Concrete Rose Sucks or The Worst Batchelor Party Ever
Child of Mists: dude, i went to see this "burlesque" troupe Child of Mists: the only one in the city Child of Mists: it was the most pissweak thing i'd ever seen GrimJim in exile: Yeah? I'm sensing you don't think they're much competition... Child of Mists: i mean, even if they called themselves a plain old dance company, it still would have been a patently stupid show Child of Mists: they didn't go down beyond bustiers and mini skirts GrimJim in exile: The burlesque I've seen up here went down to pasties, easy. Child of Mists: they weren't even hot. Child of Mists: it reminded me of my highschool talent show GrimJim in exile: Hahaha! Child of Mists: at least our cheerleaders had tight choreography Child of Mists: Ugh, so these girls danced to all modern music, too Child of Mists: like, christina aguilerra. like lenny kravitz GrimJim in exile: Sounds sad. Maybe they are merely PCD wannabes. Child of Mists: pcd? GrimJim in exile: Pussycat Dolls. Child of Mists: yes. YES. that's what it was like Child of Mists: exactly Child of Mists: actually that is exactly what it was like Child of Mists: except with ungainly, rhythmless dancing from half of the foursome GrimJim in exile: Yeah, they started off in burlesque. I guess that's what passes for it in some places. Child of Mists: one girl was so strung out on meth and starved to death that she looked like a dancing skeleton Child of Mists: she was so weak she couldn't move her chair during the routine Child of Mists: a stage hand had to help her move it Child of Mists: a folding chair Child of Mists: but i'm not even done GrimJim in exile: It gets worse? Child of Mists: so, out of their alotted hour, they did about 20 minutes worth of dancing, took a huge 35 minute break with no filler, and then came back for what was apparently the grand finale . .. Child of Mists: five minutes. Child of Mists: one girl didn't even reappear until halfway through the song Child of Mists: obviously fucked up Child of Mists: it gets better GrimJim in exile: No filler? Geez. The show that I saw in town had a guy do his take on Vaudeville style comedy, talking to the audience with his routine. Child of Mists: that's what I'm going to do! Child of Mists: get a juggler or somebody and an MC GrimJim in exile: Right on! Child of Mists: so, at this final act, we find that it's actually someone's batchelor party Child of Mists: and that's why they were hired in the first place Child of Mists: so they drag the guy on stage, put him in the middle Child of Mists: and completely ignore him Child of Mists: they didn't even look at him as they danced Child of Mists: he was there, stone cold in the center, wondering how to involve himself, and every time he'd try to dance with them or something, they'd push him away Child of Mists: he was obviously not having a good time GrimJim in exile: Sounds like they've got big egos with no room for others. Child of Mists: yeah Child of Mists: and then . . . get this GrimJim in exile: *nod* Child of Mists: the crowd is made entirely out of the most bland generation Y hipsters you could ever find Child of Mists: and they clap Child of Mists: they give a standing ovation Child of Mists: arturo and I had an 8 person table to ourselves Child of Mists: no one wanted to sit with us. we weren't even scary looking! Child of Mists: but we weren't little snotnosed emo kids Child of Mists: there were people standing in the corner, rather than sit with us GrimJim in exile: Boomer babies, spoiled by a spoiled generation. Child of Mists: and the troupe gets an ovation Child of Mists: how sad is my generation that such a pathetic performance merits a standing ovation? Child of Mists: i mean, what the hell GrimJim in exile: Maybe merely for the guts to get on stage at all and humiliate a guy? Child of Mists: what the hell. Child of Mists: they're a burlesque troupe. getting on stage is mandatory GrimJim in exile: How inebriated was the crowd? Child of Mists: not very Child of Mists: ever notice that the emo hipster kids just don't know how to have a good time Child of Mists: no one doing shots GrimJim in exile: Probably too poor? Heh. Child of Mists: whatever. i saw their phones GrimJim in exile: Spent all their money on clothes and phones. Child of Mists: yeah Child of Mists: maybe GrimJim in exile: Generation iPod can't afford a drink? Child of Mists: that, or they're terminally dull Child of Mists: i think they can Child of Mists: i think they're just idiots Child of Mists: these days, you can't walk up and chat with someone in a bar Child of Mists: even if you're not hitting on 'em Child of Mists: but whatever GrimJim in exile: All caught up in their little cellphone-mediated cliques? Child of Mists: The best part of this was the name of the "burlesque" troupe. Child of Mists: Concrete Rose Child of Mists: i think it's stupid Child of Mists: now, i don't know about you, but the image called forth to my imagination by the juxtposition of building materials and a floral cliche isn't exactly sexy . . . Child of Mists: it's . . . well, essentially what i saw last night GrimJim in exile: Well, "concrete rose" makes me think of an old Concrete Blonde song. GrimJim in exile: "Up through the cracks... [redacted] roses grow..." Child of Mists: it makes me think of crack whores GrimJim in exile: Well, yeah, run-down Hollywood. GrimJim in exile: Heh. Their choice in name is a bit pedestrian. It doesn't echo enough of the past that you want to evoke. GrimJim in exile: They're merely run down and recycled.
