Just reading on Spinsanity that Rush and others have taken up this bizarre line of attack. Not sure I see it. I think of Frenchmen, in the broadest stereotypical terms, as either being aging smokers dressed in black, or stocky types with Asterix mustaches. Kerry looks Eastern European if anything. Maybe he enjoys smoking and urinating to a French extent.
But there is a cleverer tack one could take, if determined to make jokes based on fictititous superficialities. Kerry isn't Irish, and depsite conservative claims to the contrary, has never claimed that he is. If he were, however...it gets funny. See, when it comes to ethnic jokes, the Irish may be the only nation in the world that chooses not to mock another nation in obscene terms, but one of their own counties. That county is called Kerry. So you'll constantly here stuff on the order of "A Kerryman walks into a bar..." Playing on that would be more fun than the weird French thing, which really seems like grasping at straws.
And who do Kerrymen make fun of? The fine people of County Cork.
Stick with me, readers, and you'll learn valuable facts like these on a regular basis.
Three Days...of debauchery
Wow. This weekend was the kind everyone hopes for. Short of one that involves getting laid, that is. Everything else, though...perfecto.
Friday night, Ed returned briefly to town after being up north awhile. It was only for a few days, and he's already back up there, but in the short Angeles window, we quaffed brews, ate pizza, and watched some video footage I really wish I could talk to you about but absolutely cannot. It won't mean much at the moment anyhow, though it will later, I guarantee it. The kind of thing I'm gonna look back on, and one day tell you about when it's safe to do so.
Saturday was Dollar-per-loser, which I dub as such because I suspect it's what Perry Farrell makes off the gate. Drove town to Irvine with Mike, and I played him the new Metallica disc in the car, much as Chris Sivertson had done for me previously -- it takes this kind of word-of-mouth to prove to the diehard metalheads that James and co. really are back. Mike seemed to agree that it was pretty good. We picked up his lady-friend Christina, and headed to verizon Amphitheatre for the show. Parking was actually included in the ticket price for this event, but the only space we could find was by the porta-potties.
I had brought a towel to shield my head from the direct sunlight, but security somehow determined that towels and blankets are a threat to national security. Maybe they think only terrorists wear towels on their heads (and thanks for promoting that image, Charlie Daniels), even though mine was a blue towel with "Born in the USA" written on it. So towel had to be placed back in vehicle, and my head was now unprotected. As with the Metallica show, I would have to buy a shirt to cover it.
This proved to be a harder decision, though. Metallica always have great designs, but Lollapalooza merchandise this year frankly sucked, going for the same kind of retro/thrift store look that the Beck merchandise had had last month. On first pass, I couldn't find anything I liked.
Mainstage bands were all pretty good. Rooney I'm not really familiar with, but they sounded OK. Donnas were fantastic, with great stage presence, and fantastic hooters visible even from the far-up seats we were quarantined in. Jurassic 5 were very impressive -- since I saw the movie Scratch, I appreciate the art of turntabling a lot more, and they have two guys in that band who are virtuousos, along with three great rappers. I see a CD purchase in my future (gotta listen to Vanilla Ice's new one first, though -- I picked it up for $5. It's entitled "Hot Sex," yes really).
Perfect Circle sort of fulfilled the obligatory goth quotient. Audioslave impressed the skeptical Mike. I was just wowed to see Chris Cornell, who's a huge rock star in my book. I didn't realize quite what struggles he'd been through -- claimed not to remember most of Lolla '96, and to have been en route to self-destruction when the ex-Rage guys hooked up with him for Audioslave. Since the band only has one album, they padded out there second-to-last billed full set with covers and some Chris Cornell solo stuff -- this included Chris pulling a volunteer from the pit to sing whatever he wanted. The guy freestyle rapped, and didn't rhyme (WWE star John Cena is a better rapper, and that's saying something!), but it was fun to watch. I was sorry there were no pyros for the finale, since the Cochise video is nothing BUT pyros, but alas.
And Jane's Addiction -- well, they were pretty tight. Weird for a metal band that they didn't make you feel like head-banging -- it's more seductive and hypnotic. Hard to believe how long they've been around -- the pre-show audio included 1984 tunes like Grandmaster Melle Mel's "White Lines" just to let us know. I remember telling my Mom how weird it was for Jane's Addiction to be played on classic rock radio. Naturally, her response was, "What's Jane's Addiction?"
I like "Been Caught Stealing" much better live -- the canned dog barks always bugged me on CD.
Oh, and I did finally get a shirt I liked. One booth that sold almost exclusively shirts with some varaiant of "fuck" on them had a shirt reading "Fuck me, I'm famous." That's my motto, so that's how I covered my head for the day.
Second stage was not something I attended this year -- Jackass' Steve-O was supposed to headline and did not show, which made me sad. Probably busy stapling his testicles together or something.
I had wondered if they'd maintain the atmosphere of the previous years -- let's just say it's as commercial as it was ever accused of being -- commercials even played on the big screen between bands. But liberal activist groups still got their booths: Tom Morello's hard-lfet Axis of Justice, peta2, fuel cell efficiency booths, and the anti-smoking truth.com had a significant presence. Fistfuls of free gum were being handed out. I don't chew gum cuz of my TMJ, but I have a lot now -- you need any, gimme a call.
