to cool new shit
It also has NO commercials; at least on air commercials that assault your ears
You like something, you can buy it now

Some of my gripes: Can’t make a station band specific
Sometimes there’s a glitch in the Matrix and the system will lag as it “tries to determine” the next song to play
You may have inputted Karate, and the thing chooses Black Sabbath to play next. How the HELL it got that from Karate, I’ll never know.

Overall, it’s good shit when you’re tired of the weird DJ selections or repeating top 40

My dream station...

(took me hours to get this combo. OCD is thy name)

Am I listening to the soundtrack of "Love Actually" here?!

(just a fraction of the sometimes upwardly 9 piece band)

If you’re not going to the KEXP BBQ or are strapped for some cash, South Lake Union is having a block party…for FREE; and the only band that I’m familiar with is Grand Hallway. Decent mellow band hailing from good ole Seattle, with strings, slide guitar, piano and all the rest of the normal set up. I have a hard time placing them in any sort of musical category at which to compare or contrast. At any rate, with the lead singers androgynous voice liken to that of Sunny Day Real Estate or Silver Sun Pickups, it’s easy to see how you can sit out on the lawn with some wine, your favorite blankie or warm body and just chill

(singer Tomo Nakayama)

http://www.myspace.com/grandhallway

I saw these guys by pure happenstance at Showbox Sodo while visiting a bartender friend back in October 07. After what seemed like a looooong warm up, making me thinking they were armature and that I was in for a yawning experience; I was pleasantly surprised. They pack a punch.

Just a side note: off of their 07 release Yes is the Answer; “Seward Park”, is fast becoming my favorite song. With a soft beginning building with strong piano and strings, then stalling and building. It’s one of those songs that would fit perfectly into a love movie with one stupid character realizing they fucked up and running head long through crowded traffic filled streets towards the other stupid character who’s heading to the airport to move away to some far off land to do some stupid charity work. Or I dunno, the two stupid characters just part, all sad like, and I laugh. Bitter? Meh. Take this rant for what its worth as a description for their style.

Vampire Weekend, Cap Hill Block Party, 7/25/08

(so innocent, you could take em home to mama)

Now, from what I remember, their sound was fantastic; sounding as good as the recording. But I wasn’t fully sure, due to the fact I was 3 sheets to the thar wind by the time they took to the stage. So thankfully some less inebriated soul caught it on his camera:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Asic_V9eYos
(I know this is not Scorsese shit, but at least you can tell that they sounded good, thus proving my judgment was not skewed by booze and surrounding distractions)

So the first time these wee young pups from Columbia University came through Seattle, I had just learned about them, and subsequently was too slow on the draw to nab a ticket to their sold out show. Blasted!!! But thank you oh so much, to my peeps for rubbing it my face on how much they rocked it. Uh huh and here’s some rusty spikes in Green lake for you to fall on as I trip your ass, ninja style (cause you won’t see me coming-get it?!).

I’ve heard their style likened to Simon and Garfunkel, but I have a hard time fully accepting that comparison. I’m going to date myself a bit and say it reminds me of a few bands from way back when, Madness and The Specials; not that comparing them to Le Simon and Le Garfunhizzle makes that person any less old than I. Now, I realize I just named off two English Ska bands, and no, I’m not saying that Vamp is a spot on ringer for Ska. But, in the grand scheme of things, this is what they remind me of with their poppy beats and rhythms. I mean, the shit just makes you wanna move, much like the way Ska made you want to skank (the dance, not you’re cheap half bastard sister with a peg leg).

Another style, which apparently “Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa", and "Oxford Comma", derive from, is Congolese Soukous music:
“Soukous (also known as Lingala or Congo, and previously as African rumba) is a musical genre that originated in the two neighboring countries of Belgian Congo and French Congo during the 1930s and early 1940s, and which has gained popularity throughout Africa. "Soukous" (said to be a derivative of the French word secouer, to shake)was originally the name of a dance popular in the Congas in the late 1960s, and danced to an African version of rumba.”
(I seriously don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t copy and paste from Wikipedia)
I can see the shake description, as those two songs definitely make me want to shimmy. In fact, I was dancing up a storm during their set; I think I burned off a good 1000 calories of booze. zexy

Now the block party as a whole…repeat after me:
I MUST eat food before I drink
I MUST eat food before I drink
I MUST eat food before I drink…

