The First Time

You just discovered music a few years ago and you’re trying to figure out your type before you make any regrettable decisions. Which band is special enough? Will it be memorable? I hope I don’t walk out with PBR on my brand new white Adidas. There is something pure about your first concert and the associated questions you ask yourself before making a decision.

The summer between 7th and 8th grade, I went with my best friend and her family to drop off her older sister off at art camp. Her older sister was super cool (spoiler alert: she now dates a bald politician). She had a purple room when I had to beg my parents for years to paint mine light yellow. She had magazines I had never heard of haphazardly tossed onto shelves that were not necessary straight or symmetrical. My room had American Girl books on a fancy wood shelf/desk combo that matched my sleigh bed and my nightstands. She drove a used car named Manuel because everything in it was manual. I would carefully plot what three songs I would listen to on my Zune during the morning carpool.

But above all, she played the cello. Twelve year-old me thought that was rad, college graduate me is decidedly less sure about that opinion. When your sibling isn’t necessarily the coolest, sometimes you gotta live vicariously through your best friend’s sibling.

On the ride there, my best friend and I were talking about how excited we were to see Weezer the following month and how cool and experienced we would sound when we got to high school. Concerts? Yeah, we got to them all the time. Maybe we would even be able to give advice about them.

We arrived at the camp and looked around in awe and jealousy. There was a family dinner after everyone settled in to thank the parents for their help and to serve as a goodbye. The dinner consisted mostly of the art campers trying their hardest  to avoid eating dinner with their families, like most solid goodbyes.

The evening culminated with a surprise concert of a mediocre four piece jazz band. I spent the whole time thinking, noooooooo — does this count? I never expected my first time to be at art camp. Is having Kool-Aid on my shoes somehow worse than cheap beer? Will I be rewarded for sitting through this with dessert?

I am still not sure if that first time counted, but at minimum it was memorable

Question One

I am going to try to answer these in several ways, but let’s start out straight up, like my eggs and not like the man with a knife tattoo asking for gas money in the Pavillions parking lot on several sequential days.  I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s probably no good and you make me uncomfy.

Paul writes:

When was all right in the world, and how can I get there? Winky face.

Paul, thanks for the lofty question.

All being right in the world is something to strive towards and never achieve. Like me getting an A in college calculus, but much more weighty. Sounds discouraging, but it helps drive innovation in both the social and technological senses.  We totally live in a world incompatible with the world in “Imagine” by John Lennon. I can bore you with the specifics on that, if prodded. It’s first semester curriculum at UC Berkeley — so is missing class because the bell tower is playing Beatles songs, man.

You can’t get there, but you can pilgrimage in the general direction.

:4

Hugs///

Ashley

The Rehearsal

A man’s journey down Santa Monica Blvd. ended with two hookers, an open window and a double dose of Christina Aguilera.

Los Angeles can be a dirty place, like the suspect’s theatre-top apartment and his wardrobe that serves as a vague homage to Dennis Rodman. This is where the rest of the story gets more or less likely – a series of active decisions gone puzzling. Gone awry. Gone baroque.

“The soundtrack was fucking weird,” said an improviser who was trying to rehearse next door to the not so tired trio. “I’ll never be able to listen to ‘Waterfalls” by TLC the same way again.”

The four song affair also involved Ms. Aguilera and Britney Spears — in song only.

Depressing Ad of the Day Goes To

Cancer swagger?

Does anyone else think that these ads are too depressing for their own good? Like, I would rather give money to a child having fun than be confronted with super depressing images all the time?

The balcony of my old apartment in Berkeley had a full-on view of a billboard with a cute bald girl on it and the words “Will Sammy beat Leukemia?” for almost an entire year. Definitely a great way to start and end your day. My friends and I would pretend that Sammy was a the star of the worst/most high stakes video game ever. In my head it was a crappy Gameboy Color game, but I guess we never actually hashed that part out. When they finally took the billboard down, we made crass jokes about how she is probably dead, because we are the worst people ever. To be fair, it was probably just a defense mechanism against actually dealing with childhood mortality all the time. Basically, my college friends were super cool and we had awesome hobbies, like hanging out in the lounge music section at Amoeba Records dressed like members of Joy Division and pretending to be part of a banjo-heavy goth lounge band called The Gothics. Full Disclosure: Most of my college friends were dudes, pretentious, loveable dudes   <3 <3 <3.