Like a Record Baby
I'll save the usual excuses.
Last week was a spinning clusterfuck of moderate proportion involving larcenists, gay bloggers, martians, guitars, oral historians, and lots of scotch. Which is to say, it's not so different from other weeks, but here's the rub...
Guitar World put on a fun showcase of its staffer's bands at the shithole known Ace of Cups, aka Acme Underground. It was fun to begin with, but I won an X-box and got to see legandary GW dude Jimmy Brown bring down the house with his prepubescent sons. Those Erasure-wannabe acts could've learned a thing or two from their rendition of Crazy Train. Oh, and it was all to benefit AIDS research, which made my hangover feel moral or something.
Thursday found me in a craigslist quagmire of trying to unload two extra Mars Volta tickets at one hour before showtime, which miraculously happened in time for me to get to a Joe Perry event at Webster Hall. Joe wasn't really around, but his corporate sponsors were, with free food and drink for everyone. After finding out that the bar was indeed FULLY open, I sat and enjoyed conversation with rock girl legend Lucky Lawler (she's sitting on Lemmy's lap on the inside jacket of Motorhead's first album) and learned all about the dangers of speed. She left to go see Motorhead (natch), and my hot date and I left before Joe Perry played to catch The Mars Volta up at Roseland.
My review of the show: they were really good but I would have enjoyed it more had I not just consumed five Johnny Walkers on the rocks. Or had I ingested mushrooms. They're better as a studio band. Go ahead and fight me.
Friday continued the mayhem with a gay blogger gathering of sorts at Barrage, where Charles and I found out that (1) gay bloggers are much friendlier than regular bloggers, (2) a friend who has slept with the bartender will get you free drinks, and (3) some people still don't know what a blog is. Charles and I reluctantly tore away from what promised to be a really fun fabulous fucked up scene to a work gathering at Spice Market.
Don't go to Spice Market. But they do make a good Mai Tai.
All for now.
I'll save the usual excuses.
Last week was a spinning clusterfuck of moderate proportion involving larcenists, gay bloggers, martians, guitars, oral historians, and lots of scotch. Which is to say, it's not so different from other weeks, but here's the rub...
Guitar World put on a fun showcase of its staffer's bands at the shithole known Ace of Cups, aka Acme Underground. It was fun to begin with, but I won an X-box and got to see legandary GW dude Jimmy Brown bring down the house with his prepubescent sons. Those Erasure-wannabe acts could've learned a thing or two from their rendition of Crazy Train. Oh, and it was all to benefit AIDS research, which made my hangover feel moral or something.
Thursday found me in a craigslist quagmire of trying to unload two extra Mars Volta tickets at one hour before showtime, which miraculously happened in time for me to get to a Joe Perry event at Webster Hall. Joe wasn't really around, but his corporate sponsors were, with free food and drink for everyone. After finding out that the bar was indeed FULLY open, I sat and enjoyed conversation with rock girl legend Lucky Lawler (she's sitting on Lemmy's lap on the inside jacket of Motorhead's first album) and learned all about the dangers of speed. She left to go see Motorhead (natch), and my hot date and I left before Joe Perry played to catch The Mars Volta up at Roseland.
My review of the show: they were really good but I would have enjoyed it more had I not just consumed five Johnny Walkers on the rocks. Or had I ingested mushrooms. They're better as a studio band. Go ahead and fight me.
Friday continued the mayhem with a gay blogger gathering of sorts at Barrage, where Charles and I found out that (1) gay bloggers are much friendlier than regular bloggers, (2) a friend who has slept with the bartender will get you free drinks, and (3) some people still don't know what a blog is. Charles and I reluctantly tore away from what promised to be a really fun fabulous fucked up scene to a work gathering at Spice Market.
Don't go to Spice Market. But they do make a good Mai Tai.
All for now.
posted by c @ 5:49 PM
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