Ok, so you don’t have to repeat after ME, but I think I should at least get this shit tattooed on my forearm as a mantra; cause eating a wheat then with a lemon zest thinking I’m on some super model diet, is no way to survive on my drinking habits. Due to the fact that I ingested a decent amount of alcohol this year on said empty stomach, helped me to maintain my annoyance amongst the masses; and yes, I managed to have a good time without the urge of putting the smack down. (If I remember correctly, last year, I advanced on a trouble maker with heel in hand; until the ex stopped me). I learned that avoiding the beer garden with their $4 Miller High Life drafts (you can get a 6can tall boy pack for that cost), and hitting up the happy hours at the bars instead; will not only save you some serious coin, but keep you from wetting yourself like a 4year old scared by clowns because you don’t want to use a porto shitter. Let’s face facts, no one wants to use, let alone plant their dainty derriere on one of those things. So unfair boys got a point and shoot device, giving them the freedom on peeing on a tree without uncomfortable squatting and praying you don’t piss on your shoes or loose your balance and fall in your fresh puddle-wait, sugar ramble.

(always a pillar of the community and a fine example of lady-hood)

This year’s line up didn’t grab me as much as last year; or I should say I didn’t try to rush around to see everyone like last year. Neumo’s is a cluster on a normal basis, add in the block party and it’s just fucking hell. So I was pretty much stationed at the Cha Cha, the beer garden and the Comet; with full attempts to watch the oh so smart idea of Girl Talk and the madness on the stage, and Les Savy Fav with the ever dynamo front man Tim Harrington-can I possibly say LSD while preggers with this one?

(Girl Talk, all one of him in white head band)

(guy in wife beater "dude are you playing W.O.W?! I'm totally a level 7 Warlock)

(the drunk masses on stage with Girl Talk)

(Tim Harrington asks "would you like to dig for my belly button lint...with your tongue?)

At any rate, I got away without an indecent exposure citation, my dogs were not barking, I harassed a couple of tall boys, didn’t molest anyone (I think), no fights (I’m actually quite docile, like a lemur), spilled some beers (sorry D), laughed at some smelly hipsters, enjoyed some excellent people watching and caught my reason for coming and the main act in it’s entirety without: passing out, puking, or falling down. I think I did pretty okie dokie

now I just need to make some funnel with a tube that meets up to the vag for a make shift penis, so girls can stand up too!

VIVE LA REVOLUTION!

Some wasted fluff...enjoy!

I'm going stir crazy and while I'm working on posts for this blog I happen to look down at my for-days-shapely gams and notice my horrific tan lines from last weekend's camping trip...

(hmmm, not sure how my honky white ass pulled that one off.)

So as I sit, bored and waiting for the whistle to blow; slightly hyper from the piece of chocolate I consumed...I'm going to rock out to my favorite band to drive to whilst in a hurry or aggro, Static X; and think about the good times I had at their shows...drinking, yelling, watching Wayne's hair defy gravity, thinking about the 'what's his name' guitarist that got caught with a 13 year old girl (oopsy), the excellent people watching and wondering why Mr. Static is looking so bulimic...really sweetie; porn girlfriend not feeding you well? You're still ripped and lovely and I'd still gladly sponge you clean after a rousting game of rugby, but doll...will ya just let me cradle you and feed you some Big Mac's and fries-super sized? Mamma's just a little worried, mmmm-kay?

I thought I did an entry on them awhile ago; alas, I probably trashed it. So I'll say something half assed about them now: YAY. FUN. No seriously, rockin. I've always had good times and they're always entertaining; playing a strong mix of new, along with their oldies that got them in the lime light in the first place. They typically sounds pretty decent to boot, but that mostly depends on the venue. The best venue thus far has been House of Blues in Anaheim. The worst, Showbox Sodo in Seattle.

So seeing how I try to see them whenever they're within a 30mile radius, I might try again to elaborate a bit more on the magical fairytale ride of good Glenda vs evil Monkey, that is their show.

Das Llamas @ The Comet 6/25

While roaming the crowded “Pride” filled streets of Cap Hill on Friday the 25th, I heard a familiar bass line drifting out from the Comet.

“What is this song-I KNOW this song-What the FUCK is it?!”

