By now you should all know the standard procedure of cursing at Monday before I begin again for the week… Well, I’m really cursing at it today, because I am getting it from all angles at the bill-payer, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I just picked narcotics off of my sweater… It just has to do with the fact that I don’t like it when people tell me to do shit, never have. That puts me in constant conflict with the bill-payer (ed. note: I’ll say no more in the interest of not wanting to get caught hatin’ and go on welfare).
Anyhow, of the weekend, the weekend was decent, jive fuckin’ decent (ed. note: which is how my dad tells you that he’s not interested in telling you anymore details of something)(ed. note: I will provide more details, as there are quite a few areas that my father and I differ in)(ed. note: thank god). Friday night Gorilla and I had several options for our excursion, however, the first matter of business that we had to attend to before any music was heard was a matter of business that we have to deal with on the reg in Los Angeles. That being the issue of which one of us mah’fuckas is gonna be driving for the evening.
It is no secret that the public transportation situation in Los Angeles eats a fat one. It is also no secret that every weekend about %25-50 of the young, to not so young anymore, to really probably shouldn’t be on this list population, drive drunk around this “too damn spread out” town. To those of you gasping at that made up statistic, I tell it to you based off of the assumption made by one who hates driving even when sober, but who couldn’t begin to condense for you the number of times he’s been forced by circumstance and society (ed. note: not by necessity) to drive while impaired by the good/bad shit.. I mean, yes, the number is a guess, but no, it’s not that far off. Because if that wasn’t the number, or close to it, then the traffic in this town would be a lot less fuckt, because everyone would be stuck at home arguing over who’s gonna be DD for the night.
As for Gorilla and I, being that we were planning on getting far beyond “impaired” by the end of the night, we decided that our best plan of action was to drive our beast Eastward and camp out inside of her belly for the evening. Thereby allowing us to walk around blurred on the opposing side of town from our domicile without having to worry about returning to that domicile to find shelter should we not find it in the bed of another (ed. note: which we wouldn’t because Jesus isn’t cool with that).
So we loaded up our bikes, our booze, our other stuffs into our baby and we prepared to have a hell of a night… Then HOLD UP WAIT A MINUTE, bitch won’t start… Fuuuuuuck… Alright, fine, quick fix. I swing my beautiful Mazerati like car around to the lot and jump that slut til she starts purring, which she does, phew… We pull into the alley of sound, a little delayed but thinking we’re still about to rage… then, HOLD UP WAIT ANOTHER MINUTE… Bitch’s engine died again in the middle of the alley… fuuuuuuuuuuuuck… Jumped that ho one more time then decided not to press our luck and jammed our van back into the lot, and due to the fact that I was at this point antsy as a four year old that’s got to take a piss, I jumped into the driver’s seat without hesitation and assumed the role of “DD” for the night (ed. note: DD can stand for anything here).
First stop was to be the Troubadour where we were gonna meet up with one of our new “associates” to catch his DJ set and perhaps a little bit of Iranian sensation Hypernova, because we’re into Jihad
rock. We drove up outside of the venue at about 10:15, traffic was pretty much awful on the way there, so awful that Gorilla and I had this conversation about 3 times even before we got to the Troub: “take a sedative!” “I did already!” That being said, we got to the Troubadour and drove around for about 20 minutes trying to find a spot that didn’t cost $15.00 (ed. note: cause it ain’t the first of da’monf)… Long pain in the ass short, we didn’t find one, we didn’t go to the Troubadour.
Bailed on that shit because a) that part of town creeps me out (ed. note: not that there’s anything wrong with that) and b) because we had other music to see… Or so we thought.
