Wheres the rhyme and reason in a two-week narrative? What have I done and what do I have to say for it?
Start here: The Roots at the Fillmore once upon a time suggested to me that live hip-hop is always best with a live band. Recently, Atmosphere at Slims proved that theory. Fucking brilliant. And Slug was wearing a t-shirt that read Kill your television. Read comics. Might have been destroy television or something to that effect. I just know he was telling me to read comics. Done.
And then: Realization that I have come full-blog-circle. I was preparing to write The Giants are breaking my heart when a prickly sense of dj vu sent me scanning through old journal entries. I started being bbkaro a little over a year ago. One of the first things I wrote about was the Giants breaking my heart. One World Series. One fucking title. Is that too much to ask? When I was in Tahoe over spring break (nothing bruised or broken, not even my ego; my girlfriend is a brilliant goddam snowboarding instructor) I went to Harveys and placed my yearly five dollar bet on the Orange and Black to win it all. It hasnt happened yet, but if nothing else my collection of voided and pointless claim tickets will serve as a fitting testament to my blind devotion. Five to win fifteen. If they do win this year, Im buying all my SG buddies an Andes mint. Mmmmm
Finish with: todays fortune cookie message. Count each separate day as a separate life.
Handicapped people get the best fucking seats. Fucking cripples grrrr
Anybody got Weezer tickets they want to trade for Lennon the Musical?!?
(and I was kidding about the cripples thing dont yell at me Liger)
Start here: The Roots at the Fillmore once upon a time suggested to me that live hip-hop is always best with a live band. Recently, Atmosphere at Slims proved that theory. Fucking brilliant. And Slug was wearing a t-shirt that read Kill your television. Read comics. Might have been destroy television or something to that effect. I just know he was telling me to read comics. Done.
And then: Realization that I have come full-blog-circle. I was preparing to write The Giants are breaking my heart when a prickly sense of dj vu sent me scanning through old journal entries. I started being bbkaro a little over a year ago. One of the first things I wrote about was the Giants breaking my heart. One World Series. One fucking title. Is that too much to ask? When I was in Tahoe over spring break (nothing bruised or broken, not even my ego; my girlfriend is a brilliant goddam snowboarding instructor) I went to Harveys and placed my yearly five dollar bet on the Orange and Black to win it all. It hasnt happened yet, but if nothing else my collection of voided and pointless claim tickets will serve as a fitting testament to my blind devotion. Five to win fifteen. If they do win this year, Im buying all my SG buddies an Andes mint. Mmmmm
Finish with: todays fortune cookie message. Count each separate day as a separate life.
Handicapped people get the best fucking seats. Fucking cripples grrrr
Anybody got Weezer tickets they want to trade for Lennon the Musical?!?
(and I was kidding about the cripples thing dont yell at me Liger)
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
malloreigh:
You should comment on sets more often! As honoured as I am to have received your only set comment, the girls love getting comments. It makes our days. 
parisambrosia:
Whahhhhht secret show?! Holy Fuck....I just remembered I have to work all day sunday...fuck....and as a matter of fact I should be getting my ass ready right now to work. Ha! Ok really though....enough! Happy to hear you're alive and well...what else is new?