Thank goodness the streets were closed off for the upcoming parade or I would surely have been creamed by a car like a Hollywood starlet hopped up on coke. I was standing outside the Comet trying hard to figure out the song, as the lyrics were barely audible through the noise. I probably would’ve figured it out sooner had I not ingested so many vodka bevies…but alas…

EUREKA!!!
“I am a patient boy...I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait My time is water down a drain”

HOLY FUCK, IS FUGAZI PLAYING IN SEATTLE AT THE COMET?! FUGAZI BITCHES!! I beg my drinking companions to let me play on the Hill a little longer, they only indulge my request because A.) there’s a hot dog cart right outside and B.) one of them was 86’d seven years ago and she was curious if she could get in.

I start peering through the door, but the crowd keeps me from viewing the band. So I flash my best “I’ll eat you alive” smile and puff up the love muffins towards the door man and gain admittance. Come on, with these Bea Arthur good looks, who could say no? Although, it probably helped that it was 12:30am.

Once inside, I discovered to my dismay that is was not Fugazi, but Das Llamas (not that they're bad, but I had a burning in my loins for the Fug). So I stayed to check out the band and enjoy the remainder of their set. The band was shoved into a corner on the upper level of the bar, so space was cramped for them to get too crazy. Nevertheless, they put on a pretty energetic show, jumping around, shaking their moppy hair mingled with sweat and got the remainding crowd moving. In all, I'll probably make a point to see them again, since the few songs I stayed for actually peaked my interest for a little more exposure. I might even make an effort to write a better, non booze infused entry of fluff about them.

The Comet is like the independent coffee houses/bars and old punk venues of my spent youth. The types of places where the sound is awful, you’re exchanging unwanted fluids of fellow patrons cause it’s so crowded and you could literally smell the band's Jack Daniels ingested breath cause they’re that fucking close to you. On the plus side, it gives you great people watching of the crusties, dusties and smelly hipsters. "Here pretty pretty hipster...let momma feed you a big mac to fill out your 13 year old sister's jeans".

While I'm at it...why don't I go ahead and hug a tree

(Panoramic...I'm somewhere down there in the middle)

My last Sunday was spent volunteering for Surfrider’s Snowrider Project, Alpental Clean Up event. It was a bit later in the year this time around; due to the epic amount of snow we got this season and the fact that there is still a fair amount up there now…

Armed with my trusty side kick, Anna and several gloves, we attacked the upper lots and the areas opposite of the road. In 3 hours time we managed to fill 7 industrial sized garbage bags full of crap. Even with those numbers though, I’d have to say, it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. I figured lot 4 alone would’ve been hell; seeing as how I’ve had my fair share of beers and picnics there.

(the first of MANY to follow)

After said 3 hours, we broke for lunch, which the foundation was nice enough to supply us: burgers, potato salad and baked beans…mmmmmm the magical fruit that just loves to make me toot. While we sat around gabbing, the subject of what was found started to arise. I myself found the following: the standard beer discardings, cigar butts, approx 50 tea lights, oyster shells, a carpet kit from a vehicle, some human poo, 5 tennis balls, about 7 socks and some man panties-or ‘manties’ (which I tried investigate the reason for tossing and take a picture of possible monster skid marks-Anna said stop-Boo Anna-BOO). Other items found that day: 2 bras, an unopened bottle of champagne, a snowboard boot, boxing glove, and a king’s ransom in Girl’s Gone Wild Mardi Gra beads. In all, it is a great cause worthy event that Surfrider puts on, it’s a shame more don’t participate with as ‘Green’ as this state is. You could literally be up there ALL day cleaning shit up.

I know I don’t look like your typical ‘love Mother Earth, man!’ type of person, but I was birthed by pseudo hippie/rock parents of the 70’s, that regularly took us camping during the summers. Digging holes to do your business, hanging your food from trees and ‘being one with nature’, were par for the course. Of course I leave out the part where we brought along ATV’s; cause we’re not completely uncivilized patchouli wearing freaks. Nevertheless, I boarded a lot this season, put in my time on the slopes and I do feel that trash gets overlooked. It felt good to do something positive (as I regularly comment evil acts of debauchery).

On this random act of earth kindness, I didn’t bring my iPod. Instead, I listened to the music of nature; with the surrounding birds, waterfalls and creeks; awwwww. I think I even saw Bigfoot, waving and shedding a tear as I pick up his backyard; or it could’ve been a REALLY hairy nudist hiker.

