I'm back in the saddle again. Just got back form Minny yesterday. Sorry no posts but I wasn't on a computer all week. trip out! Now I am sitting here debating whether to lay down cash for the Strokes and Bowie, who are both coming to town. Back in the day I didn't have to pay to get into shows, but I always felt like a jackass about it. I want to pay to see bands I like. It feels weird not to. I don't know. However, i draw the line at Kiss. Their good seats are $150. I'm sorry, but that is not rock. That is how you get a bunch of rich old people at your show. Fuck you, Kiss.
On my last day in Minneapolis I suddenly remembered how it felt to be young and fun in a rock 'n' roll town, and I decided to do what I'd been thinking about doing for a long time. So I walked into a hair salon and became a blonde. The minute I walked in they could see the fun-fire in my eyes and they said, we totally get it, and they sat me down and didn't ask if I was sure, and they went for it. So now I am a crazy blonde. I look like you-know-who in "Chicago," though I assure you this was in no way inspired by her. Anyway, it's not platinum like hers but the most unnatural shade of yellow you ever saw. It's either hideous or completely fantastic, and I haven't decided which. It seems to change with the time of day and my blood-sugar level, and whether I've had any Vicodin. I had to pop half a V. in the chair because the bleach was burning my scalp so badly. I was sitting there, trying to read a long article in the British magazine "Uncut" about the relationship between John and Yoko, but mostly my body was humming and thrumming and buzzing from this searing pain shooting from my scalp into my groin. Now whenever I get my hair bleached I will think of John and Yoko breaking up the Beatles.
I saw "School of Rock" today. It wasn't as good as they say and it wasn't as good as I expected from Richard Linklater, but the children saved it. And in their triumphant rock-show scene, I totally cried. The message of the movie is, you don't have to wait for anyone's permission to rock, and you don't have to be a grown-up to be real.
A fat girl tells Jack Black she can't sing because she's fat, and he says, Aretha Franklin is a big woman, but when she sings, she blows people's minds, and everybody wants to party with Aretha!
Don't you want to be like that? Don't you want to be someone everyone wants to party with? Well, i do.
My mom is someone everyone wants to party with. She turned 70 last Wednesday, which is why I was in Minneapolis, and her party (parties) were big and fun, and she seemed so alive. She is completely redefining my conception of age. She has changed radically over the course of my lifetime, and become this incredibly cool lady who loves Sephora and cheers me on when I do weird shit to my hair, and also gives me pretty golden boy-advice. What's great is that she's totally over the whole telling-me-what-to-do phase, and now gives me ideas but says, I am completely confident you know how to handle this situation. That's what you need from a parent. You need parents that don't make you dependent, but help you kick ass on your own.
I need to kick ass very badly right now. Always, but especially right now.
(yes, my mom had me very late--hey, she didn't even marry my dad till she was in her thirties!)
Looks like Gwennie is working on a solo album. i can't wait to hear it.
By the way, I did a new thing: before I left L.A., I totally cleaned my house and did all my laundry--I even cleaned my fridge and defrosted the freezer. It was the BEST thing ever to come home to a clean house. I can't recommend this enough.