CELLPHONE RAPS BEATS BOREDOME

 

Sitting at the Schlafly Tap Room on a Thursday night, thinking about being elsewhere and glad I was somewhere, waiting for The Conformists to show up with the Italian band KASH (keep wanting to spell it KA$H), I hid in the Eliot Room, away from the shiny, weird people and started typing into my shitty, little Sprint phone instead of bussing more tables.  Clearing more glasses.  Drinking more iced tea.

They got it.

Jason Hutto: "Ha!  Let's get you a producer."

and

Prinsess Tarta: "It's like you're a taller and more charming Eminem."

Various responses from others who probably saw through my musings to know I was reminding them of the show that was about to explode (I hoped.).

It all started like this:

"My phone writes bad raps.

Down down no way

I bet you got a new way?

Stuck in a bucket like a mop

with no name.

It’s 108 and I forgot to buy soap.

You can lead a whore to culture

if you can’t stand the Pope.

(Killing time waiting for bands to show up.)"

Andee Champion came back with:

Smoke pulled the pork.

Hawaii shaved the ice.

Voodoo did the donuts.

And we all stayed weird.

(I’m in Portland, Aregon.)

Andy Cohen wrote:

Limes, lemons, oranges never

foraged in a forest, pick them off

stickly arms of crackly, bony

porous/trees, we form and leave,

fuck formal authorities

we aim to sorta please these

crowds of forlorn feral forces..

(110 in Tucson, playing an anarchist Circus in Phoenix on Saturday, thenon to the post-coast)

The bands showed up.  The fans showed up.  The beer and the foam poured freely...and we rocked )))))))))))