24 hours later and I’m still grinding away at that assignment. There is so much left to be done.
So of course I’m ending my night sitting in the cold, past midnight, watching road videos.
Does anyone do good road videos anymore? I mean like the sweaty, jaded, busted-ass music videos that so many 80s bands put out? Your Mama Don’t Dance, the clip I shared the other day, was just one of so many classics. It seemed like all hard rock bands put out one or two… before the 90s came along and people like Trent Reznor made music videos all about artistically rotting pig heads.
I think the old road videos were largely assembled as great big MTV ads for whatever tour the band happened to be staging at that moment. There were some, like Pour Some Sugar on Me and the aforementioned, which were bouncy and upbeat. However what I find notable is how many seem much less ad-like, and have that true touring air of resilience mixed with melancholy.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that they could also showcase groups of fit young men, working hard and being lonely. It made all the girls like me want to scoop them up and take them somewhere warm.
To the game you stay a slave…
“12 Women Share The Most Ridiculous Thing They’ve Done To Get A Guy To Leave Them Alone“
I’ve written before about the power dynamic between men and women when it comes to dating. It’s not exactly what people tend to think it is. Either way.
As more than a few people have pointed out today, the actions of the women in this story are in fact far from ridiculous and completely reasonable when faced with dangerous psychopaths. But, you know, no one would click on the article if it was titled “12 psycho men and the women who struggled to get away”. As a subject, “Crazy Women” probably draws a wider range of traffic than “Evil Men”. But in this case, the term “Ridiculous” doesn’t really imply humourousness, but rather the insane lengths that are required to ward off people who won’t take no for an answer. Trigger. Trigger Trigger.
Continue reading The Power Illusion – A Reprise
Joe Perry collapsed on stage today. This is much more important than landscaping or other such banalities of life. He apparently suffered a cardiac arrest. He is stable but in a serious condition.
2016 has already taken far too many of the performers I love and respect. So to add Joe to that list would be way way way uncool.
Here’s hoping for a full and speedy recovery.
As I was browsing the merino and possum blend socks, I could hear someone wolf whistling.
Meh. Not for me. There was quite a crowd.
But the whistler was persistent. He repeated his call several times before giving up.
“Nope. She’s not going to look up.” That was a familiar voice.
“Oh, hey Baz!” I smiled. He grinned back. He was suddenly coy and with all that entailed. “I’m not a dog, you know. I don’t respond to a whistle.”
It was always going to be a danger of going to Fieldays. Really big show. Lots of event staff and contractors. Most event companies in the upper North Island have an involvement. I was always bound to see people I know from my past lives. There are many I’d have been less pleased to see than Baz.
Continue reading I mentioned that there would be traffic and fog, right?
I regretted agreeing to let Rob drive my car. But I had a migraine.
He has been driving for only a few years now – having learned while in his 30s. And he tends to drive shorter distances than I do. The car seats make his back ache. After 20-odd years, I am confident on the road and quite enjoy driving. But I still make mistakes. Everyone does.
This wasn’t actually a mistake. There were two motorcyclists weaving through the heavy, holiday traffic as we approached Manukau. They were shuttling down the white lines and passing between cars, despite the fact that everyone was moving at full speed. They were clearly trying to get one up on each other. Also enjoying the drive.
Rob needed to merge left as we approached the offramp. He accelerated a little to ensure he was ahead of the motorcyclist on that side. He put on his indicator for several seconds. And then he merged.
Continue reading Fear
Those who know me and my husband well will know that there’s only one band which will make us both run around he neighbourhood giggling like idiots. That band is Lamb of God.
We learned today that Lamb of God is making its way back to these windy shores. They’re opening for Slipknot at Vector Arena in October. Personally I think that bill is the wrong way around, but Lamb of God seem to trundle around the world as a fairly low-ego band so I suspect they’re generally less concerned about top billing and more concerned about mortgages and food and shoes for the kids.
In any case, the news has brought back a flood of memories of the last time we saw Lamb of God at Vector Arena, when they opened for Metallica (also during October). Those were the concerts that introduced me to one of my very good show friends. Coincidentally, Rob and I scheduled our wedding almost 5 years to the day from those concerts, and so this coming concert will fall just after our 1-year anniversary. Rob has already decided that the Paper Wedding Anniversary should come in the form of tickets.
The news has also made me dig out an old entry in which I told the story of those original shows – how we had tickets for one show, but saw both, and didn’t end up using our tickets at all. How I learned all about Metallica’s load-in schedule. How we smoked weed with the crew guys but then Rob had a bit of a moment and needed to go home…
So here’s that (long) story, from back in 2010:
Continue reading The Not-A-Groupie Story
As with yesterday, not every day is interesting or exciting enough to easily bless me with blog ideas. Realistically, I’m writing every day just to force myself into the habit – it’s an act of fortitude, not grand inspiration. And tonight, while the rain is battering the house with Biblical anger, I’m wondering how I got into this recent pattern of sleeping 8pm-2am, waking up to write, and then falling asleep again from around 6am. Every night. It’s a lonely, depressive routine that’s cutting me off from my husband and preventing me from getting much done outside of work.
When I’m searching for ideas, I tend to trawl news sites for anything that sparks the ranty monster in my brain. Failing that, I flounder around on Facebook or even YouTube. YouTube is getting to know me well enough now – it offers me Mean Tweets and slam poetry and old Skid Row videos. And then this one came up…
Oh yeah. It’s 3:30am, I’m on the couch all by myself, and Jani Lane is still dead. Thanks YouTube.
Continue reading On The Lonely Death of Jani Lane – A Reprise
I was only kidding last night. Maiden were good – really good.
They bounced around like men half their age (singer, Bruce Dickinson, is the youngest band-member at 57 and still amazingly capable in the vocal department). Guitarist, Janick Gers, treated the audience to a classic array of hamstring stretches, facial expressions, Stratocaster flings, and playing-guitar-with-his-feet. It was like hitting rewind to the 80s, only there were a few more wrinkles. There were multiple times when I found myself worrying about their knees.
Continue reading The Maiden Review
So tomorrow is going to be one of those tough days – possibly the toughest I’ve had this year. I’m working till the close of one event, then have to strip it out for a quick turnover to the next event, then have to come in the next morning for the start of the next event. Expected shift tomorrow: 15 hours. Expected shift on Sunday: 10 hours. Expected break between the two: 6 hours.
That’s 6 hours in which to come home, shower, sleep, eat, get dressed, put my face back on, and travel back to work. If I cram a blog in there too, it won’t be much.
So tonight might be a case of “sleep while you can”. I’ve finished a bottle of cider. I might live life on the edge and finish another, so hopefully my brain embraces sleep rather than fights it… after putting the laundry on, of course.
A few days ago I saw a tech friend put up this simple post on Facebook (at 1:15am):
“Laid on the couch waiting for the whiskey and Voltaren to kick in so I can make it to the bed to give my wife a cuddle”
And that’s Show Life. So fucking glamorous.
Why would anyone do this for a living?
It’s Bret Michaels’ birthday today. He’s 53.
I’ve riffed a little on this before, but one day I’ll sit down here and explain the vast and complex relationship I’ve had with Bret Michaels over the past 27 years (well, at least with a picture of Bret Michaels). It will sound insane, but it’s a fundamental part of what makes me me. Through him, I’ve learned about grace under pressure, persevering in spite of critics, and the benefits of laughing at myself. I wish I had his charm. And the greatest part is that he didn’t actually have to participate in our relationship in order for me to learn those things.
Tragically unhip. Sex obsessed and badly dressed. That is, and always has been, Poison. That is us.
Continue reading Bret, you’ve got it going on