|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.