Old 97's, Triple Door June 14th

This entry will be much like my feelings on the show I saw…unimpressive

Ok, so maybe that’s a bit harsh. They’re not bad; they’re just not my cup of tea; which frankly surprises me, seeing as how I grew up in a house of rock and or roll(me Da); and the occasional classic country injection(me Ma), not that bullshit country they make today. It was a free show at the Triple Door; I was curious and had a free Saturday, so I went to peep them. They sounded good, but I’m pretty much of the opinion that it would be royally fucking hard to sound bad at that venue. I was sitting there thinking to myself, “Wow, I can fully expect to see the ‘Footloose’ kids rocking out in their Midwest 80’s prom attire to this band”. Harsh again? Perhaps; but with Rhett Miller’s Bruce Springsteen booty shaking moves mixed with a southern rock-country influence, it left me thinking that my dad would LOVE their sound. He’s got a great voice, as does Murry Hammond, and the rest of the band were talented as well. So I must give them props, because they seem to be doing well for themselves after 14+ years of music making history.

On a side note of the fellow attendees…I expected to see more greasers or rockabilly folk there, but alas not so much. Maybe this is what those types look like as they get older, have kids and mature into career and life. Hell, I don’t even have my Betty Page bangs anymore and I love me some rocka-silly music.

But any time I’m in Texas, driving my 72’ Chevy pick’em up truck with my bestest dog buddy Bandit, mashing my boot on the accelerator, and I get the sudden urge to cut loose in a barn with wicked dance moves and gymnastics…I’ll rock out to Old 97’s

Amateur burlesque? Why not-there's nothing else on

(trust me, it didn't look like this)

I love me some burlesque…

The roommate and I traveled to a local bar for an open tease night of amateur burlesque. I was excited, briefly, but that died…also, briefly. Being that this was on a weeknight and as everyone knows, I’m an old lady who enjoys her sleep; thus said, I’m usually pretty sleepy by 10pm. Why am I telling you this? Um…uh, because some of these girls were so fucking boring they were driving me to pass out in a puddle of drool before 10pm and my drinks, strong as they may be, were NOT saving the day.

We needed more action, more heat, more shimmy, more…more fucking pasted titties damn it. Stop making me yawn with your stiff movements and poor tease skills ladies!! Although, much props must go out, lets face it, you didn’t see my tattooed ass up on that stage…at least not yet

All was looking bleak, until a man; yes a man and a large one at that did tease to Minnie the Moocher, dressed in a suit. In the end, he had balls, but it would’ve been better if he wore pasties, because frankly, he had some good sized melons. So it’s now approaching 11pm and we’re walking towards the door, when we see a rather healthy gal take the stage to Bjork’s “it’s so quiet”. We had pretty much lost all hope of any good entertainment by this point, until this robust young lady started shimming her big ass with gusto. Yes, as I mentioned, large or more politically correct: “Plus Sized”; wrapped in what I can assume, about 3-4 solid yards of fringe…She stopped us in our tracks; she had more heart, energy and character than rest of the acts we’d seen thus far. And yes, she teased and showed us her butterfly pasties and my lord, they were FUCKING HUGE! The pasties, as well as her jugs.

The only other thing worth mentioning was a girl who hiked up her skirt and appeared to open a beer bottle with her crotch. I bet she gets all the fellas with that move…You can bet I’ll be practicing that trick at home.

scribble on a post it

(found this, from this season)

A rendering from the friend I was giving a lesson to...

I'm the one in the goofy beanie and no pants...pretty true to life likeness, I must say

It's the end of my car as I know it...and I feel fine

So my general bitching about my car on here is not to warrant the “oh, poor Mel” boo hoo pity party, or a “save my ass” fundraiser, as the ex suggested; but more along the lines of: sparing my friends from yet another needless rambling bitchfest about the woes of being a paycheck to paycheck human like most Americans now of days and the unfortunate event of your 02 Mazda wagon deciding to shit all over itself at once…

So the Friday of said incident begins like this: just finished swimming at the gym and emerge from the parking structure to cold rain-in fucking June; and oh did I mention 7 inches of snow at the local tip-IN JUNE?!- Anywho…the oil light pops on, and before any of you fuckers say “why’d you drive it with no oil?!” fuck you. I am not a car retard female with no concept of a seized up motor…mmm-kay? This particular oil light wouldn’t have mattered if I drove straight to the store to put some in-for I got one mere block from the gym before my car decided to shut itself off in mid flight. After coasting into a construction sight I tried to start it. The starter turns, but the motor doesn’t crank; and to add another pleasantry…my car is dumping all of its oil.

