By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
The guitar player (name withheld) ended up going home with an extremely horny pregnant girl who was just in the bar looking for some action. He got to the clothes-on-the-floor stage but was foiled when the girl had an attack of morning sickness and threw up during the oral part.
The bass player, Dave, was invited to go to a South American girl's house and assist with her Brazilian waxing as she needed it for her bikini shoot the next day. Attempts to contact him over the next two days were fruitless.
Friday night we watched a remake of Black Orpheus, set in the slums of present-day Rio. Hitting two swapmeets on Saturday, we scored four new superhero costumes for the next Science Holiday Mystery Pageant. That evening we motored up to Hollywood for a theme party based on Fellini's La Dolce Vita. Sunday was mostly dedicated to reading (The New York Times and the new Highsmith biography), though we did leave the house briefly to nab a half flat of strawberries. The very last of the season.—Science Holiday Museum of Fun
My five-year-old, with his summer-time five-inch Mohawk appropriately fire engine red, and his eight-year-old brother sporting a similar coif complete with orange tips, proceeded to rape and pillage throughout the Orange County FairFriday. Luckily for me, they took no prisoners. The Orange County music scene exhibit was the absolute highlight. The guys were enamored with the extensive collection of items from Social Distortion together with a number of their guitars. Toward the end of the exhibit, bass and electric guitars are set up for the public to belt out their best. A sweet 80-year-old man asked if he could snap the five-year-old pounding on a bass as tall as he was, and Quinn quickly gave his best Sid Vicious face. We fought back girls shouting, "We love your hair!" or "You guys are so cute!" all day. The best was the mad-dogging 12-year-old with his mere three-inch hawk. Sucker.
Sat., 7:59 a.m.: Wake up. Pee. Fool around with girlfriend. Head to studio and spend day waxing truck, massaging brain and work on paintings delusionally thinking that anyone gives a damn. 7:48 p.m.: Eat dinner, contemplate getting drunk. Get drunk. Pass out. Sun., 7:23 a.m.: Repeat above and ponder the meaning of life.
AUSTIN, TX—Friday night around 7:30, I got a call from my friend Mel. She said that her friend Kiki was running a free Shiner Bockpromotion at Club 710 on Red River. Would I like to come? Everyone would be there. Sure, I said. So I picked her up a couple hours later, we went downtown, and we parked in the secure police parking lot, because she is a forensic scientist and has parking privileges. We went to 710, but she didn't want to pay the cover. A quick call to Kiki, and we found out that he was having hamburgers at Casino El Caminowith his friend Drunk Mike. We met them there, and had a drink while they ate their burgers and watched some British art-porn movie on the balcony TV. Then we went to 710. The bands were all pretty bad unmelodic guitar-based Southern rock. Headlining was Dixie Witch, if that gives you any idea. Kiki hit on a woman with many piercings. Drunk Mike said that sometimes Kiki gets mad and hits things. We talked about bars we'd gotten thrown out of in the past. Around 1:30, we went home.—Neal Pollack Mmm, putrescent three-day flu sweat! CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.