Friday, February 28, 2003

Being my lovable, rebellious self I had to smoke, en route to shooting the Wellness Extravaganza at Middling City University, a big delicious American Spirit cigarette, a light.
And then I shot people getting fat content tested, bombarded with information on soy, bone densitometerized and the like.
The angry midget brat Avril Lavigne comes to the Middling City in a few months and when I shot her a few months back I was overcome with a gigantic sense of totally not digging her, her hair-in-face stance, her faux petite Canadian bad-ass ways. And lame lyrics. And pussy-whipt backband boys.
Last night ended at the joint named for the nihilist, Nietzsche's, with buddy boy Doug singing Tax Man with the band in attendance doing their best work on the oeuvre of George Harrison. They were done. The crowd clamored for Tax Man. The band didn't know it so Doug, ever helpful, hit the stage. Usually a bass player who harmonizes as second fiddle voice, he was obviously relishing his impromptu front man gig.
Hailed the Tequila Maiden and said Would you run and fetch us some of that golden goodness? Have a tab in that nihilistic joint but handed her a tip with instructions to Stuff it into your g-string.
As I was watching Doug/Tax Man I noted, as I went onto the pa riser for a better shooting angle, that the floor near stage right is very very spongey. One day Nietzsche's may be in the red hot spotlight of club disasters. And you flagrant epinw followers will say I knew all about that spongey saggy floor.
Architectural love.

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