I have a rather annoying cough at the moment, but that didn't stop me from attempting to play soccer yesterday. It should have though because it kicked my ass. I was ready for a break almost immediately. When the break finally happened, my brother, his friend and I enjoyed a Negra Modelo at the park w/ a new friend of mine who happened to be walking by (technically she was running, but at a rather decelerated pace... just like me). Afterwards, I went to a house-warming party at Greg's and then off to
Deep Space at
the Magic Bag. They were opening for this group called Stash who seemed to Fancy themselves the next Sublime or 311. As if the world needs more of them. I would prefer a world that has less Sublime and 311. I picked up
Stacey and we headed out to meet up w/
Warren and
Laura and the rest of the Deep Space Ladies. I hadn't been there since I saw
Arlo Guthrie there about 8 years ago, and I'd forgotten that the sound in there isn't that fantastic. Deep Space played well though, considdering they only had a 45 minute set and the management were being sticklers about the time. We missed the opening song, I can't remember what the next song was, but then they closed w/ an "Eyes" > "Dancin" > "Franklin's" that really smoked. Not only did they pull out the up-beat dancey tunes for the new venue, but Sean wore his hat too. He never wears it at local clubs where they play all the time, but whenever they play a new place, it's on his head. Art Fair, Arts Beats and Eats, etc. Uncommon venues = Sean's hat. It's sort of a Stevie Ray Vaughn meets Slash meets Doc Holiday thing. It needs to make an appearance at the TCs show next month.
After a short break, Stash came on. I had asked Dawn if she wanted to come but was warned that Stash wasn't worth the drive. Well, she was absolutely right. I'm going out on a limb here to say that even good reggae is repetitive and boring, but those fucking chuckle heads should have been opening for Deep Space or better yet, shouldn't be playing at all. "At the count of 3, everyone say 'FUCK THE POLICE'?" I mean, are they fucking kidding me? That was a revolutionary thing to say in 1989 when the people saying
it were inner city LA African American youth, but when suburban frat boys say it in 2007, it means they don't want to get caught date-raping people after the gig. Then the guitarists would take their solos on top of their amps like fucking Eddie van Halen. Of course, "SHIT, GODDAMN, GET ON YOUR FEET AND JAM" almost worked for their audience who didn't realize it was lifted from George Clinton's act of 30 years ago. Covering songs is fine, but covering chants to simply get people up off their asses is ridiculous. By the time we finished our beers and were heading to the door, we realized that most everyone else we knew had already beat us to it. The sinus headache I got whilst playing soccer was only exacerbated by the shitty reggae of Stash. I'll probably be heading back there on May 31 for Gaelic Storm; I've always wanted to see them and it's only 18 bucks. And if you still doubt that Stash are a bunch of asshats, just read through their
myspace page.
As we got onto I 696, I was already thinking of going to bed when Stacey asked if I wanted to get a PBR at Leggs. Headache aside, I couldn't pass that up, so we called my brother and told him to meet us there and pulled into the parking lot at about 12:45. Now, for those of you who don't know, Leggs is the bastard step-child of every "classy" strip-bar in the world. Pasties over their nipples, a 15 dollar service charge for the ATM and a history of "more than just dancing." Of course nearly-naked women was certainly a step up from Stash, but something else really stood out. The service was great and the dancers seemed honestly pleasant (though somewhat wasted). Their unenhanced bodies give a feeling of naturalness to the place, but I assume they are only unenhanced because they can't afford to enhance themselves. None-the-less, I'm always partial to a real woman rather than an anorexic, surgically altered automaton. Sure, their breasts weren't perfect and all but the one who looked like a cross between Lisa Hunter and Dr. Zaius had a little cellulite, but as I said, that's fine. 9 times out of 10, I'll take cellulite over
Dr. Zaius. Stacey went so far as to call it the feminist strip club, which seemed pretty accurate when I tipped a dancer a couple bucks and then refused to grab her ass (even though it seemed par for the course) due to my obligatory knowledge of feminist theory. A little Irigaray, Cixous, Kristeva, Mulvey & Sedgwick and suddenly I can't even ass-grab? Fucking feminism! Instead, I had to wonder, just as Woolf asked what would have happened had Shakespeare had an equally talented sister, what would have happened had he been an equally talented woman? The answer is obviously "dancing at Leggs, but not getting ass-grabbed by me." I know the early reference to date-rape and then the overt
feminist stuff at the end gives us the second theory-based post in a row; you'll have to forgive me, I've had a fever this week and it's gone to the brain I guess.