So fast forward to Tuesday this week; as my car made it to a shop at closing on Friday and sat until then…I learn that yes, my car decided to in fact have a nervous breakdown and go into a temper tantrum. The conversation goes like this:
Shop: your car had no oil in the motor
Me: I understand that, because as I had mentioned, it dumped it all in the lot where it died
S: here’s the run down
Me: I’ve got the lube and I’m ready, bring on the hurt
S: oil leaked out of a bad seal on the filter; we replaced the oil and there was no compression. We checked the valves, they’re fine; we checked the timing, the belt was lose and jumped 6 teeth. We fixed the belt and put on a new tensioner. However, we’re not getting any spark to the plugs so we have to run an electrical diagnostic. Basically you’re extremely lucky, normally I’d be making the ‘you need a new motor’ call here with these conditions, but not you.
Me: sweet merciful weirdoes wearing their grannies panties and rubbing themselves in peanut butter and Nutella for small favors (relaxes butt cheeks)
Shop: Your car needs a new computer, its dead
Me: beg pardon? It’s a 02 and a Mazda for that matter, shouldn't these things last forever?
Shop: it happens…$1046 for the new computer and install
Me: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?! I HAD A 17YR MUSTANG whose COMPUTER NEVER SHIT ON ME?!

I remember when I got my sweet little wagon…(cue harps and fuzzy fluffy edges around my memory) I had an 89 5.0, highly supped up; it was my baby, it hauled ass, took corners, made itself known for miles, rocked a sweet system and basically ate shitty rice rockets in So Cal for breakfast. Alas, with all that power and torque, came the wonderful 8-12mpg stat. So enter my wagon…a cute little mom mobile that I could toss all my gear into and still have plenty of room for my friends. With good gas mileage, AC, reliability and most of all, no modifications. (Other than me lowering it, rims and a DVD/Monitor system) I kept the stang and my wagon became my daily driver; and I didn’t even mind so much that it was a 4cylinder when the thing got me home from Vegas in 2.5hours.

Yep, she’s been good to me, and the end is in sight on my payments and I’ll probably keep her when paid off…but I’m realizing, I miss the simplicity of an old car. No computer, no fancy doo-dads, easy electrical, carburetors and when they break they're not requiring of a expensive mechanic's bill

(hit and run victim; story for another day)

Damn you Staley

It's Pledge drive time on good ol KEXP! So I turn to other avenues of music fulfilment...My Pandora radio station just played 'Nutshell' and now I must go on a tangent!

Nutshell (Alice in Chains)

"We chase misprinted lies

We face the path of time

And yet I fight

And yet I fight
This battle all alone

No one to cry to

No place to call home

Oooh...oooh...

Oooh...oooh...

My gift of self is raped

My privacy is raked

And yet I find

And yet I find

Repeating in my head

If I cant be my own

Id feel better dead

Oooh...oooh...

Oooh...oooh..."

Wake Up (Mad Season)

"Wake up young man, it's time to wake up

Your love affair has got to go

For 10 long years, for 10 long years

The leaves to rake up

Slow suicide's no way to go, oh

Blue, clouded grey

You're not a crack up

Dizzy and weakened by the haze

Moving onward

So an infection not a phase

Yeah, oh

The cracks and lines from where you gave up

They make an easy man to read, oh

For all the times you let them bleed you

For little peace from

God you plead, and beg

For little peace from

God you plead Ahhaahh, Yeah, Ahhaahh, Yeah, Ahhaahh, Yeah

Wake up young man, wake up, wake up

Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up Oh, yeah

Wake up young man, it's time to wake up

Your love affair has got to go, yeah

For 10 long years, for 10 long years,

The leaves to rake up

Slow suicide's no way to go, oh

Slow suicide's no way to go

Wake up, wake up, wake up

Wake up, wake up, wake up"

Very few deaths of musicians leaves me melancholy.

John Lennon was one; although I was too young to remember his murder in Dec 1980, I do remember the first anniversary of it; and having grown up in a house of Beatles, I still mourn the loss of a great artist.

Having been unfortunately too close in my life situations to view and live amongst addiction to heavy drugs; I've seen the unfortunate side affects to one self and those that surrounded. Even with that fact, I CANNOT understand how anyone can let themselves continue on with a losing battle, without help, when they can acknowledge their problem; yet let it consume them till death. I understand depression and addiction can be a debilitating problem, but suicide is the easy way out. When Layne Staley died, I was literally pissed. He was robbing not only everyone, but mostly my selfish ass, of his distinctive voice and home hitting lyrics.

