Went to goth night. Listened to a beautiful curvy girl gripe about how she didn't have an "industrial" figure. Her backstory was almost identical to Jolie's. Jolie has almost the same figure and does industrial just fine, thank you. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe it's the fact that she's Frank Frazetta's wet dream. Assuming she had an enormous tiger and enormouser broadsword, accessorized. Jolie is Ab-Fab in camo with combat boots and a leopard print martini glass.

I miss her.

Raspberried a kid who seems convinced that a freshly minted friday night all ages in the ashes of Metropol can take on ten years of mostly positive inertia. Wake me up when your voice drops, spiky.

Staring thirty in the face, this morning I stayed my vitriol at a Jehovah's Witness trailing tiny chilren-shaped shields - kids don't deserve Adult Rage, period - and promptly THBBBBBBTed it all over the aforementioned Hot Topic overdose less than twelve hours later.

Boundaries. Mores. I'm older than you, bigger than you, drunker than you, and Nemesis was a Shriekback song long before some ego-laden "dj" appropriated it for a club night. It was a Gameboy port of Gradius when you were in diapers. Your blank stare says everything I need to know about your night, you uneducated twat.

Bumped into Kevin on the bus ride back to south side. He doesn't look like his DCR appearance - he looks like a baby-faced Ben Sisko, and he's seriously thinking about going back to school to get an "adult job," whatever that is. Kevin's an ex-marine audiophile turned comics artist whose been paying the bills doing things well below his talent level for a long time now. His definition of "adult job" has been informed accordingly.

Mike repatriated, but I haven't talked to him in awhile. Context would be reading his blog today and bumping into Kevin tonight.

For one hot second, the three of us were roommates. Farscape, Season Two. Whenever that was.

I've figured out more of ATC in the last six weeks than I have in the last six years. It remains unlike anything, aggressively.

I have no time to work on it, as I'm doing commission work for money. Money that's being shat straight into the gaping maw of bills unpaid.

Unpaid, escalating.

Maybe I'll throw up before passing out.

Hopefully I won't.

In ten year's time, you'll look back longingly at an age when you cared enough to loathe life's dim stars.

Feh. Seems _anybody_ can start a club nowadays. :P

Yeah, without the juggernaut that was Thursdays At The Upstage to compete against, apparently all it takes is an ipod, a copy of The Print Shop, and gallons of attitude.

I'm happy that the scene seems to be trying to leverage itself out of the doldrums it sunk into around the time lipsvc. was undermined by bar management, but out of the crop of nights that have tried to rise up since then, Upstage Nation is the only one without a Point Park-sized chip on its shoulder w/r/t Ceremony and The Night Shift.

Goth music I'm up for. Goth attitude.... git awf muh porch, yew daym kids! *cocks shotgun*

I should probably add - for casual readers, Parental Units, et al - that had it not been for Xopher.tm, my first exposure to Shriekback would have come a good six or seven years later, during my Slavering jwz Fanboy phase.

How much do I love that in the same breath that you say you miss me, you call someone a twat.

Dan wins!

<3