Effluvia

Salon on McGregor.

Behold, the Kaycee Nicole Fiasco. The cynical, hateful, Bart Simpson-ish side of me says, "aha! The internet is full of suckers, begging to be fleeced! How do I get my cut of the take on this?"

So I'd like to go ahead and announce that Harold is dead. Infection of the pseudonym, very sad. I am Anatoli Beaverhausen, Harold's close personal friend and advisor. Harold's only wish was to be buried in a solid gold Cadillac. Please send money so we can give him the sendoff he deserves.

My favorite headline from the Times Picayune today: Terrytown mom convicted for using pepper spray on kids

"You kids better back the fuck up or I will mace the shit out of you!"

"I think you're bluffing, mom."

Speaking of Brian Molko, he made a friend in Seattle.

More near-kiddie porn from Salon.

Journal Roulette

The Diurnal Journal of Frater Ormus - If he had been born in the fifteenth century he wouldn't have to wax the van.

Siobhanorama!

Siobhan is busy rehearsing for her role as the lead in Mamma Mia! which opens on Broadway next year. She's only an understudy, but you never know when she could get the opportunity. Break a leg, kid!

The Old Guys
At The Gym
Ain't Cool Dep't.

Okay, old guys, here's the new rule: when you take off one pair of underwear, your first priority is getting the next pair on. If you're gonna sit around naked, do it at home. Not on my time.

Three Years Ago
Corn on the cob on wheels.

Two Years Ago
Ricky Martin: Gay?

One Year Ago
I am assaulted by spirits.

Last Thursday I watched Friends for the first time since early December. One question: who's Rachel been fuckin', anyway?

And now Thursday nights are just one more part of the vast summer TV wasteland. Very sad.

Last Friday night Sonya and I were invited to a pre-graduation party at Tulane by some a college student friends of ours. I came home from work and promptly went to sleep. Instead of going to a party with lots of college students and free booze we stayed home and watched Linda Blair talk about some family that stayed in a haunted mansion just outside of town. Also very sad. Us staying home, not the family in the haunted mansion. They made it out just fine.

But Saturday was full of activity! I got up early and went to run the Margaritaville 5K in the French Quarter.

The Hideout, a bar on Decatur just up from Margaritaville, never closes. Really. I walked up at seven-thirty and there was a rowdy crowd already inside drinking beer, listening to Iggy Pop and watching cartoons. This town. I tell you.

I did horrible in the run, by the way. I had some amazing shin splints the first mile, and I was walking, cramped and winded, by the end of the second mile. I don't know. I blame the shin splints on old shoes and my first time on concrete in a few weeks - I've mainly been on the treadmill at the gym. The cramps and the winded, though...well, I was obviously going faster than was good for me. Pacing, Harold. It's all about pacing.

So at the end of the race all the runners were funnelled into Margaritaville itself, which is basically a small warehouse that's been turned into a bar and restaurant. The restaurant is one big room. Several hundred people were packed in there. The majority had just run a quick three miles on a hot and humid morning.

The stink was enormous. I'm afraid the place will never smell good again.

Afterwards, all I wanted was a banana and some sports-type drink. Nothing doing. The sports drinks were not to be found, and I saw some chicky snag the last bunch of bananas as I walked in. But you know what they did have.

Krispy Kreme donuts! Boxes and boxes of them! Thousands of donuts!

I had two glazed and several cups of Sprite. They were the best donuts ever made. After that I got a beer and went home.

After a quick shower we were headed back to the Quarter, but not before the customary Saturday brunch at La Peniche. Then vegetable shopping in the French Market, and a few long, leisurely hours browsing at Rock and Roll Collectibles. Sonya got some new Duran twelve-inchers and squealed with delight like a little girl. Man, they had some cool stuff. The original Barbarella soundtrack, a promo copy of Big Star's first album, a Sex Pistols original Single, tons of Throbbing Gristle...very cool. May I recommend them to you? But wear shorts - the air conditioner doens't seem to work well.

Saturday night we met one of the people from my book-reading, alcohol-drinking group and her boyfriend. After a few drinks at the House of Blues - and hearing a story from the boyfriend about the strange preference for wacky Chinese martial arts movies amongst rap artists in New Orleans - we walked down to the Shim Sham Club for a night of glam rock. Velvet Underground, Van Halen, Sweet, T Rex, Blondie, The Ramones, Twisted Sister, The Cult...mixed liberally with some disco and lots and lots of $1.50 Caronas, and we had a pretty big time. A very late night.

The only thing noteworthy on Sunday was the Placebo show at the House of Blues, and I've already written about that. Allow me to quote from the review I wrote for one of the message boards Sonya frequents. If you're totally uninterested in Placebo, well, just skip over this next bit.

The Wife and I left the house at a touch before six. Our plan: go to the House of Blues, meet up with some of Sonya's internet people, have dinner and get in the "Dinner Line" (explained below) to expedite our entry into the venue. Go inside and rock and out.

Happily, things worked out just that way.

So we go in the House of Blues and Sonya tells the hostess we'd like to leave our name at the door so that our people can meet us. The hostess is all, "we don't usually seat incomplete parties" and "you can wait at the bar." Whatever. We go to the bar and get a drink. Almost immediately Molko comes in the door and speed-walks over to a table, darting his eyes around nervously in an "I'm-a-superstar-why-do-these-people-constantly-harrass-me" way. It didn't matter that almost no one even looked up, much less knew who he was. I considered telling him that no one in the place recognized him except me, Sonya and the table full of spooky kids behind us. I thought better of it. Two of the aforementioned spooky kids tried to go talk to Molko.