Alice in Chains' Jar of Flies was one of earliest CD's purchased (Pearl Jam's Ten, was the first). I may not have been a crazy huge fan learning every tidbit about them, but I could fully appreciate the scale of their talents and the strong core shaking music they produced. I found them vastly better on all fronts than Nirvana (spare your knife slinging to my head Cobain fans, he too left an amazing short libbed mark on the world). Jerry Cantrell is also an incredible musician, but without Staley he's kinda a peanut butter sammy without the perfectly matched jelly.

le sigh

Oregon Coast 5/25

So when I hear surfing, I think tanned bodies in board shorts and the occasional shorty wet suit . I knew there were die hard lovers of surf that would don some thick 5/3mm heavy duty wet suits with booties and gloves to hit the waves on the NW coast; read: fucking COLD enough to make your nuts creep up inside ya or your nipples shoot off and take an eye out. But apparently the surf up here is so fantastic that people will drive hours to the coast to catch a great wave.

Memorial weekend I found myself in Portland, and subsequently on the coast, just south of Cannon Beach, to hang out while a friend surfed. Beaches in So Cal are beautiful due to the lovely eye candy and warmth, but other than that, they're polluted and in some spots lined with big ass homes; read: not much nature left(at least in the majority of the southern region). Due to the sadness of pollution and my own frustrations of not being able to get in the water some days cause of the danger level, or walking away with tar on my feet other days; I am a member of Surfrider Foundation. However, the scenery up here is beautiful, and I can deal with the cold by layering up, building a camp fire or drinking.

The waters were crowded and the waves were on the small side; a few of the better riders had a challenging time getting any good riding out.

I enjoyed my peaceful surroundings with some music and my camera. It was nice; it reminded me of being younger back home and ditching school after morning swim practice to go to the beach, watching the local rippers and reading a book, before having to dash back for afternoon practice.

I listened to CKY, which brings back strong memories of my friends in the OC, and being in that environment. They put on a fun show with drunken debauchery, and every once and awhile we'd see one of the douches from Jackass at a show getting hounded for autographs.



(road trip music iPod radio adapter MUCH needed)

Upcoming Concerts...

holy fuck balls deep fried in your Granny's kitchen, there are so many shows coming up!!!

some I'm definitely going to and some are a maybe but these are all the ones I'm interested in seeing:

5/31 Los Campesinos - Neumos
6/7 Crystal Castles - Chop Suey (if I pull off tickets before they sell out lest I have to buy them at an inflated cost from Shane-evil evil boy)
6/13 Grand Hallway - High Dive
6/17 Detroit Cobras - Neumos
6/19 The Fratellis - Neumos
6/24 The Blakes - Neumos
6/27 Reverend Horton Heat - Showbox Sodo (never miss a chance to see him)
7/9 We Are Scientists - Neumos
7/12-7/13 - Sub Pop 20th - Marymoor Park
7/25-7/26- The Cap Hill Block Party
9/24 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Showbox Sodo (already sold out, but I'll be trying to weasel my way onto the guest list)

Holy shit, Neumos has got a lotta bands going on. That's a lot of shows and a lot of money to spend. Thank goodness I have priorities with my money...like booze and music tickets

Arcade Fire-a love story

Arcade fire was my theme music, when I hit that moment in my life where I decided to throw caution to the wind, pack up my house and get the fuck out of Riverside.

I get a lot of people who ask ‘why Seattle?’…My answer ‘why not? Have you seen this place?!’ Growing up my grandparents had a vacation house on the Hood Canal, around the Sea beck area, and we would vacation in Washington during the summers and escape the brown Hell’s inferno of So Cal. I always loved it here and there were a few times we almost moved up here. So needless to say, I always wanted to be here. New Years 06, I had made the resolution that I would move out of state, my choices were London or Seattle (both similar climates). As I started the immigration process, I realized it was going to be too costly and I would have to sell my house, my possessions and quarantine my cats for 6months. In March of 06, my friend Bernie and I decided to take a weekend trip to Seattle for some snowboarding. I can tell you that I felt like I was home. Before the weekend was even done I had made the decision that Seattle was where I was going and post haste.

