On Friday The Donnas performed in shitty lighting in front of the requisite boys watching them with the respect they'd shine on The Ramones - with the bonus of being able to watch boobies bobble up and down. Singing Donna is now not the cutest Donna, drumming Donna is. And, quite frankly, I'm way too busy this lifetime to memorize their appropriate post-Donna initials. They're a good antidote to the surging corporate rock in the world. Now the phrase corporate rock is making me think of Kurt Cobain's RS cover t-shirt "Corporate rock still sucks."
On Saturday, mid-day in the sun in the middle of an exurb of the middling city, I was surrounded by lady bugs. Usually, in the city, in my garden, I see one and maybe it's one which has departed for the big azalea in the sky and its legs are dried up but its red is still shining on. These were hundreds of living, buzzing, flying lady bugs.
On Sunday an evening meeting in a faux jungle cave with a gathering of favorites. And then there was the faux boxing. Me in the ring with a faux opponent not in my weight class and not in my sexual or racial category. And I beat him down. And I was dripping with real sweat and triumphant and did a non-faux boxing move I've seen so many of my boxing brethren do: punched my faux gloves together as a symbol to the faux opponent to bring it faux on.