Last night's rock and roll sojourn involved the shooting of the pop rock mecca radio station's annual Christmass BASH (that is one word I would love to banish from this language. Hot tip: anything dubbed a BASH is anything but) - Kissmas Bash - at the local oversized gym.
Me and two boy colleagues marveled at the outie of one of the backup dancers for Nivea, an underdressed R&B starlet. This outie reached out two inches. Boy colleague Mark thought it was some sort of piercing to which boy colleague Harry and I shook our heads. I semi-shouted into Mark's ear thusly:
No that's not a piercing, that's something she should be suing somebody over.
Dig this: I nearly broke my own goddamn right leg yesterday scrambling for a new angle in our hopeless photo shooting position within the pit when my leg got tangled in the metal barricade and I went down, protecting camera but all twisted on the floor. And not one boy colleague noticed. It was quite a near-tragedy. Imagine telling people, I went down at Kissmas Bash, in the barricade, solo.
Nothing sexy like I was up on the pa at the Pigface gig when the surging crowd bumped into me and the pa and we tumbled to the floor. Actually that happened but did not result in a broken limb.
So then onwards to the annual John Lennon tribute night where there were Middling City musicians doing their best Johns. Didn't hear a single Imagine.
So then a femme from Righteous Babe Records tried to give away Ani's live video but no numbers were matching and so for RBR to save face, somehow I end up with the video... hip hip hoooooooray.