(Alpental ebow drop) (en route to Baker) (I worked that SUV)

That decision came while I was sitting in Pioneer Saloon, Arcade Fire’s Funeral was playing, I was sitting with my future boyfriend and my future roommate Bernie (she decided to move with me) and it just clicked; and this album became my strength and soundtrack for what would be a HUGE fucking change in my life.

All I can say is, when I get an idea in my head to do something, I go full bore (case in point: Wanted to do make-up, picked a school in Burbank for night classes. Worked full time at my Marketing job in south Corona and commuted to Burbank after work-EVERY-MUTHA-FUCKING-DAY for a month. 2hours there, 1 hour home, in the summer with no AC, over 5800miles on my Mustang; but I did it and now I’m a pro artist as a hobby). So I was saying, wild hair+full bore=me moving 3 months later to Seattle; and ‘Wake Up’ was playing as I pulled the moving van out of my driveway

You should’ve seen me when I finally saw them in September 07 at the Bank of America theater; I was dancing up a storm and lost my voice singing along…they put on one amazing high energy show and the visuals kinda put you on sensory overload. Their music is so full and powerful; building up and mellowing out before coming on strong again and knocking you on your ass.

Two years later and every time I hear the Funeral, I get all sentimental and sometimes a bit misty eyed.

Even though I have moments of missing So Cal...I don’t regret the move

Circus Contraption-Fremont 5/23/08

Where to begin…where to begin... After taking a quick cat nap that wasn’t so quick, resulting in me rushing to get ready, not being able to find my: mini top hat, satin gloves, garter belt for my Cuban heels, thus switching to thigh-high fishnet stockings but not finding the set-“why the FUCK can I not find my stockings?!”…I managed to don my pencil skirt, best corset, leopard heels and stripy top, all in an effort to fit into the ‘Circus’ scene without dressing like a wretched clown-I HATE clowns. After some excellent Mexican from El Camino and some spirits; we b-lined it to the show, managing to make an asshole late entrance just as they were underway.

(sea lion)

We were greeted to a big top setting, but not the cheesy Ringling Bros of happiness we knew as a child. I’m talking borderline creepy, with a carnival feel and an underlying touch of evil. A big ring in the center for the performers, a smaller/higher ring to one side for the ‘Master’, a medium ring to the other for the live band and various ropes hanging from the ceiling…wicked, I love aerialists.

The approximate 2 hour show starts off with a musical precession and song. Within that time range you’ll see the following: a woman performing on a ‘horse’, a mermaid, a sea lion and it’s trainer, a monkey humping a doll, some women flinging about from the ceiling, a karate bunny, sword swallowing, pink poodles, an amazing song done by bottles/jugs, giant cockroaches and unfortunately a brief appearance by a clown. I honestly don’t want to go to specific into details; frankly my words would do no justice and rob this show of its splendor.

(why yes, my bed of nails IS comfortable)

I will mention this, its like an LSD trip; of which I can only assume since I only sort of did it once in high school, which really doesn’t count because someone told me to put this piece of paper on my tongue and once I found out what it was, I spit it on the wall; but I could’ve felt something, I SWEAR my stuffed animal’s shadows were dancing around my head!…it probably wasn’t real anyway, teenagers are so gullible…at any rate, the show was a feast for the eyes and I’m sure if someone were so inclined to do LSD beforehand, they’d probably be in for a great ride.

(monkey see, monkey do)

They do however sell booze at this show, which I did not partake in; nope, I was a goody-two-shoes-godly-angel-of-sobriety! (Only because I was still hung-over from guy’s night the previous night). There were several drunken fuck wads being a bit, well…fucking stupid, but the performers handle them well and in all honesty, the show feeds off the audience and their rowdy, rude behavior and tom foolery. What fun would a show be if it was a wholesome Walton experience? Vive La Raunchy!!

(multi talented band)

This troupe stays true to form with every detail. From the well tailored 20’s era styled costumes, to a band best described by them as “an off-kilter carousel accompanied by Halloween music gone slightly wrong”, to the actual performances. It was all very campy and vaudeville in style and humor. My cheeks hurt from laughing so much and before you knew it, the show was over and the time flew. It’s well worth the money to see the amazing raw talent of all the performers.

(Pink Poodles)

FYI…I think I might take some aerial lessons from one of the ladies and try to get her bod. I mean, achieve her body, not literally GET her body-perverts