Prometheus von Cornsilk (kingnixon) wrote,
Prometheus von Cornsilk

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yesterday at work, i won a pair of tickets to the show at chantillys - crowne vic, gargantua soul, must, angry hill [1] - which i'd been planning to go to anyway, so free is good. i spent the rest of my shift calling everyone i could think of/knew their number/could find them in the phonebook, but everyone was either not home or busy. so i gave my extra ticket to the guy standing behind me in line.
the show was really excellent, all the bands impressed me. especially must, who were unbelievable, really amazing. most of their songs don't sound anything like freechild, or like each other for that matter. a variable sound. also, they all looked crazy. the guitarist was dressed in this buddhist monk kinda outfit, and the singer looked like the guy from clockwork orange, but older and grosser. he was wearing a long black skirt, a cumberbund with suspenders, a wifebeater, a sports coat, and a dirby. oh yeah, and a really fat tie with money drawn on it.
i went up to him after to have him sign my cd and say they ruled. angry hill was playing at this time so i guess he couldn't hear me so well. i ask him to sign it, he looks confused, i make signing motions, his face lights up and he takes the cd and asks my name. "dan" "ben?" "no, dan! d, a, n" "ohh" and he proceeds to write
Hey Ian,
Be well,
so now it looks like i stole someone's cd :)

[1] the show was supposed to end with 3rd strike, but their singer got laringytis so crowne vic got called in last minute

my mom just came in to bring me some laundry. while she was here, she mentioned that
mom: i bought these two things, one's in my room, one's in that room there [gestures] on the desk. they're pepper spray, so if you're wondering what they are, don't spray them in your face.

me: why would i do that?

mom: well if you didn't know what they are..

me: i don't normally spray things in my face to identify them.

mom: okay. also, i've got one in my pocketbook, but it looks like a pen. so if you're ever looking for a pen in my pocketbook--

me: to stab myself in the face with?

mom: --be careful.
she doesn't think much of my common sense, does she.

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