Because I got a press pass to a show I didn’t at first realize was free, I felt a vague obligation to the publicist to write something about the show. I have nothing much to say about the show. This is a blog.
I wrote the above “paragraph” about a week ago. It’s now been two weeks since the show. I am not going to force myself to write something special about the show right now, esp. since it’s 1:36 p.m. and I’m at work and am going to Georgia for the first time in my life in a week and a half. I have never been to the South, even though the Occluded part of Georgia I’m going to doesn’t sound technically “Southern” in a Research Triangle sort of way.
Last night had a beer with G, who returned Friday from two months in Sudan. He says everyone is skeptical of the census, people mistrust the SPLA as much as they mistrust the Sudanese government. Cobloggers had well-informed, well-placed questions. People in his village drink warm beer, so he had a shopkeeper keep 10 beers at all times in the fridge with the Cokes so he could buy a cold one on his way to dinner every evening. I had two more interesting details here but have since deleted them, since I don’t have a sense of how sensitive, how occluded, how etc
My life is irrelevant. Last night, was worried it was bedbugs but concluded ~4 a.m. it was mosquitoes. What’s a good free Mp3 hosting service? I want to post “Dr. Root’s Garden” by Chrysalis, but seemingly can’t. The final comment on this post links to the whole record.
Boredoms in L.A.: We sat near Hella’s Zach Hill, who was at the end of the spiral of 88 drummers surrounding the band. Other drummers flagged throughout the 88 minutes, but Hill held it down, no danger, no remote indication of ever letting up. Very impressive.
J.R. Valenzuela, one of the finest photographers of our generation, was cowed into leaving his camera at home by the publicists. He went home mid-show to get it, and the show had ended by the time he returned. In fact, I had finished my cold beet borscht and half egg sandwich from Canter’s by the time he returned. Everyone scattered and he and I spookily perambulated LACMA and the Tar Pits.
This billboard presided over the Boredoms in an obvious, noxious (yea, obnoxious) way. The stage lights were in the same palette. The silhouette depicted in the ad wasn’t listening to the Boredoms, or the 88 drummers. It was listening to a podcast of Liza Richardson.
I was briefly annoyed with J.R. — why are we walking moonily around the tarpits at night? Shouldn’t we be waiting for the bus? Then I realized I was being a douche and was glad we were there. As we were sneaking back into the Pits while the crew broke down the stage, an LAPD cruiser pulled up and an officer asked us in a really guileless, plainly inquisitive way what was going on. I told him, and pointlessly added that the Boredoms were from Japan. Then an unarmed security guard kicked us out.