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Quite some years ago, I interviewed La Plebe for an alt-monthly in San Francisco called Mesh (which is unfortunately departed).
Months later, I the band played Chico, Calif., where I lived for seven years. I ended up at the show by accident. I think friends of mine who were in a metal band were playing the same mismatched bill. I remembered the name, though, and I convinced my friends to stay for La Plebe. It was well worth it. I talked to the band after the show, and they said they remembered my interview, which whether they were telling the truth or not, was really nice of them to say. The reaction to the band was good enough that they told me they’d love to come back to Chico again.
Years went by, and when I was on my last leg in California, La Plebe returned to play a pizza place that had been hosting punk and metal shows. The floor was covered in saw dust, and $5 would get you a ridiculously huge slice of pie, ear plugs and a Pabst. La Plebe killed it—so much so that I busted out my best approximation of skanking.
Afterward, the band ended up at my housemate’s apartment for the after party. They were really cool guys, and all of us drank on the porch till near-dawn.
The next day, I was sore from dancing and hungover, so I walked to my favorite taqueria for a life-saving breakfast burrito (egg and home-made chorizo). I was surprised to see the entire band there, already seated at a cluster of tables. They invited me over and we ate breakfast together. I asked them what they thought of the place, and they said it was good, down home Mexican cooking like their grandmothers used to make.
We ate, and they hopped back in their van. My hangover was a distant memory.
The Wasteland
This month, I’ve had visits from Californians and one Chicagoan; went to Baltimore for a comic book convention (slept on a recliner in Anapolis and was watched by a foursome of friendly cats); went back to Chico for a wedding (congrats John and Mandy); and pretended to be hip one night at CMJ (saw Clipse at the Spin Party at the Highline Ballroom, and they rocked). Last night at a Halloween party, I was co-winner of funniest costume (I was Bunsen Honeydew, my friend was Beaker). It was alarming how little I had to do to myself to look like Bunsen Honeydew.
Now, I have .60 cents in my checking account, a tad over $5 in my savings (at last check, I’m afraid to look again until Friday); four singles in my wallet and $17 in change in the bank on my dresser (emergency booze fund).
I can’t bring myself to do anything. Two nights ago, I passed out on the couch. When I woke up, my chest hurt so bad I couldn’t lift my arms without grimacing. I miust’ve pulled something in my sleep. That’s what I told myself when I dragged my ass up to bed in order to stave off fears that I was having a heart attack.
Until further notice, I will be playing Fallout 3, which is addictive, despite how awful I am at it. I’m playing it on easy and still can’t figure out how to roam through subway tunnels without getting mauled to death by dogs. The corridors are dark, and I get dizzy after 20 minutes, but right now, it’s theraputic to cap mutants in the noggin with an assault rifle.
momentarily:(via passthemike)
he probably is planning on traveling back in time to arm wrestle himself
Next week, I’m taking Continental flight 633, then 1714 to California. The numerology doesn’t match, but I’m hoping when I land, it’s “early 2010,” and I can start watching the final season of LOST.
Black Metal Barbecue III: Chico, Calif. Oct. 16.
Hell hath no fury like a bunch of metal heads eating grilled meat.
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Asskickers, “Home on the Range”
Because I’ve bought my ticket for California, and I’m looking forward to being in Chico in October.
American Artifact
Last week, I interviewed Merle Becker, director of the documentary film American Artifact, for Submerge Magazine in Sacramento. The film is a historical look at the rise of rock poster art in America. For the same story, I also interviewed Paul Imagine, a Sacramento-based rock poster artist and an all-around swell guy.
Merle was cool, too, and she posted a scan of the article on the documentary’s official Web site. Here are parts one and two. I really like the layout. American Artifact makes its Sacramento debut tonight at the Crest Theatre.
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the Imps, “Capsized”
There are times when I miss that silly little town in the valley.
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Rogue Wave - Eyes
I saw Rogue Wave play at a small record shop/venue (R.I.P. Fulcrum) in Chico, Calif. There were maybe 20 other people there, and I think everyone had a huge smile on their faces, which is a peculiar sight at an indie rock show. Live, they sounded a lot more like a rock band, at least on that occasion, and stands as a treasuered memory of my old homestead.
Months later, I interviewed Zack Rogue over breakfast in Emeryville, Calif., at Rudy’s Can’t Fail Cafe. The establishment is owned by Mike Dirnt, the bass player for Green Day. In the middle of our interview, Zach said, “Look! He’s here.” And sure enough, there was Dirnt, with a gorgeous female companion who might have been half his age. (via: myownmelt)
Gale Hart, Forced to Wear Make-up.
Interviewed Gale today for Submerge. I admire a woman who’s in her 50s and still skateboards. I mean, I hate skateboarding, but when I’m 50, I hope I can still walk. A part of the Animal Within exhibit, showing now at the Solomon Dubnick Gallery in Sacramento, Calif.
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