girls just wanna have fun
07.04.03 @ 12:54 a.m.
Quote of the day: "...that guy that sang in falsetto so much, Blind Willie Whatshisname..."
- my mom, on the MAX train on the way home from the Blues Festival.
Well. Today has been a healthy (er...) mix of the good and the bad. Let's start with the bad because it's in looming largest in my thoughts. We went to the Portland Waterfront Blues Festival today. Bad thing number one: My dad is an impatient ass. He just could not wait for the train into downtown without being jumpy or whining. He also has an allergy to rattling noises in cars (see: everything I've written lately about my fear of death by flying nickels if the airbag in the pickup ever deploys) and I got snippy with him for whacking at the passenger door of Mom's car, which is far more annoying than any rattle could possibly be. This was very minor on the scale of bad things. Bad thing number two: So Volkswagon is heavily promoting itself at the Fest because they're sponsering an upcoming PBS miniseries on the Blues. So they're giving away a lot of crap, including "CD package openers" and tins of mints. Somehow these go together and here's how: Dad comes back from his periodic spates of wandering around the park and gives Mom a tin of mints and me the CD opener. Like an idiot, I don't read the warning ("Do not stick fingers in channel!") and poke at the red thing inside the CD opener. Well, the red thing concealed a really sharp razor, so I slashed my finger (on my left hand! That's a guitar fretting finger! GAAH!) wide open. Blood. Not too much, but enough to be annoying. Bad thing number three: (here come the mints) Dad convinces me to go to the first aid tent to get a bandaid. I followed my dad and stuck my finger in my mouth because of the bleeding and, uh, that's my instinctive reaction to hurting my finger. Well, stupid me forgets I'm eating a mint so now I've got searing horrible pain in my finger because my brand new wound is full of minty saliva.
I suppose the first good thing is that it's nice to be very childlike (I'm 20, mind you) and just mutely hold out my finger while my dad explains that I cut myself and need a bandaid to the Red Cross guy, who then cleans my cut, puts neosporin on it, and gently puts a bandaid on it. It feels very nice to be kind of pampered like that. A girl sitting in front of Mom and I had the bottom three inches of her hair dyed red, which is what I want to do to mine. And it looked really good. Also cool is that Dad got me a Fender catalog from a vendor, and I spotted Pete in the collage on the back, and, dork that I am, loudly say "It's PETE!" Even grander is that the same photo gets a full page inside the catalog and a 'Gone but not forgotten' page in the bass section has photos of John Entwistle and DeeDee Ramone. There's a Shag Art poster in there, too, to promote a custom Shag Art telecaster with a Tiki design. It's tr�s cool. I also got a catalog of just Fender Bass amplifiers and a Zildjin catalog, but that's to give to Martha, who wants to be a drummer. Oh, and somewhere there's a big VW logo sticker. My dad got a bumper sticker that says "Keep Portland Weird!" that he's very fond of.
The festival was good, as usual, and as usual I didn't much pay attention to the music. I was mostly there to be there, though I enjoyed Taj Mahal. We also stayed after the music ended to watch a special preview of that PBS miniseries. It was too loud and we left early because of it. They say the miniseries will include the Blues' influence on the '60s' British Invasion. I told my dad I was hoping to see some Pete Townshend action. Then I did a little wicka-wicka hand motion.
Oh yeah, I'm hip.
One of my horoscopes (because I'm on the edge, sometimes I read both Sagittarius AND Capricorn) said something about, uh, love life or something. I can't remember now. Whatever it was, I felt it was really accurate because, I dunno, maybe I'm feeling lonely or socially starved or something, but a bizarrely high proportion of guys I see in the street or whatever are inspiring "Hmm, he's cute" thoughts in me. Like every semi-punk and shaggy haired hipster is eliciting positive responses in me. Are my standards lowering or are staggering numbers of truly attractive guys crossing my path? Whatever it was, it was weird, and I wished Andrew had been easy to find at the Festival so I could have talked to him about it.
So. It's late, I'm home now, my ears hurt a little from all the noise and my finger still stings, but mostly, I'm good. It hasn't been too bad a day. The non-fest parts including playing Civilization 2 (which quit on me while I was playing a conquest of the Americas scenario I had downloaded, grr) and taking my novel out to the sunny back yard to start editing and hopefully develop a hint of a tan on my legs. While I am not an advocate of tanning beds or purposefully tanning at all, I figure it doesn't hurt to get a little sun so that I stop actually blending in with my white bedsheets. I'm THAT PALE.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
