Hammering The Cramps






Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot - Sparklehorse

XO - Elliott Smith

Antics In The Forbidden Zone - Adam Ant




After being asleep for an hour last night, I had a dream that I went to the Rubber Gloves (concert venue) in Denton with a few of my friends to see a local band play. I had been grumbling that I missed seeing Gorky's Zygotic Mynci at Glastonbury '97, and Katie said "well, I know you're upset, so we booked this just for you" and out came Gorky's. At the Rubber Gloves. Everyone was there, we were all dancing around, singing, laughing, etc. They asked for people to come up and sing with them, so I ran to the front and was beat out by a girl I went to school and church with (Tori) who I KNEW didn't know the songs. She was a cheerleader, she surely didn't know Welsh! So I sat up there on the stage of the Rubber Gloves duking it out with her while one of my favorite bands were playing in the backdrop.

I woke up sweating with "The Game of Eyes" in my head. And laughed.

What on earth is that dream supposed to mean?  I haven't listened to Gorky's in a while, so it wasn't like I was listening to them as I was falling asleep. And why did I punch Tori in my dream? I never hated her or anything.

And Katie, just on the off chance that you can get them here, I promise to behave.


15 January, 1999
Last night Amanda and I headed out to the Liquid Lounge to the rescheduled resurrection of Fine Time. There were maybe 15 people in there at any given time, and Shawn let us know that they would no longer be playing any form of rock. Period. The closest he got was a remix of Radiohead's "Climbing Up The Walls." It sucked so hard, we left at midnight and went across the street to Club Clearview to see what was going on over there. Lots of booty dancing, lots of lycra, lots of Backstreet Boy clones. We made our way through the bad dance and eurotrash rooms to the back concert room, only to sit through most of a set by Triprocket, who were not what we had in mind. Think third-rate Garbage with a front girl who thinks she's Meredith Brooks. Thirty-somethings all around us gyrating in their oversized white men's work shirts tucked into suede mini-skirts, hooker boots, and bad haircuts doing the grind. To third-rate garbage. This one girl was dragging men out of the audience to dance with her at the front, and Amanda and I were just standing back and watching and laughing. I was crying, I was laughing so hard. I can at least say the night was entertaining. I had three different people pump and/or grab me on my way out, so I was glad to finally get out of there. We got in the car and put 60ft Dolls in just to purge ourselves of all of the bad dance music we had heard throughout the night.

Another weekend is here and I have no idea what I'm going to do. I think Aaron Evans is coming home from Austin today, and if he is, he'd better call me <hint, hint>. I haven't seen him for the past couple of months, as he went to Australia over Christmas vacation. I miss him.

I wrote a bunch of bad poetry at work yesterday. I think I'll put it on my web page. You can tell me how crap it is. My theme for writing was "boredom."

I dyed my hair again. Back to cinnamon. My roots were showing too much and I was getting bored with the boring brown. I suppose I could have done something more productive, but dying your hair is fun. I set the dye in my hair and spent the next 25 minutes watching a special on the Holy Grail and Sir Thomas Malory on the Learning Channel, so I got something out of it.

I've become addicted to my TV. I don't know how it happened, but I was honestly upset that I missed Conan O'Brien last night. I should really find something else to do with my time, so if you have any suggestions, let me know. I can tell you this: I'm not leaving my house tomorrow night because Lethal Weapon is coming on and nothing short of a real government building exploding is going to pull me out of my apartment.

Here's my question: I live in Dallas, the what? 9th largest city in the US? We are home to the "World's Largest Independent Record Store" and have a fair amount of concerts that come through. You can find cool records and magazines if you look hard enough, and have a couple of movie theatres that play only independent films. Not exactly a metropolis void of all that is cool. Except people. Amanda and I noticed this last night - there are no cool people in Dallas. We know the handful of them. Or are there more out there that hide in their homes listening to over-priced vinyl? Johnny once told Amanda, Erin, and I that we were the "Three Coolest Indie/New Wave Girls In Dallas" (he was drunk) and I'm beginning to think that there's a bit of validity in his statement. Which doesn't say a whole lot for him or me, because I'm the dorkiest person I know and he's the ... never mind.

But you get my drift. Surely someone else has caught on that they don't have to look like a faux Backstreet Boy  or listen to Jewel and have back copies of old imported Melody Makers from 1994 - and still read them. If you fit this description, you know where I am. I'll be stuck in front of my TV.