Monday, March 15, 2004

Isn't it funny how you sometimes wonder what you're going to blog about next, but when you're finally sitting at your computer you can't remember a thing? And then when you're done with the computer, maybe outside the house already, things suddenly come back to you. There should be a word for that. Something like the French expression "l'esprit d'escalier," the "wit of the staircase," where you think of a witty retort a few seconds too late, as you're already on the way out of the room.

Anyway, the Incubus concert sucked. The sound was terrible, and the band-- they don't really move, you know? Brandon stays in one area (the center, the part with a spotlight), the Tom Morello-looking bassist stays slightly to the left, the drummer's at extreme left, and Kyle Baker-looking DJ is at the extreme right, and Zack De La Rocha-looking guitarist is between Brandon and DJ. Granted, I went not as a fan. But as I said, I don't have an active dislike of them. And to be honest, and objective, it was an opportunity for the band to turn me into a fan, so to speak. Maybe they have some kickass songs that don't get released on radio. But no. Halfway through the concert we were discussing where to eat next, and we didn't even need to raise our voices. Also, the band was so far away (and we were in the P950 section; I shudder to think what the farther section saw [or rather, didn't see]), we couldn't even see their faces clearly or their fingers playing their instruments. That might've played a part in my not really enjoying the gig; people I've spoken to who were much, much closer said they loved it, and the sound was good where they were (see Mich's post). But they're fans of the band's music. And the band's singer's chest.

Disappointingly, there was no riot. They had the foresight to have not just barriers between sections, but entire LANES where marshals and bouncers could walk. So double fencing. And security guards were walking among the crowd. One guy trying to incite people to rush the fence was pulled out of the crowd and savagely beaten by 3 bouncers. I didn't see this, though. Shucks.

It would've been dreadful if I weren't with friends. We pretty much entertained each other.


I developed my first roll using my Ultimate Quad Cam and the pics're lovely. The usual failed experiments abound, but I love those, too. Neva will scan some of them and I'll put 'em up when I've found a photo host I like.


Apparently the project with the life-saving beverage might still be on. Though we still have no clue what to do. I hope it pushes through, though. I could use the money. Some of the rejected plots from the first pitch I'm still happy enough with to use them in other ventures, non-advertising-wise.


And here: read Susannah Breslin's My American, My Bukkake Too. I like it, though it's not perfect. If you see me in person, there are a few other things I know of worse than Bukkake. Ask me. There are a couple other interesting webcomics up on Artbomb, too. Like Lauren McCubbin's Harvest Gypsy, and Andi Watson's Sunblock, and D'Israeli's Biting The Hand That Fed Me. All short, and good, and displaying a nice range of stories.

No comments: