My new hip hop name is Li’l Pesto. I wear an English driving cap and overalls with no shirt underneath. A full-length mirror is rolled on stage and I lock eyes with myself, crooning and rapping about whatever issues of the day are most pressing. I have a topical bit about how Joe Biden needs to grab the spotlight from Debbie Palin. I mean Sarah Palin. Lots of words rhyme with Palin, y’all–
In other news, Rebecca is on point. I have the mellowest of hangovers today; it’s like a warm cloud, chillaxing over the city. Standing on a crowded Muni train, I once heard a young man in a suit tell his sluttily dressed companion to “chillax” as she felt him up and otherwise inappropriately groped him in the crowded aisle. I whispered “chillax” to myself for the rest of the night, and haven’t really stopped since. It’s been several months.
Last night I went to a bad new-agey lecture with my dad, who is great. I can’t tell if my dad reads this blog or not. Dad??? I was going to go to sleep but instead went to the bar with my roommate. We met our neighbor who I’d seen but never spoken to. In 1984 or whatever he saw Minor Threat at “Grafitti” which was subsequently the Chameleon and is now Amnesia. He had surprising details and context for the recent Hell’s Angel murder. The Mongols are infringing on Northern CA Hell’s Angel territory, and it’s “war”?!