12:37 p.m. - 2004-06-18
so happy I could scream
Suddenly, everything is going to be okay. I'm pretty fucking sure everything really IS goiing to be okay! Forgive me my typos, I'm too excited to backtrack, onward ho-es!
I got an email back from The Stranger. Their internship coordinator said that she received my first packet, was excited about it and then handed it to someone who lost it. Here is a direct quote from her email: Hey - I got the second letter. I recall handing the first one to someone with an enthusiastic recommendation, but no one around our office is really known for being good at not losing papers. But I gave the second one to josh, our news editor, and he said he'd give you a call.
Imagine! Getting a call from The Stranger! It's dreamy as hell, just thinking about it makes my appendix shiver with forbidden, pre-explosory delight.
They haven't called yet. But I'm going to have a partypartyparty weekend and maybe try and write them a piece about the Fremont Fair, which is supposed to be absolutely craaaaaaaaaaaazy! And while I don't know karate, I do know ka-ray-zeee. To quote the be-jailed James Brown. Ahem.
Now that the future is sorted (anything but), let's move onto the immediate past. Last night. Met Kat and some other Seattle Times interns for pizza. It was like the Kaimin (my former home/job/lifestyle) in that they only seem to click with one another, and I might as well not exist if I'm not part of their little fucking club. They are the very reason I don't want to be a part of the day-to-day, linear, pro-journalism world. Their entire lives are taken over by something that they are not even allowed to be attached to or creative with. And instead of resenting it, it becomes all they can talk about. Sad!
Also, as you can see, it did make me a little angry. Whatevs.
Afterwards, I ditched them and drank a six-pack of Bud Lights in record time (40 minutes) and went into the previously unexplored sweet, sweet, sweetness that is Chop Suey. HOT AS HELL, I SAY! They have the perfection cross-section of dingy rock dive and glammed-up hip rock joint. And lots of red lights and a really cool stage.
First up was Crystal Skulls. Local, pretty good, another opener that you impatiently await the end of, I fear. Then Hint Hint who were fucking HOT and frantic in the vein of The Rapture. But streamlined into a kind of more specifically sublime madness that I don't yet have the vocabulary to identify. But I will be seeing them again (along with every other fucking show under the sun).
And THEN! The Secret Machines! I was freshening up on Now Here is Nowhere on the way into Seattle last night and it blew me away all over again, leaving me muttering to myself about how very hot the show was going to be.
And it WAS! Since I burned the CD, I don't really know any of the track names (mystery is a small price to pay for not paying a small monetary price) but they opened with that song about the song about the girl lifting her dress up, one of their better songs, actually. Rather than playing it as it appears on the album, they kept circling around one of the songs better hooks and deconstructing the song and reconstructing it around that initial hook. It was a brilliant way to inject some unpredictability into their show.
The whole thing was kind of like that. They all wore black, their drummer is the maddest madman genius I've seen behind a drumset in a long time. He just completely gave over and watching him got to be hypnotic. They alternated between crazy flashbulbed lights and near darkness, which was sweet.
By the end, I was sweating and my feet hurt like fucking hell because of the stupidass white loafers I bought in Sand Point. Stupidass white loafers that hurt my feet all to infinity but I wear anyway.
I digress. Kat had to go plop down, but I couldn't move. I couldn't even smoke. I wanted water, booze, cigs...but they seemed so earthly and distant from the show moment I was having. Which was sublime to say the least.
I wanted to kick the conjoined pelvises of these two fuckers that clearly go to shows to give them some kind of psychosexual stage to parade their be-drunken lust for one another's dumb arses. I was thinking about trying to nail them in I, Anonymous (side note: this week's is not about me, but rather a guy I stood next to...I don't wear ugly pants or say mean things to girl, nor am I quite that tall).
Anyway. Tonight, it's Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, with four other shows. Yay!
I have to go out into the world now. I feel like taking myself out to lunch, after I pay my thrice-damned hugeass parking ticket. That is.