"Brutally rebuffed," Sonya said as they slunk back to their table.

We were joined by Paul and Scott, two young rock and roll fans who live across Lake Ponchartrain from New Orleans. They were good company - knowledgeable about rock and roll and good to stand around with. We had a fine dinner (burgers, chicken, shrimp) and then went outside to join the dinner line.

Let me explain. At the New Orleans House of Blues if you buy dinner before a show you're allowed to stand in the dinner line. The standees in the dinner line get to go in before all the people in the regular line. Fair? No. But I don't make the rules. By the time the doors opened at eight the regular line stretched down the alley to the street. Me and my people were inside before the regular line had even started to move. Sweet!

The first group of people inside got the "Placebo Black Market Music Sampler," which is basically the Special K UK single without the video. But hey - free CD. We admired our free swag as we leaned against the barrier, festival style, that stood in front of the stage. The Stand Room Only equivalent to front row. Better and Better.

We all know how risky opening bands can be. If they're good you're entertained and maybe learn about some new cool music; if they're bad it can be like having to go to church on Christmas morning before you get to open your presents.

We got lucky last night. Idlewild were committed to their music; jumping around and flinging sweat all over the stage. The lead singer would scream, stumble and throw his microphone stand around, and then between songs talk in a quiet Scottish accent, saying things like, "thank you very much" and "we've got an album out, if you care." They were a charming and polite young band.

In fact, I'll take this opportunity to say that the crowd was also charming and polite. They made a ton of noise at the end of every song, then they would immediately shut up and wait for the next tune. Kind of like a Tori Amos concert, actually, especially with the scattered shouts of "we love you, Brian!"

Anyway, Placebo went on stage about ten-thirty. Whoa. I first saw them in Chicago two years ago and my initial concern back then was that they would sound thin, the way trios are wont to do. When they hit the first note of Scared of Girls, though, those worries were gone. In front of Steph's amp last night as they tore into Haemoglobin I realized the band had actually improved.

Especially Stef. Have no doubt, Molko is the star of that particular show. But Stef's guitar work, be it on the bass or the six-string, is the musical heart of the band. Plus he's got a voice and the relentless rock star charisma that Brian turns on and off at will. Stef never turns it off.

I was very impressed with Stef last night.

Hardly a word was spoken until the encore. During the show Brian got into it with some guy in front of him, telling him that if he was so bored he should fucking leave. Mee-yow! Finally, he deigned to speak to the audience towards the end of the show.

High points - for me, anyway:

• Black Eyed - "Forever biting on your nuts...ouch!" said Brian. Great give and take between the three guys.
• 36 Degrees - Good to hear the old tune.
• Lenny/Little Mo - The crowd acted confused. Sonya sang every work. Little Mo rocks, by the way.
• Scared of Girls - A solid wall of sound. This should be coming out of the car stereo of every high school kid in the United States.
• I caught a drumstick at the end of the show. I've never caught a whole one before. It is a cherished piece of rock and roll memorobilia.

I realize I haven't included a set list; someone else will surely post that.

In conclusion: an excellent show. The band has done nothing but improve in the last two years. They may never catch in America, and that's a sad thing. My ears are still ringing.

So you knew the driver's side door handle on my car broke off, right? Well, the car is happily under warranty, so Monday morning I took it out to Harvey (way over on the Westbank) to get it fixed. I went over there instead of the Mitsubishi place in Metairie because I didn't want to have to deal with the hellish thoroughfare that is Veterans. I don't think the place on the Westbank was any closer, but it was far more pleasant to get to.

So I drop the car off, and the service manager asks me if anything else is wrong with the car. I tell her black goo has been dripping out of the doors since last summer. She says they'll fix that, too. I'm impressed. I walk off, looking for dinner and diversion in Harvey.

I ended up getting a burger at a place called L'il Boudreauxs. A very classy place. The cute-but-white-trashy waitress looked up as soon as I came in and batted her heavily lined eyes at me.

"Why, baby, you're just sweatin' up a storm! Come sit under this air vent!"

She was probably twenty, and called me baby. Cute. And she had a big celtic knotwork tattoo on the back of her neck, which I suppose complimented the big Kanji symbol on the back of the other waitresses' neck. The burger was good, though.

And after that, poking around in a pawn shop, I found a copy of the soundtrack for Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Priceless. The little Vietnamese-looking man with the Australian accent who ran the place approved of my selection.

"That's a good CD there, mate."

Then I wandered back to the car place, where I ended up sitting in their waiting room and playing Super Metroid on the iBook. I'm a wanderin' geek.

Tuesday was the latest Books/Drinks meeting, held at the home of a member who lives in Metairie. It was nice to go to the suburbs, for a change. She has a pool, too, so we sat around the pool and talked Bee Season. Everyone was pretty impressed with it, I think. And we drank, though I not so much since I drove Sonya's car to the meeting along with a few other members. The convertible is always popular.

Tuesday night when I came in at midnight Sonya was awake.

"You've gotta watch Buffy," she said, "that's all I'm sayin'."

So I did. Whoa.

And last night was more TV night. I felt I should watch the last episode of Star Trek: Voyager since I'd watched the first one back in '95. That Star Trek humor, it's not so funny, is it? And I still had to see the season finales of Angel and The Sopranos. Good stuff - I was entertained.

Damn, I got to start updating more frequently. These massive weekly recaps are hell to write. I don't remeber what I did last week!