2001-02-24 - Evening
Dear Seattle: I�m done with your weather now. Please come down to San Diego and pick it up. Love, Mig.
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So last night I go to see Monkeybone (a moderately amusing way to kill 100 minutes, if only for the Dave-Foley-streaking-with-his-face-painted-purple scene--plus, the nightmare segments had a definite Forbidden Zone quality, always a sign of high twistedness) and on the way back to my car I pass a bunch of teenagers who are all dressed in pink (boys and girls), wearing balloon animals on their heads and singing "Karma Chameleon" in perfect harmony.
What does this mean?
a) David Lynch is doing a location shoot.
b) I�ve been sniffing too much glue.
c) These kids today are getting the �80s nostalgia thing all wrong.
d) Luther League meetings are a helluva lot different than when I was a kid.
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In case you�re wondering, no, I didn�t watch the Grammys. It and the Jerry Lewis Telethon are at the top of my list of Must-Avoid TV--though I have to admit, the whole Elton John/Eminem brouhaha had me intrigued enough that I might have tuned in if I�d been at home Wednesday night. So did the two of them get a daisy chain started backstage after the show, or not?
(For the record, I don�t care much for Eminem�s music--except for that one lyric about Christina Aguilera, Carson Daly and Fred Durst, which gives me giggling fits every time I hear it--but I think it�s great that he pushes so many people�s buttons. Those buttons are just begging to be pushed--they�re big, and red, and they�ve got PUSH ME written on them in large friendly letters. More power to him, I say.)
Fortunately, I went out instead to see my friend J perform. J does web design for a skateboard company by day and doubles as a DJ-slash-musician-slash-multimedia-ambient-art-geek by night, and is probably the coolest person ever to get up on a stage with nothing but a turntable and two computers and put a roomful of people into a trance without use of drugs (on my part, at least). It was the first time I�d seen him perform and I was most impressed.
J also happens to be next-door neighbors with one of the best tattoo artists in San Diego. Looks like I�ll be going on another body-art adventure sooner than I thought.
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On Thursday night I went to see Ray Bradbury speak. He�s not looking well physically, but he�s as cheerfully abrasive as ever. Bradbury�s my favorite optimistic old fart (as opposed to Kurt Vonnegut, who�s my favorite pessimistic old fart--put the two of them together and you get Harlan Ellison). The best part of the evening was when he talked about how he walked off the David Frost show on the night of the Apollo moon landing because the producers cut back on his segment to make room for Engelbert Humperdinck and Sammy Davis Jr. The audience also got to see him come as close as he ever has to uttering the word "bullshit" in public when some conspiracy theory-addled dorkus got up during the Q&A and started babbling about how the moon landing was a hoax. Bradbury managed to edit himself mid-syllable so the word that actually came out of his mouth sounded something like "bunonsense," and then the nice men with the butterfly nets and taser guns took the freak away quietly.
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Enough for now--it�s about to start pissing rain again and I�ve got to go to the market. Every time it rains here I get that fuckawful "but girl, let me warn ya ... it pours, man it pours" song stuck in my head and I broke my icepick the last time I tried to dislodge it. I�m soooo ready for spring to be here.
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