Du Hast vs. Everything Aguilera vs. Spider-Pig vs. Blueberry Compote...
The weekend, you ask? A sleepless orgy (see Cale's Fear for pronunciation) of feral/fetid/perfervid activity, all bloody good (in bleary hindsight).
Saturday evening was devoted to Bobby Moore and the celebration of her 25th birthday. She and hubby Graham (TLASILA's very own, with friends Bridget and Mike in tow) decamped at the oh-so-Korean (but definitely un-vegan) Book Chang Dong Tofu House in scenic Duluth. Good eats, preipheral tripe-gobbling clientel notwithstanding.
Later we were joined by the Bobster's sisters and bro-in-law for full-on karaoke at Debut, the lesser but rather more permissive of the two howler boîtes in the Super H Mart macro-mall. The classics were attacked: "Barbie Girl," "I Will Always Love You," "Tinh Thu Cua Linh," etc. Peach soju coaxed performances from the otherwise reticent...
Back at Blossoming Noise HQ I shot a 20-minute video of Bobby twitching her toes to the sounds Graham squeezed from his pustulant synth modules, and then the walls caved in on all of us.
Awoke around noon on Sunday. Dragged my carcass out of the shower and into heavy outbound traffic north. Intense, heavy rain from the Georgia border through to Greenville, SC. Gridlock clogged I-26 into Asheville. Made it to EP's pad around 5. Oy...
Out of the house again and straight to dinner, followed by drinks at a mutant hillbilly sports bar populated by middle-aged loners swilling Popov and listening to early 00s gangsta traxxxxx. Huh??? We usually vibe with any sort of outsider scene but death was in the air and The Simpsons Movie was waiting... (It was hilarious, by the way. The film flagged in spots, but laughs outweighed obvious, semi-stultifying cultural tweaks. "This book doesn't have any answers!")
Hung out with Elyse at her work, geeking on the laptop in the back office while she mixed up the medicine in the arcade. I've lost track of how many times we went to dinner on Monday... Seven? Nineteen? It's a always a brain-bending experience with Ms. P. Nothing as it should be, but everything you'd wish it to be. Only backwards.
Tuesday morning: a dog park, a medium harness, an errant bark and the threat of discovery. A simple booty call inevitably turns Elizabethan... Best: the poignant farewell between bites of leftovers.
Escaped mid-afternoon, and slid into home in time to meet Rat Bastard (who'd joined Graham, Bobby, and artist brothers Brent and Brandon Johnson) at yet another Mexican restaurant. I'd been a kinetic particle for 72 hours and I needed calming down... But, fuck it, I had a nibble and enjoyed the warped palaver. We discussed the upcoming album sessions at the table, back at BMHQ, and on the way to the airport hotel where Rattus had been lodged by his Delta overlords. Aladdin Sane was the only logical soundtrack for the drive; we listened in silence as the city swirled around us...
No clean clothes, no time for a shower, but brunch nonetheless beckoned. Izak (Graham's very cool young'un), GM, BM, Brent and Brandon, and yours truncated versus the forces of disorder at I-Hop. The usual tearful goodbyes... Threw dad's Court TV cap over my head and made it home by 6. Dead fucking tired...
TS
Saturday evening was devoted to Bobby Moore and the celebration of her 25th birthday. She and hubby Graham (TLASILA's very own, with friends Bridget and Mike in tow) decamped at the oh-so-Korean (but definitely un-vegan) Book Chang Dong Tofu House in scenic Duluth. Good eats, preipheral tripe-gobbling clientel notwithstanding.
Later we were joined by the Bobster's sisters and bro-in-law for full-on karaoke at Debut, the lesser but rather more permissive of the two howler boîtes in the Super H Mart macro-mall. The classics were attacked: "Barbie Girl," "I Will Always Love You," "Tinh Thu Cua Linh," etc. Peach soju coaxed performances from the otherwise reticent...
Back at Blossoming Noise HQ I shot a 20-minute video of Bobby twitching her toes to the sounds Graham squeezed from his pustulant synth modules, and then the walls caved in on all of us.
Awoke around noon on Sunday. Dragged my carcass out of the shower and into heavy outbound traffic north. Intense, heavy rain from the Georgia border through to Greenville, SC. Gridlock clogged I-26 into Asheville. Made it to EP's pad around 5. Oy...
Out of the house again and straight to dinner, followed by drinks at a mutant hillbilly sports bar populated by middle-aged loners swilling Popov and listening to early 00s gangsta traxxxxx. Huh??? We usually vibe with any sort of outsider scene but death was in the air and The Simpsons Movie was waiting... (It was hilarious, by the way. The film flagged in spots, but laughs outweighed obvious, semi-stultifying cultural tweaks. "This book doesn't have any answers!")
Hung out with Elyse at her work, geeking on the laptop in the back office while she mixed up the medicine in the arcade. I've lost track of how many times we went to dinner on Monday... Seven? Nineteen? It's a always a brain-bending experience with Ms. P. Nothing as it should be, but everything you'd wish it to be. Only backwards.
Tuesday morning: a dog park, a medium harness, an errant bark and the threat of discovery. A simple booty call inevitably turns Elizabethan... Best: the poignant farewell between bites of leftovers.
Escaped mid-afternoon, and slid into home in time to meet Rat Bastard (who'd joined Graham, Bobby, and artist brothers Brent and Brandon Johnson) at yet another Mexican restaurant. I'd been a kinetic particle for 72 hours and I needed calming down... But, fuck it, I had a nibble and enjoyed the warped palaver. We discussed the upcoming album sessions at the table, back at BMHQ, and on the way to the airport hotel where Rattus had been lodged by his Delta overlords. Aladdin Sane was the only logical soundtrack for the drive; we listened in silence as the city swirled around us...
No clean clothes, no time for a shower, but brunch nonetheless beckoned. Izak (Graham's very cool young'un), GM, BM, Brent and Brandon, and yours truncated versus the forces of disorder at I-Hop. The usual tearful goodbyes... Threw dad's Court TV cap over my head and made it home by 6. Dead fucking tired...
TS
Comments