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.

Picked up the two dozen pink roses at the newspaper office. One had a card reading Please be my guest at the HSBC party at Albright-Knox Art Gallery Wednesday night. I shall be wearing a yellow tie.
The second note read Thanks for being you, hope to see you Wednesday, your new friend.
Well, tonight is Wednesday and this poor bastard in the yellow tie will be waiting forever as I won't be within miles of AKAG tonight.
Even if I didn't have a meeting at 4 and two advisiory council meetings for two different orgs at the same time following I still wouldn't be there...
especially after I deciphered who this person is.
And, guess who he is?
He is part of an old money Middling City clan who's a member of all the right clubs, oh, and went to all the right academies abroad, yet chooses to while away his life by owning a downtown shithole bar, bragging about his jazz knowledge/jukebox, spurting out sexist commentary and basically never leaving any customer unattended whilst sipping away on a bevvie.
I was briefly marooned as my pal sauntered off to the peehole when this astray heir leaned in close to ask So are you and this guy close, basically figuring out his chances with Yours Perfect Truly.
And now roses. Gave one dozen away to my mother and the other sits all lonely and pink in the corner of my kitchen and I'm thinking who would like quickly-aging roses today?
Onwards.
Last night nearly threw off an email from a sender I didn't recognize, from the UK no less.
Opened it and it's a Nirvana freak who's building a fansite and heard about my Kurt images and read an interview I did for an online music mag... which went bankrupt... Throttle Box.
Today I'm especially hating the Middling City, after listening to my local NPR station telling about yet more and more fiscal crises abrew, and reporting on a co. that has headquarters here and all the pathetic and gushing questions from the local reporter
So, do you have a hard time recruiting people to Buffalo? Do people like Buffalo when they're here...
the underlying self-hatred made me gag, it's contagious, that attitude. Next I'm noticing that people aren't as well-dressed as they could be, that some cars are too rusty, that monuments don't have that certain X-factor.
But at least we don't have the preponderance of Canadian lilt, after doing business on the phone with a Canadian woman yesterday I thought that forever every thought in my head would end up a few notes in a singsongy reach for the sunshine.
Hey, wait a minute, Canadians think their country is all that. (Oh, Georgiesan, forgive this sidebar rant from an obviously cranky American, who happens to be your pal)
Assignment: anyone residing in the Middling City today must use the Canadian lilt, upwards to the sunshine. And sun is out there, suss it out lock a rock star in need of a little fun.
Off to more.

Unhappy auto equation:
1 drunk drives 50mph into Yours Truly x silver 2002 Forester (totaled) on 4/21/02 + 1 insurance company of 15+ years = 1 golden 2002 Forester on 5/1/02 + rates raised 500% as of 12/16/02 due to "losses."
Fun with math.
*new factor*
+ 3 cheers to Lawyer Tom who just called me to say OK, I'll call Geico (chosen new company of bandits/insurance agents) and get your rates even lower... he completely rocks, I hope.

My Krist Novoselic story, from this past Saturday night.
His average white band, Eyes Adrift, played Mohawk Place and although it was crowded several people I knew were heading towards the bar, having heard enough of them.
I was standing to the side of the stage, next to Krist, trying to get a good angle of the three. Suddenly I was noting that the band was boring, that Krist (memories of when he was Chris float to mind, until the fateful SPIN assignment which had him heading to Bosnia, his heritage and a neato new first name) looked into eyes (adrift) about the room and that Curt from the Meat Puppets was barely functioning.
The x-Sublime drummer broke a drumstick and the beer tech (yes, I wrote beer tech) was trying to lift it up before Krist stepped on it. Unsuccessful. When he took a step forward I grabbed it.
I asked the beer tech, So you're the beer tech? And he said Among other things, not proud, not mad.
The set was nearly over and Krist bent down to ask me What was the name of the opening band? I said I don't know, I got here for you, I'll find out.
Asked a nearby boy and didn't trust his answer so I asked a girlie, who handed me The Hook Generation cd. I pointed to it and Krist took it and placed it on his set list. I sensed the girlie agitation so I told her that he had it. He thanked The Hook Generation, graciously, and went about his bass business when I noted the band had taken a more classic rock turn.
The girlie's cd was now on top of the giant amp next to Krist. They finished. He walked by me, took my hands in his and said Thanks and good night, eyes adriffffft into mine.
They skedaddled out the bar and then signed autographs for about half an hour before their bus roared away to some joint in Pennsyltucky.
The End.
I hear there is a gigantic bouquet for me at the newspaper office, two different people called to tell me so. I bet they're from Krist.
I'm kidding.
The flowers exist, but I don't think they're from the former Nirvana tall guy.
All rock stars should love me, but only because I make them look oso much more rocking than any other photog in the music documentation racket.
In my most Perfect, Humble Opinion.
Self-love love.