2004-08-04 - 9:02 p.m.
Tonight was open mic at the Coffee Shop underneath my loft. I didn't feel alternative enough for the crowd despite my cloths being custom t-shirt from Upper Playground and my Vans. My Timbuk2 bag gave me cred though. And perhaps an edge. Not that the people where bad. It was a mixed crowd, and there should be a story here. I can't seem to find, or even fabricate one. There was a mother and son with a wheezing boston terrier, the mother had a walking cast and wrote a check for $2.95. The Barrista was multi ethnic with an eyebrow ring and a penchant for Weezer tunes. She cheered whenever one was played. The gay boi with his bored female best friend, she was along because she has this or bad television to keep her distracted from her empty life, he wanting to flaunt his sexuality in a safe place. They paid with cash taken from his wallet, with the chain. And then the grungy alternative fellow with his unkempt hair, dirty dickie work shorts held up at his thighs by the studded belt and the self aware t-shirt from Target. We all see dead people. That joke isn't funny anymore. He paid with a few grungy dollars thrown on the counter, loosing nickels and other small change for a dash to the door, and into the pockets of the bums to be turned into bottles of Thunderbird, or Old Milwaukee. Perhaps he was going for irony. Where was the common thread that turns us from strangers listening to self important acoustic rock played by small fish in a smaller pond into characters from a Steven King novel, where we will be whittled down one by one by some supernatural event until only 20% of us survive? Or maybe we are all just broad charactertures in a lifetime teleplay waiting for our heroine to come bursting in needing help getting her daughter back. And as the covers change from Sublime (Santaria of course) to whoever sang Space Cowboy (Wah, wah) and the people cycled from table to outside patio in order to smoke, I gave up trying to connect us. Instead I just made each of us a rock, an island, and waited for Jenny's phone number.
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Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18Guestbook Notes