I really need to start writing a script for these vlogs so I will have something to actually talk about.
He gets some awesome lift there at the last second but unfortunately it’s on the wrong end.
Psych! I totally didn’t.
True, Memphis is notorious for bad/oblivious drivers. But there is nothing quite as sublime some days as a drive around the city on a warm Sunday afternoon beneath a wide blue sky. So I made a little love note.
And yes I stayed between the lines.
Crossposted at my work blog.
The Girl Talk show was amazing. It completely made up for 2009’s Chicago Evening of Drunken Tears and Loneliness to a Backdrop of Dance Mashups, which was an amazing show that I just could not get my head into for various reasons. The Minglewood show was even sweeter because of the size of the venue; it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as the Congress Theater. I danced and danced and danced and, aside from one dude who cut in line at the bar and nearly got his ass stomped when he sassed my Jersey-bred, ready-to-fight boyfriend, everyone was so cool and happy and nice and into it. It’s not often that I can go to a show in this town and dance like a fool without being self-conscious. So I relish the chance.
Now here’s some video. Spoiler alert! It includes NSFW language regarding the lack of giving a fuck.
I don’t remember how I heard about them but I was in high school, trying to scavenge for what bits of cool I could (I wore Walmart knockoffs of Airwalks until I could weasel my way into a real pair) when I heard about the Toadies. One day I found myself with my grandmother at the Old Hickory Mall in Jackson, in Camelot Music (which is now FYE, I think), with Rubberneck in hand, heading for the checkout counter. My grandmother looked at the album and the song names and asked me what kind of music that was.
I came from a household where Hells Bells was required viewing and Depeche Mode’s Violator had been summarily removed from my sister’s tape deck and destroyed because it contained a song called “Personal Jesus.” And Aerosmith, despite my dad having loooved that band as a teenager/young adult, was frowned upon in all its iterations.
So I told Grandmaw, while skimming the band thank-yous in the liner notes and pointing out that they had given thanks to a pastor, “They’re some kind of Christian band, see?”
Here it is, more than 12 years later, and I still love this album like the first day I heard it. I find it impossible to listen to Rubberneck‘s songs without thrashing about a bit. Visual aid: