Geek Weekly #8

real fucking jerk, let me tell you. He was all into guns, I could tell. I have a brother-in-law, Wayne, who's into all that, and you can tell when a person's into that kind of thing. He'd talk about parts he'd ordered from magazines, and I was like, "Hmm, this guy's really into this shit. I own one .38, this guy's got a whole motherfuckin' arsenal." I didn't get to know him too well after that -- nobody could get along with him because nobody could tolerate him. Suddently out of nowhere the band broke up, then he killed all those people and we were all brought back together again just long enough for them to talk to us and interview us. They'd show up out of nowhere. It pissed my mom off -- she cussed at them and chased some of them off because they were tresspassing on private property. I'll tell you something about reporters -- they can be some of the most conniving people in the world. When they're asking you something they can be so sweet. Some of them area good at what they do and are straightforward and honest and some of them are cutthroat and conniving as shit, and I seemed to attract those. They'd make up their own shit as they went along. I heard all kinds of shit all over town, like I'd been to bed with him. I remember at the time I'd broken up with a guy named JD Harrison and he kept stalking me so I decided to play a trick on him. I had another reporter come up to me and I said, "You know, I know somebody that knows George Hennard realy well, if you know what I'm saying," and I gave them his name and address and they went over there thinking he was the ex gay-lover of Geoerge Hennard! I hope he ended up in the National Enquirer.

*Picture of what appears to be a black, lab type dog. Seems very sweet...

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pic: Susan checks out the ESPN SportsCentury exhibit in Grand Central Station, NYC

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Geek Weekly Leaves Home (so you don't have to.)

LaSuprema and I took a trip to Yankeeland last fall to study the architecture. They're got all kinds of weird stuff up in Manhattan and I swear that Jen knew them all. I couldn't walk half a block without her stopping to tell me about some building or another. Yep, sure did learn a lot about architecture. We saw some bands and shit because the college radio convention was going on at the same time. The first night we were in town, there was a fantastic bill with the Super Furry Animals and Those Bastard Souls at the Bowery Ballroom, a place that is one of the most aesthetically appealing venues I've ever been in. Except for when the toilets overflow and flood the bottom bar/lounge area. Which didn't happen on this night, thank goodness. The Souls were lovely as usual - of course, I am a sucker for Dave Shouse's songs, but everyone knows the real selling point of this band is the lovely violinist, Joan. The poise and grace of their songs was so perfectly suited to an elaborate wooded room, making for my absolute favorite show of theirs ever. (Which I would, however, still be tempted to trade for a Grifters show circa 1993.)

Anyways, that was nice and mellow. Then everyone's favorite Welsh band played, probably after some other stuff I've forgotten because I didn't watch it. The Super Furry Animals are hopefully headed for GW's sports section soon as they acquired their own football team back in their homeland, which just adds to their charm in so many ways, although I wonder if they interfere a lot with team operations. Musically they charmed me as well, having released one of the five or six records I actually listened to in the past year. I even enjoyed the extended techno-y outro to the show - for a few minutes it seemed like they were going to go from being a noisy, melodic rock band into ravers.

The rest of the night was even more enjoyable, for reasons too esoteric and subtle to bother you with. We couldn't believe our good fortune at having such a good time on our first night in town. And we shouldn't have, either, 'cause the next morning we woke up and Hurricane Floyd was a-pounding the East River dangerously close to our windows. Rudy G. was on television playing meteorologist - honestly, he is on television or radio

24-7 there. So we got to enjoy our apartment for most of the afternoon, but having made dinner plans with my date to the senior prom and his boyfriend, we had to go out in the evening. Dinner was great, but by the time we hit the Matt Shipp show we were drenching and wilted from the effort. Running into the incomparable Beverly Lynn bolstered my spirits, and Matt was, as usual (contrary to what Josh Ronsen may write), thrilling to hear. The rest of the night besides that half-hour blew, though. We spent two hours looking for canceled shows, parties, etc. and finally collapsed at home, saddened by the turn of events.

The next day, though, sunlight was streaming through our windows. We bounded down to St. Mark's place to buy some crap and people-watch. Jennifer ate so many pierogies that she slept for about five hours at the hotel while I was taken to Shea Stadium to see a Mets game. This was my second-favorite day of the trip as not only did I get to see a baseball game, afterwards was a show by one of my favorite guilty-pleasure bands at CBGB. There was a nasty long line, unfortunately, but a high school classmate of mine (hi, Brien!) was at the head of it and kicked me on in to ensure I'd lose no precious time standing around. Jen was still at home. Those pierogies, ya know. Saturday was every bit as lovely, a perfect day for - barbecue? What the fuck, we didn't go to New York to fucking eat barbecue, we went to New York to eat bagels and lox, pizza and hot dogs. It was the Bloodshot records deal, though, so I see their point. You can't have insurgent country without cooking meat outdoors, just like you can't have it without Jon Langford onstage every five minutes, god bless 'em. Unquestionably, GW's highlight of this afternoon was seeing Chip ("Wild Thing," "Angel of the Morning," Angelina Jolie's uncle) Taylor hop up on stage with the Waco Bros. That and the Blacks. We like the Blacks. Hell, we pretty much liked everything there, including the heretofore unknown pleasure of having a screwdriver with your hamburger.

We liked that afternoon so much that it was all we could do to stick our head in on former Austinite Jonathan Toubin, a man most sorely missed on the Austin scene, to see how he was faring with Grand Mal. And then I think we just ate and went to bed. Early flight the next day and all. The sad thing is, when I got back to Austin, I actually went out that Sunday to se the Kinks hoot night at the Hole in the Wall, and, for reasons too difficult to explain, was thrilled to be home.

Pic: Dave Shouse of Those Bastard Souls (and the Grifters)

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