She Hangs Brightly

Mazzy Star. Yes, yes! If only I were born twenty years earlier in Southern California, I would of wooed Hope Sandoval and we'd been introspective together; if only this were so. Furthermore I'd be confreres with My Bloody Valentine and The Jesus and Mary Chain and we'd shoot the warm, sultry Californian breeze. Per contra this pleasant fiction, I suffer through sub-par indie pictures like Down in the Valley just to hear Hope's mellifluous tones. Mazzy Star, like Radiohead, is allegedly bleeding a new record but they're recording with a dull knife. But unlike Radiohead, MS (the affectionate acronym) play gigs at very humble concert halls with inky lighting and self-conscious bashfulness; they will neglect the audience and play only a short while and only encore if the audience has behaved -- been respectfully quiet and not photographed -- and of course all this business occurs after a few hours of waiting. The consequences of such a performance may lose them a fan but this fan is a daff for he not know how privileged he is to hear euphonious chords from the ethereal persona that is Hope Sandoval.

On a non-Mazzy note, I viewed some X-Games -- BMX Park -- and By Jove! have none of those athletes viewed the Lords of Dogtown picture. I mean, Dave Mirra, is a corporate whore. How does he garner any respect? But then I saw other athletes and they were all corporate whores. Skip would not be impressed; Skip would not call any of these sordid punks "bro".

This is my final weekend with Shell. A shame. I was becoming accustomed to my duties and becoming adroit and handy. A shame. I was functional and borderline competent and they will sorely desire my abilities while I am off becoming learned. A shame.