I didn’t really see any music this weekend. I was a bit bitter about not being at Outside Lands and having to read about the good times that all of these fools on the Twat-Feed were yappin’ about didn’t really make me anxious to go check out any shows around my local.
There was actually some kind of music festival down by dirt-bag beach, but the stage was surrounded by a retaining wall of bodies made up from the Venice Free Clinic’s All-Star Team, so I did not partake. I’m sorry if that seems wrong, to not want to see some free music on account of stink-bags, but I saw Outbreak. I didn’t see the shitty music for kind of the same reasons I don’t feel the need to sky dive or bungee jump. Why risk it?
So, no music this past weekend to report on. However, I am a cultured mother-fucker (ed. Note: as I’m sure you can see by the fact that we have Lil’ Kim on our van), and so I soaked in some other forms of stimulation which were all very satisfying.
As for the team tank, she spent the weekend lounging in the back lot, soaking in the rays, feeling the fresh fluids flowing freely through her veins, and not charging her vintage 1982 battery. Which mind you, we tested at the Autozone, but probably should have used another old rule of thumb, that if shit has cobwebs and rust on it, and it’s a crucial element to your equation, you might want to get the latest update. However, we didn’t, and we knew we were supposed to be charging the battery on the reg, and again, we didn’t, so we were askin’ for it, no doubt.
Welp, we got it. Got it between about 7:30 PM through about 9:30 PM last night when Gorilla and I decided to postpone our Sunday evening stories and take baby girl to get her tires pumped, gas topped off, and to get a little exercise runnin’ down to the Home Depot, so we could fix her lock, or rather as it is, unlock, situation.
Fail #1 came while we were pumping gas. The lights were left on and apparently you can’t do that with a vintage 1982 battery, so baby girl died. No problem, we got that. Found a guy with a brand new battery and some cables and she perked right up.
Fail #2 came only moments later while we were pumping air into the tires. We had left baby girl running, so that the battery could juice for a while. However, our engrossment in immature conversation combined with the noise from the air pump caused us to not realize that baby girl stalled out. The keys being still in the ignition, drained the battery again, and we found ourselves asking for another jump. No problem, fine, got it.
Fail #3 occurred after Gorilla convinced me that it was in our best interest to continue our journey, finish the Home Depot run, and postpone our stories even further. He changed his mind on this about three minutes later when the lights died in the middle of Jefferson Blvd. See, being a go-getter doesn’t always pay off. Sometimes the dude in the back of the class knows what’s up. Oh well, you live and you learn.
We of course lived (ed. note dangerously), and on our way home, we were treated to one of those moments where shit seems really small. The type a shit like when you run into the person you were just thinking about, even though you hardly ever run into that person. Shit get’s small type a shit (ed. note: shit being the world). Anyways, it happened to us when we were rambling back onto Lincoln Blvd. sans lights and we heard a rebel yell coming from a little silver Civic coming up along side of us.
Blessed behold, it was non-other than the Budaphest and his tribesman, coming back from the airport. We didn’t call him, we didn’t signal him, but he sure as hell showed up to give us a lighted escort back to the lot. There are like a shit-ton of people in Los Angeles, and most of them that drive Civics are Mexican or Asian. The Budaphest is a straight up cracker, so the odds of his ass popping up out of nowhere like that when we needed someone to hide our non-headlight-having-dumb-selves from the cops, well, like I said, that was some small shit type shit, and that made the whole outing worth while.
It’s Monday, and that’s your own fault. Hasta later.
Track for the Day – “Blood Red Sentimental Blues” by Cotton Jones off of Paranoid Cocoon.
Links for the Day –
– Sounds like a party (via Spinner)
– Good covers good (via NYC Taper)
– Malkmus’ new shit (via NPR)
– Black lips play list (via RCRD Label)
– New Justice (via Light Meets Night)
– Classy shit (via NY Post)
Los Angeles, these are your suggested shows for the week of 8/15 – 8/21:
– 8/19 – RJD2 and Glitch Mob at Club Nokia… Take into account when dropping $22.00 on this, that Club Nokia is whack and overly secured, and that Gorilla says that R2DJ (his name) is dope, but his new shit is apparently some singer/songwriter shit and is apparently “whack.”