I have a rather annoying cough at the moment, but that didn't stop me from attempting to play soccer yesterday. It should have though because it kicked my ass. I was ready for a break almost immediately. When the break finally happened, my brother, his friend and I enjoyed a Negra Modelo at the park w/ a new friend of mine who happened to be walking by (technically she was running, but at a rather decelerated pace... just like me). Afterwards, I went to a house-warming party at Greg's and then off to Deep Space at the Magic Bag. They were opening for this group called Stash who seemed to Fancy themselves the next Sublime or 311. As if the world needs more of them. I would prefer a world that has less Sublime and 311. I picked up Stacey and we headed out to meet up w/ Warren and Laura and the rest of the Deep Space Ladies. I hadn't been there since I saw Arlo Guthrie there about 8 years ago, and I'd forgotten that the sound in there isn't that fantastic. Deep Space played well though, considdering they only had a 45 minute set and the management were being sticklers about the time. We missed the opening song, I can't remember what the next song was, but then they closed w/ an "Eyes" > "Dancin" > "Franklin's" that really smoked. Not only did they pull out the up-beat dancey tunes for the new venue, but Sean wore his hat too. He never wears it at local clubs where they play all the time, but whenever they play a new place, it's on his head. Art Fair, Arts Beats and Eats, etc. Uncommon venues = Sean's hat. It's sort of a Stevie Ray Vaughn meets Slash meets Doc Holiday thing. It needs to make an appearance at the TCs show next month.
After a short break, Stash came on. I had asked Dawn if she wanted to come but was warned that Stash wasn't worth the drive. Well, she was absolutely right. I'm going out on a limb here to say that even good reggae is repetitive and boring, but those fucking chuckle heads should have been opening for Deep Space or better yet, shouldn't be playing at all. "At the count of 3, everyone say 'FUCK THE POLICE'?" I mean, are they fucking kidding me? That was a revolutionary thing to say in 1989 when the people saying it were inner city LA African American youth, but when suburban frat boys say it in 2007, it means they don't want to get caught date-raping people after the gig. Then the guitarists would take their solos on top of their amps like fucking Eddie van Halen. Of course, "SHIT, GODDAMN, GET ON YOUR FEET AND JAM" almost worked for their audience who didn't realize it was lifted from George Clinton's act of 30 years ago. Covering songs is fine, but covering chants to simply get people up off their asses is ridiculous. By the time we finished our beers and were heading to the door, we realized that most everyone else we knew had already beat us to it. The sinus headache I got whilst playing soccer was only exacerbated by the shitty reggae of Stash. I'll probably be heading back there on May 31 for Gaelic Storm; I've always wanted to see them and it's only 18 bucks. And if you still doubt that Stash are a bunch of asshats, just read through their myspace page.
As we got onto I 696, I was already thinking of going to bed when Stacey asked if I wanted to get a PBR at Leggs. Headache aside, I couldn't pass that up, so we called my brother and told him to meet us there and pulled into the parking lot at about 12:45. Now, for those of you who don't know, Leggs is the bastard step-child of every "classy" strip-bar in the world. Pasties over their nipples, a 15 dollar service charge for the ATM and a history of "more than just dancing." Of course nearly-naked women was certainly a step up from Stash, but something else really stood out. The service was great and the dancers seemed honestly pleasant (though somewhat wasted). Their unenhanced bodies give a feeling of naturalness to the place, but I assume they are only unenhanced because they can't afford to enhance themselves. None-the-less, I'm always partial to a real woman rather than an anorexic, surgically altered automaton. Sure, their breasts weren't perfect and all but the one who looked like a cross between Lisa Hunter and Dr. Zaius had a little cellulite, but as I said, that's fine. 9 times out of 10, I'll take cellulite over Dr. Zaius. Stacey went so far as to call it the feminist strip club, which seemed pretty accurate when I tipped a dancer a couple bucks and then refused to grab her ass (even though it seemed par for the course) due to my obligatory knowledge of feminist theory. A little Irigaray, Cixous, Kristeva, Mulvey & Sedgwick and suddenly I can't even ass-grab? Fucking feminism! Instead, I had to wonder, just as Woolf asked what would have happened had Shakespeare had an equally talented sister, what would have happened had he been an equally talented woman? The answer is obviously "dancing at Leggs, but not getting ass-grabbed by me." I know the early reference to date-rape and then the overt feminist stuff at the end gives us the second theory-based post in a row; you'll have to forgive me, I've had a fever this week and it's gone to the brain I guess.
6 comments:
For me, Stash sucked because the rhythm guitarist failed to tune his guitar... despite having inter-song breaks to do so! It was really out of tune, and whether he didn't notice or didn't care, the end result is the same: la-ame.
Why would you assume that they're only unenhanced because they can't afford to enhance themselves? They probably can't afford it, but maybe they're comfortable with their bodies the way they are...as the strip worker in the bathroom told me, it's the most down-to-earth strip club at which she's worked. Do you assume that all women, unless they're perfect, would fix something if they could afford it, or just strip workers?
Good morning, my computer's fixed.
I knew you'd take that bait.
How'd you fix your computer?
Oh sure, you're just trying to cover your sexist ass. You still may be orb-worthy though.
I wasn't the one who fixed the computer, but I believed it involved a very simple operation. So simple, in fact, that it was initially overlooked in favor of more convoluted approaches toward repair.
Bring on the Orb!
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