leola76

BASTARDS

I'm not angry. That's what my new hot pink t-shirt says. Friday night completely rocked. I'm at an age now where I feel old and out of place at most punk shows, but I was too pumped to worry about being the token geezer among the bevy of 15 year-olds at Lars and the Bastards. Lars Fredriksen is the only punk rock vocalist who can bring me close to tears. The old heart strings were given a good yank during the closing set. As I listened to him croon to the reggae-style rhythms and watched the sea of mohawks and liberty spikes sprouting from the many young heads, memories of youth began to surface. Some of those days were boring and some of them were very sad. But for the most part, I really can't complain. When I left the Opera House that night, I was sedate with the mirthful feeling of knowing that life has been good to me, and I have so much to be thankful for.



And on a different note...



He brought over two bottles of wine last night, can you believe both of them remain sealed? This morning he walked away with one, but I got to keep the Calvet Reserve Bordeaux. I told him I wouldn't open it until our next engagement. Who here thinks I tell a lie, and who here thinks I have the power to resist the sleekly bottled tempation that is beckoning me from the kicthen?