It's been hot here. Not to talk about the weather, but it's fucking hot with some absurd humidity in the ball-park of 83%. The wet and sultry atmosphere of the outside sticks and clings to limbs like living in a fishbowl full of summer jello syrup. I keep thinking I'll wake up and the soaked heat will be gone and I'll bound out of bed with that sensation of when you take off ankle weights and you think you'll leap to the ceiling with every step.

Anyway. . .

DEE
Originally uploaded by stupidtool.

I still can't even think to write about how great the David Eugene Edwards show was. The only thing that could have made it better was the rest of Sixteen Horsepower backing him up. Fuck! fuck . . .
There was a Ticket Master episode that accompanied this show. Fucking TM sold us tickets online and two weeks later hadn't been able to get them to us yet. So we call them and they tell us that we'll be on a call list at the door and not to worry about it. Needless to say, we get there and are not on the list, pay cash to get in and get a bunch of info from the guy at the door who is very cool. He gives us his name and number, with a promise of vouching for us, and a contact to talk to in order to get a charge back.
The first thirty minute long phone conversation revolved around them wanting me to do a bunch of stuff because they can't seem to perform their simple ass service of taking my money and doing something for it. Fax a ticket stub, of which we had none, 'cause we paid at the door. bullshit, bullshit. . . If it was my business, at this point I'd be struggling to make amends with the unsatisfied, jilted customer, but no, they're coping attitude like we're trying to steal from them. What assholes.
We eventually got the charge back, but it would be nice if these incompetent fucks could refrain from besmirching an other-wise holy event with their unprofessional antics.


Anyway. . .

This


And this


and even this


I used to think the rhythm was gonna get me,
-M