thebeliever

So I went to see Jello Biafra last night, and in true punk rock fashion, he was super late, so I ended up going down the street to a pub, fiddling with my Blackberry and watching the Giants lose. (Positive note: I actually posted on Twitter, which I rarely do, unless I'm bored gormless.)

I went back to the show, still no Jello; but there is a 3-piece gloom rock band making as much noise as they possibly can (think of Sunn (((O, with a girl on keyboards). Not bad. Then I think, "Fuck this, I ain't waiting for Jello" and yes, my inner voice is apparently 15. So I went home and watched "Zoo", a documentary about bestiality. Livin la vida loca.

Whenever I go to lil' concerts like this, I often think, "I must be the oldest, oddest person here"; and then someone always proves me wrong. This time, I was bobbing my head to the gloomy riffs along with all the teens and twenty-somethings; I looked up, and what appeared to be a white-haired hippy was pearing down from an alcove I'd never seen in this club before, with a full-on white beard, thick dark glasses, and an intent expression on his face. In retrospect, he may have been a ghost, or some kind of god.

Never saw Jello, don't even know if he showed up. But his t-shirt stand did. So there you go, kids.