Homer Simpson was right about public transit being for jerks and lesbians. But that truism also translates to blogging.
Last night my wife and I went to see The Mark Lanegan Band at Richard's on Richards. Mark's my favourite singer, living or dead, and hopefully he'll be around for a long time, unlike his contemporaries. I hope he's kicked the heroin that took his close friends, Kurt Cobain and Layne Staley. He has that kind of "mask-like" skin - the same look Scott Weiland has. I guess it's an earmark of the drug.
The show was excellent, with Enemy opening for Mark's band and two of their 3 members performing double-duty in Lanegan's band. Mark sang about his usual topics - sadness, woe, regret, heroin and Catholic guilt. He looked like a post-grunge Clint Eastwood, smoking Marlboros and drinking bottled water between belting out songs in his trademark, whiskey trained voice. I can't figure out why he hasn't hit it big, and why he was playing to a crowd of 150 or so, while a few days before Shania Twain played two shows at GM Place. Maybe Mark needs a sexy makeover...
Rock hits the windshield
That dump truck should have a tarp
Thank you Jatinder
This one occurred a while ago but I've been a little lax in updating my entries, so my apologies to the three or so people who read my site.
So anyway, I had this dream where I was staying with someone - not sure who it was - some family where there was at least a dad (I think he looked like Brian Doyle Murray) and a basement. I asked for a toilet facility to be set up in the basement so I'd have somewhere to pee. Well, the guy set up a duffel bag filled with towels and old rags for me to pee in. So I used it but all the pee started leaking out and running across the cement floor. And I was the one who felt guilty for making a mess. Dr, Freud, are you in the house?