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Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Selling Out or My Only Hate, Sprung From My Greatest Love
When I first discovered Pandora, I embraced it with joy, never knowing that some months later, it would become the leading device in my slow, but sure, sell out. Oh dear lord. Oh dear sweet jesus.
As I have mentioned briefly before, my latest hairbrained exploit has taken the form of weekly DJ lessons with DJ Steve (or Icey White, as he was once called), the DJ at my club. First bartending, now this. Who knows if these pipe dreams will actually make it anywhere. But I digress.
Obviously, my knowledge of hip hop, rap, and R and B . . . in a word . . . sucks. And that's how I like it, damnit. Nothing but the finest electronica, 80's, and psychidelic rock for yours truly. Well, no longer. I don't mind brushing up on alternative rock and punk. However, "black" music, as I've always called it (very un P.C., but most accurate) is very very popular these days. Fucking cultural takeover, it is. Ugh.
There's nothing wrong with the beat. I love trip-hop, for example. You know, a dose of the old Bristol sound. It's the fucking lyrics, for the most part. Ladies, mercedes, want some more, get on the floor, nice and ice, grills and bills, *puke*. That and the rap. I have never been able to enjoy rap. I mean, aside from a very very few isolated songs - like "Intergalactic" by the Beasty Boys, for example. Or Drop it Like It's Hot by Snoop Dogg. And stuff.
I gotta bite the bullet.
My search for greater knowledge began with the top 50 pop hits. I swear, 5 out of 6 songs are hip hop or R and B of some sort. Ok. Nothing I didn't already know.
So I ran over to Pandora and tentatively popped "Fergie" into the station generator. Pay dirt. All the top crap. I swear after a minute, I wanted to puke. After an hour, I realized that I would never get that hour of my life back. After two, I was convinced that pop music is a mass media conspiracy.
Over that two hour period, I not only heard almost every song we play in the club on a nightly basis (minus the smattering of rock and dance), but that most of those 30+ songs were by the same 4 artists. Oh. My. God. Ciara, Beyonce, Fergie, Gwen Stefani. Shoot me now. Now. NOW!!!! Somehow, I never imagined that we'd play seven to ten Fergie/Black Eyed Peas songs in one night. What the fuck.
I gotta get to work. It's almost 7.30 now.
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Sunday, April 01, 2007
Promises, Promises or Something Fishy
Before I launch into a self-indulgent recapitulation of the last month's events, I bid you, gentle readers, to watch this parody:
There, don't you feel better?
Anyhow, I'll see if I can't keep it to ten sentences or less. Let me see how well this works . . .
1. Arturo and I have moved into a little one bedroom apartment in the Montrose/Westheimer area.
2. We are about to paint the walls obscene shades of indigo, turquoise, and cinnibar.
3. In an attempt to expand my marketable skills, I've begun to learn how to DJ.
4. My hair is still blonde, much to my discontent.
5. I may not have mentioned it previously, but Arturo is a chef, which explains why we went to a food and wine festival in Austin on Thursday morning.
6. At the festival, we served ceviche canapes to 350 tipsy socialites.
7. That's a lot of fish, man.
8. Later that night, Arturo and I hit up the famed bars of 6th street, and ended up at Plush.
9. The Brazilian drumb and bass group that was spinning that night rocked my socks so hard that I hands down, flat out, hardcore won an impromptu dance off.
10. I gotta go get dressed, cause DJ Steve is waiting for me at the club.
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DISCLAIMER: Nothing here is true . . . names may have been changed to protect the not so innnocent.
A poor substitute for social interaction since 2001!
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