August 03, 2005


I still get scurred. Even though I am near 29, and I have been into the zone maybe 32 times since age 14, into the rack-hardware and stringed-virtuosity empire. As soon as I enter I feel like I am already faltering because I am so un-Yngwie and only in my wettest of dreams Bonham-ing . I am glaring, I am girl, I am 2-note solos and feed back arcs.

I fucking hate the music store, and I have have beef with anyone else in the store (a psychic EAT SHIT to anyone soloing on an opalescent purple BC Rich) and the same for the people behind the counter looking so startled, asking if I am buying these picks for myself or my boyfriend. Eatshitthousand, dudes. I know that on the outside, I look like I am playing tambo in Microphones , but for all you know, I am channelling Alan White in my sleep . So, put that in yr e-bow and smoke it.

My mom says asks me why I am so macho sometimes, and I do not know what she is talking about until I go to Guitarland or such, and then I am cowboying around, wanting to buy THE BIGGEST MOST GIANT DRUMSTICKS AVAILABLE, as if this will testify to my uber-bruiserness, as if this will make them think perhaps I am playing the gong on the Sick of It All reunion tour, or possibly doing dry wall demolitions with these Vic Firths I am purchasing. To wit, my evening: I have never bought brushes (I am a punk pounder, available only in an unflashy 4/4 and charmless 3/4 - timed models), and I am fronting like I know what to look for in a metal brush for drumming , you, like I sleep with a brush under my pillow, buy fresh ones every day, taking it out of the case and bouncing it (it's not fruit, it's a fucking stick, right?!), "testing" it on a nearby snare " Yeah.... this'll do..." I say. I refuse a bag for my new mallets, maracas and brushes, all "bags are for pussies" style.
I am so embarrassed for my wildly over compensating amateur self.

PS and By the way, if you live in Chicago, I think on Satruday, after nightfall, we (me and Britt Barton Lindsay) are going to be having people over into my yard. Yard party. Email for details.

Posted by Jessica at August 3, 2005 06:51 PM | TrackBack