October 02, 2007
THATS WHAT FRIENDS DO... NAILS.
No Age, drum gaga, here, last week. Not sure the kids got it, but they were out. Displaced LA-born frosh and sophs now here fist pumped. Records and blog coverage failed to mention--No Age is blast punk--singe punk--rude howls hard hard hard. Randall line checked with "Sex Beat" as if to preempt any question of their allegiance or roots.
Creating friendship and dramatic hairstyles might be my big art pieces for the fall, and I don't think it's the lesser of any kind of steez, it's just a new medium. There's not much of a market for either and that appeals to me. Selling is a grief.
We went to see Max and Robin and Max was out of his burrito cocoon. Banner day with the friend family.
Happy Chef Dim Sum til 2 am, where, in leiu of tableclothes, the table is laid with a few hundred sheets of 1 mil plastic, each layer exaggerating each early wrinkle and rumple, so the teacups tilt and the table top squishes.
Went to a 72nd class reunion the night before, one of 11 returning classmates. Still driving. Knows my grandma from the Knights of Columbus. The curls of her bouffanted wig were like rams horns; she was all there.
Wide open miles flat and long, third time through that Mary Gordon interview, now hooked on her question about what goodness obscures--the patina of goodness.