I went to the suburbs to watch a taping for a new show hosted by Matt Pinfield. I came home giddy and frozen from the event and immediately wrote my friend, Dax -- he's the only person I know who actually remembers Mr. Pinfield. Anyhow my laziness is superior to yours so I'm going to paste most of the email contents here:
OHMYGOD! The Pinfield? He the "Mighty?" He's a midget (I would've put it in all caps to emphasize this fact, but that would've been oxymoronic)! That was the highlight of my evening... it even outshone (is that a word?) sitting in the freezing cold studio for three hours and being breathed on by Mr. Death Breath (he who was CERTAIN that Ireland, the Republic -- the one above the "British" one (yeah, I know) -- is on the "British Pound"... and that Northern Ireland is on the "Irish" Euro... he who can't do math and claims to own his own "consulting" company where they speculate on the foreign exchange -- although he called it "buying money and selling money to make money.") and the painfully hip emo kids. One couple was so fucking cute I almost kidnapped them... but then I realized I'd have to buy a really big curio cabinet to display them in. Oh and they'd probably want food eventually, too. I left them where they were... looking SO emotional and blah-blahing on their matching iPhones (probably to each other). There was also a group of typical American blondes who were talking about all these movies they didn't understand, "oh yeah, like, you know, like, when they jump between one day and then it's like the next day? Like, what happened in between?" ARGH!
I also realized that the band I really wanted to check out wasn't very good -- they're so contrived (can I say that? It sounds so shitty and superior, but it's just true) and the band I didn't really care to stay and watch were really good. They're so good that even though they're a local band, I'm going to buy their albums tomorrow. I never buy music from local bands because it's usually crap.
OK. I was there by myself. There was one other guy by himself and I tried to talk to him. I really, really tried. I think he was pretty turned off when I told him to not see REM at Red Rocks this summer because they're well past their prime -- that he should've seen them when he was a sperm in his father's sack. He almost cried then because he's never been to a concert at Red Rocks; so I changed my tune and was like, "oh, well you should definitely go then." He walked away and never came back. It's for the best, really.
*I didn't make it to a record store to buy those albums today... maybe next week when it's more like Spring.
That's all really. So here are my words for the day: Sonic coffee is not very good.