Permanent Lipstick
Personalized voicemail messages can tell you a lot about a person. Some say they are sorry they can't make it to the phone (simpering). Others are busy (self-important). Some subject friends and family to favorite songs of the minute, usually at a volume way above what's necessary slamming into your eardrum (misguided). Who is that song's victim? You never call your own phone and wait till the voicemail picks up so you can listen to that sucky song, so why force it on others. It's a form of passive-aggressive torture. And still others just come right out and bluntly say they are NOT answering the phone (can't be bothered). It's a choice to NOT take your call. The person with that message looks at their phone, sees incoming caller and hits the ignore button. You know where you, the caller, ends up? Voicemail, baby, voicemail.
Wednesday April 5
Stopped in Jazzbones to checkout Randy Oxford's Blues Theatre. Oxford is such a class "A" musician; it's hard not to love him even if you aren't super sweet on the blues. Pied Piper Teddy Haggerty directed the art slam. Got to hang for a brief minute with the Big Man, who's working on his second degree. Brains and good looks, my my. Sultry Adrianne came in and liven it up with some of her friends. Man, that girl can hoot and holler. Damn!
Thursday, April 6
Returning to the scene of the crime, it's off to the Boneyard again to catch The Downtown Apostles. The vibrating thump, thump of James Whiton's stand-up bass is just irresistible. The Italian and I came back in from smoking our winterfresh warmongers and lo-and-behold; the boys on stage were grinding it out metal style. Awesome. The Rampart Gallery group came by after their meeting. Look for cool changes down on Antique Row. Painter Jeff Olson and James Hume were totally into the music.
Saturday, April 8
Travel plans to Moses Lake were put on hold at the last minute, so The Italian and I opened our wallets and flung the contents at Seattle in the form of tickets to the last burlesque show of Moisture Festival for this year in Fremont, a room at the Travel Lodge across from U-Village, (what? Everything else was booked, for real.), a liquor store run before hitting the road (Oh my gawd! Don't tell me you forgot the funnel for the flask?) and then an absolutely mandatory stop at the conveyor belt sushi joint. Smooth and his lady came up from Portland and were hanging Sea-Town as well. Alas, our paths did not cross. Apparently an all-day party bus to the Tulip Festival (!?) was too much for the Smooths to handle.
Staggering, I mean walking, down the street in Fremont, we happened in at the High Dive and caught the last four songs of The Ruby Doe for free. The hype is true and The Italian was right again. Those guys are freaking amazing. So much force and energy coming from a three-piece rock band made me giddy. A 2 a.m. jaunt into a grocery store for pate, grapes and soft cheeses was almost the scene of my ultimate demise. Newly washed store floors and spike heels ala whiskey do not mesh well. Right.
Give me a wink and a kiss at Permanent Lipstick. Knoxx knows.