idiocy
Friday, March 17, 2006
sometimes you've got to admit to your sins in public.hold on, need to get the obligatory last glass of wine. ...
ok, where were we.
right.
mutherfucker.
Boy Eats Drum Machine, again, i am a sucker, let alone for hand claps, and so, words fail.
They are among my drunken 'listening thru headphones so you don't wake up the neighbors at 3 am last songs before falling down' bands, and they were playing tonight, with some wonderful wonderful snugglies called 32 Ways, who thru fate's curses, broken bones and my ridiculously retarded stage fright we have only played with , what, twice? anyways. no, i must go further back. god, i am SO Inigo Montoya right now. Right, so the drunken laten-night love fest. wait, maybe this is just an inter-ject. anyways, bedm seemed to come out of nowhere late last year, and now they're all a 'Headlining Berbati's on a Saturday night, portland weekly paper love-fest' band, which makes the angry little me cross my arms, no matter how much i might secretly dance to them in the dark of the night, cross my arms and go, "grrumph." (defensive stance)And then, being a terrible gemini, this gets combined with the, "fuck, but i like them, what if live they suck like crazy live, but the bad way?" but since it is, or was, a thursday, and the illustrious cuties of 32 Ways were involved, i was having to go, get there late, miss most of Alaskus, of whom there has also been a flurry, and 32 ways are wonderful as ever and then there comes this supposed sexiness, not so much a moment, but as a cautiuously torn waiting, and mutherfucker, they were great. i had not on my dancing shoes, so there was just a whole fuck of a lot of seat-dancing grooving , yes, i am your drunken mother, going on, which is for the best, because i dance like a non-recovery goth idiot, and so there would have been falling and that awkward silence from witnesses, "like, my god she should so have a handler", and so i just freaked out and tried to keep my seat. Mutherfucker, they're great. if you get the chance, any one, take it and throw all your caution to the prevailing judgemental winds and go 'woot-woot!' and shake whatever you've got until you fall down and maybe take out a table or two and possibly some chairs, with patrons still in them, and put your shy humiliation away for another day, because the bruises in the morning can only serve to remind you that, shamless tho it may be, there is some mutherfucking funkiness-screaming-weird-what-now?woot-woot-grooviness to be had on these dumb damp streets of portland-town and you never leave your couch anyways, so you'd might as well take tonight to get-on-and-get-get-down. thank you, i am REATARDED and serve as the ambassador to embarassment for my band, wherever i may go, who the fuck cares, you die someday anyways, so shake it while it's still there, fuck on, it's boy eats drum machine, 3 cutie-cute-cuties, and you can't fight it, so you might as well laugh and fall down.
-good night, god bless electricity,
-j
p.s. i think this is pretty weel spell-checkded for me, but god damn there should be breathalyzers on these -j
p.p.s. the admitting-your-sins-inpiblic bit came because i had to admit to adam that they'd found me thru google and already knew me as a drunken-fan-reviewer , but i've found there is no point in hiding, unless you involve passwords and so there we are. Helo, good morning, i'm an idiot, but it's best you hear it from me than from somebody else and so here we are. oh, if only this had audio-shakeity shakeity shake shake / clap clap