Coolest booth was the "Paint your tits!" tent, where women could get airbrushing on their upper body, and ever afterwards get away with walking around topless because the paint could technically qualify as clothing somehow. I'm all for that. Christina could not be persuaded.
Most uncool -- the legit tattoo booth specializing in freehand designs. Anyone who goes to a concert to be tattooed is an idiot. Ditto anyone who gets spontaneous tattoos. I love tats, which is why I believe in taking them seriously, and this ain't doing it. Many cool tats were being showcased by shirtless peeps, though. Always fun to look at. Wings of every description are popular on the shoulder blades. Somewhere, lots of bells must be ringing.
On the way out, the "fuck" T-shirt booth marked all their stuff down, so I bought a "Fuck Bush" shirt. Might get me in trouble if I wear it to a Press Club party someday. Beauty is it'll remain good for the entire Bush family in all their future political ventures.
On the way out, we took what looked to be a shortcut, but actually led into this vast lot full of empty new cars. Like stumbling onto a supervillain's stash or something. The path kept getting further and further away from where we needed to be. I quipped that it felt like the opening of House of 1,000 Corpses part 2. Mike climbed up a dirt mound and yelled "Wolverines!" I was impressed by the reference. The path did eventually lead back to civilization, but only after much self-doubt.
Sunday night was Jaye's second birthday party at "Marnye's" Beanery. It was emotional going there, and if you understand the sentence immediately preceding this one you'll know why: my last party at Barney's was a farewell for a friend whom I would never see alive again.
Big turnout this time, but I won't list everyone, because I don't know everyone's name. I will say that some of us did karaoke. I was pissed, having prepared "Ice Ice Baby,: that it was no longer in the book, so I signed up for Beck's "Loser" instead, and I was called first from our group. The machine fucked up early on, but they wouldn't restart, so I had to pick up in medias res (English teachers, aren't you proud of me using that phrase?), but think I did a decent Beck impersonation, with some added crotch grabbing and such. Not helping me was the fact that the lyrics were wrong: "soy un pardidor" was written "so, open the door." As a tribute to the track I most wanted to do, I did conclude with "Yo man, let's get outta here, word to ya mother." Matt's a big Beck fan, so the fact that he complimented me means something, I hope.
I don't remember the exact order, but one of the guests Jaye seems to have a crush on did a damn good "Pretty Woman," and Greg Crum got down with KC and the Sunshine Band's "Get Down Tonight." Matt S. was never called on, but he was feeling off-color anyhow. When Jaye took the stage for "Crazy,: she blew the house down -- no-one in the bar expected a legit rock star. The fact that Jaye didn't try to deny she was good, as would be characteristic of her, is a very good sign, I think. (sadly MIA on this night: Kevin Ford doing Whitney Houston, which rules the roost)
My body seemed to be processing beer faster than I could get drunk off of it, so at last call I slammed two Jack-and-Diets, which kept me fucked up for the next several hours, as we went to Angela and Kevin's place to watch outtakes from Kevin's long-delayed, finally-gonna-be-released Jane's Addiction documentary. In addition to the docu, there was enough footage left over to do a separate feature focusing on drummer Stephen Perkins, which will be available exclusivley online at Perkins' and Kevin's official websites (link to Kev's coming soon here). Angela shared some anecdotes about famous people she's worked with, but I'd say discretion is best here, so I'm not gonna repeat any of them.
Angela and Kevin's cat actually has a clue. It got on the couch beside me, we looked in each other's eyes, then it went to the opposite end of the couch and sat down. Most cats like to torment me with my allergies -- this one seemed to have a live and let live philosophy. But that could be my drunkenness projecting.
Also shown was a rap video featuring Kevin's alter-ego Skip Lotem. I can't get it out of my head. "Skip Lotem's on the rise/surprise/look in my eyes/I'm the shit and you're the flies!" Genius. Kevin burned me a CD of alternate Jane's Addiction takes. Have not listened yet, but look forward to it.
Angela actually offered to drive me home, which was very kind. And Jaye and Suzanne opted to come along on the brief ride. Car fulla fine ladies, awww yeeeah. My only focus was on staying conscious, though. I kept myself awake I while afterwards reading Entertainment Weekly's lame fall preview issue. By this time it was about 5:30 a.m. God, I love that I actually have friends now.
[ Tue Aug 19, 12:20:57 AM | Luke Thompson | edit ]
Possibly the world's worst Quizno's
That'd be the one opposite Canter's on Fairfax. Slow as fuck. Then the sandwich goes through their "oven-toaster," still comes out cold. They wrap it to go when I wanted to eat it there. There's no lettuce on the sandwich. Here's where it gets priceless (dialogue more or less exact)
Me: Doesn't the smoked turkey come with lettuce?
Employee dude: I dunno, dude, I didn't make that sandwich.
Me: I mean in general, doesn't it usually have lettuce on it.
Employee: yeah.
Me: Can I get some lettuce on mine?
Employee: You mean the Sierra smoked turkey?
Me: No, the regular smoked turkey
[blank stare]
Me: This is my sandwich. It has no lettuce. Can you put lettuce on it?
Employee: OK.
That done, I sit down to eat at a double-table. While I'm eating, one of the employees moves half the table that some of my stuff is on. Then he starts spraying Windex all over the place, which smells so strongly it makes my sandwich taste like Windex, psychologically.
What I'm most amazed at is that everyone else was leaving money in the tip jar. Never has a tip been so little deserved.