Our plan had been to hit the Troubadour, then hit up the Bootleg to catch our boys the Muddy Reds doin’ what they do best… This plan was derailed hard by several natural (ed. note: in Los Angeles) occurrences/disasters. The first being the fact that every street we tried to take towards Echo Park was a bigger pain in the ass then the one we’d just turned off of. My road rage was reaching an’ all time high, so we decided that maybe I needed to put something (ed. note: something food) into my stomach. Unfortunately Gorilla doesn’t know the difference between Cheetos and some bullshit that isn’t Cheetos but that has a bunch of shit I’m allergic to in it… So that took twice as long, and by the time we finally made it into the Bootleg (ed. note: let’s say 11:37) the Reds were already done-zo… I think maybe we could have caught the last song of the night had we not stopped to harass a genuine “crazy cat” woman on our walk from the car… Alas, those are not things that we can easily pass up, so we spent about 3 minutes trying to film her until she started screeching “police! police!” in some sort of eastern European accent… Her cat’s were screaming it too…
Missing all of the tunes was double disappointing because I wanted to hear the reds play, you know for the music. Also because we’d opted to check out this show over another Jam Van favorite, the Eastern Conference Champions who were playing across the way at the Satellite that evening. I only mention this because I want to mention that I was on the list at this show, and I only want to mention that because it was a show hosted by one of my all time biggest fans (ed. note: psych), and I had kind of wanted to check that scene out just so that I could take another picture of his old ass and send it to him from across the room… (ed. note: inside joke).
So anyhow, roundabout to what I was talking about in the beginning… I ended up getting entirely too drunk/other with the Muddy Reds while we took in the Big Dick show (ed. note: yep, that’s a band name, nope it’s not easy to find them on the web, because “other” stuff comes up when you google “big dick”), and so by the time they started kicking us out of the Bootleg I was in no condition to drive… So we “sobered” up on some tacos, considered leaving the car in Echo Park and hitching a ride with a friend, but then realizing that this was a huge pain in the ass I figured it was probably a better idea to brave the trek back…
You ever drive when it feels like the road is moving but the car is not? Yeah, exaaaactly, LA needs public transport… Sheesh.
The rest of the weekend was a little more relaxed. I took in my first ever baseball game on Saturday night at Dodger stadium, and I am happy to report that I still loathe all things baseball and spent the majority of the game playing with my cell phone and finding my way to wasted. Because this time I didn’t have to drive (ed. note: pills and booze make baseball more tolerable) (ed. note: because you pass the fuck out).
Then there was of course Sunday, which I spent with my rat dog and my couch, until Gorilla returned and said he wanted to shoot some b-roll. So we rambled the fully charged beast up to Topanga, found a beautiful spot in the hills to do some moving shots. Realized Gorilla left all of his camera batteries back in Venice. So the only reasonable solution to save the day here was for us to go back to Dog Town and have me throw on the gorilla suit, climb on top of the van and surf around Venice on the roof. No police contact was made, and I only about fell to my death two times. So mom, if you’re reading (ed. note: which you’re not), your son was extra responsible this weekend. When he didn’t die driving when he shouldn’t have been driving, he decided he needed to stand on top of a motor home while it was moving. He didn’t die from that either. Please remember my birthday this year, Love, Son.
Links for the Day:
– Dub Masta’s Dub Mix (via Stereogum)
– Are they Girls or are they ladies? (via Stereogum)
– The way I walk… (via NPR)
– Some Gram Parsons for your face... (via NPR)
– Weezy fo’sheezy... (via Prefix)
– God Hates Idiots (I hope)(via You Ain’t No Picasso)
– “Southern fried bravado…” I’ve got that… (via Prefix)
– You should play this… (via the RSL)
– Pssh, more like “your blood” (via Aquarium Drunkard)
– Preview of that New, new, new hotness… (via the best website eva)
Los Angeles these are our suggested shows for the week of 9/19 – 9/25:
– 9/19 – James Blake is still dubbing up the Music Box (huh, huh) for $25.00 and there are actually still tix…
– 9/21 – Soul Rebels Brass Band at the LA Convention Center
– 9/23 – We recommend going to Bright Eyes at the Hollywood Forever Cemetary and throwing shit at him… It’s $35.00, so sneak in so none of your money goes towards whiney bitches.
– 9/23 – Soul Rebels Brass Band at the Mint