Um....rock and roll will never die?

(March 23, 2003)

I know, I know, where've I BEEN already. It is right now 6:07am Sunday. I'm tired. I had a Low Budget Superhero show at the Linwood tonight. I only feel like writing about one of the days you missed. What day do you want to hear about? How about...um...Tuesday? Tuesdays are good.

Tuesday 3/18: My mother's birthday. I worked on Superhero stuff and All the Queen's Men stuff all day, and remembered to call my mother. I sang "Happy Birthday" into her voicemail in a very jazzy, over-the-top way and then said in my best surly bitch voice, "That is something YOU would do. I would never sing into anyone's voicemail, god..." She called back, left a message in which she was cracking up laughing. It's true, she sings into my voicemail all the time. No, not just when she's high, though that might have something to do with the, um, frequency of voicemails. Not all the time, but in spurts....I won't hear from her for a month, and then all at once, she calls me every day for two weeks. Like, does your mother call you every day? No, not in your nightmares, I mean in real life. I didn't think so. Anyway, I haven't been able to connect with her since.

That night I went to Hub and Neil's to make them a chicken soup. Poor boys, they didn't feel good. Soup is the great healer, and my soup is a masterpiece. "How does...that chicken...get to be...soup?" asked Neil eyeing the fowl with the look of a dog trying to figure out if a pair of fluffy slippers is friend or foe. I outlined the basic process...chicken...potatoes and carrots and spinach and onions...boullion...I didn't realize stock was such a mystery to some people. It's kind of like, just...boiling, really. He listened carefully, then nodded, said "Whole different world" and shuffled outside for a smoke. I gave Hub some final almost-soup instructions and I went home to change so I could go to Skybar with the band camp boys. The band camp boys are Chuck and Adam, but Adam is called Eating Boy. They hate it when I call them "the band camp boys," as in "MojoNine and the band camp boys," but alas, it is too late, it popped out of my mouth one day and thereafter I've referred to them as such and I'm sorry, but it stuck. "I didn't go to band camp!" insists Eating Boy, not altogether un-angrily. "Sweetie, is Berklee not one big band camp?" Ooooh, no she didn't! Aw come on, I know, I know, you're sick of Berklee raggin', but from me it's an expression of endearment you guys! I wish I could have gone to Berklee.

It just occurred to me, I don't know why it's "MojoNine and the band camp boys." MojoNine went to Berklee too. How does he escape being a band camp boy?

(gotta be the hair)

At Skybar, there was ONE band I wanted to see, and wanted Eating Boy and Chuck to see. Experimental Noise Incinerator. I thought ENI were going on late. So when Eating Boy said "I'm getting to Skybar at 9, just to be safe," I laughed and called him a big pussy.

Um, he was the only one to see the desired band.

Because. They went on first. DAAAAAMN. Karma kicked my round pink butt, no? Hooo, that hurts.

The last band up was so bad...so so very bad...so far beyond bad that the light from bad will take a thousand years to reach them. From the five minutes of tuning through the amp to the car crash drumming to the strangled hellish vocals...you know what? I can't even think about it anymore. We left and went to Toad to catch The Family Jewels. Yes, Shaun Wolf Wortis carries lead vocal duties for that doo wop act...five part harmonies! Asa Brebner on guitar! Paul Ahlstrand on sax! Duuuuude.

I just realized if I'd picked Thursday instead of Tuesday, you could have learned about the whole All the Queen's Men gig in New York. We all went, it was quite the day. CBGB rocks.