Stolen Babies, Part Two.

These are the pictures of me with the Stolen Babies. In this first one you can see how nervous I am and they all happen to be doing weird poses.

I look fat in this picture and my miniature top hat blends into the background.

The Concert: Riverhead, Stolen Babies, Black Light Burns, Combichrist.

In order of events:

After getting slightly lost, Ruben and I found The Avalon and stood outside in the cold for twenty minutes. The people in front of us were smoking [peh!]and I was thinking of telling them to use their lighters to keep us warm. The people behind us were pretty funny. I don't remember what they were talking about, but they were funny.

Then the doors opened just as I was about to become a freeze-bug [Metalocalypse reference]and we went in, where I spent exactly $55 on Stolen Babies merchandise-the full length album and two amazing t-shirts and because I spent that much, I got two free little buttons, a "STOLEN BABIES ON BOARD" caution-sign sticker which will one day be on the windshield of my first car, and two other large stickers, one of which I promised I'd give Ruben.

Then we made our way to the front where the first act, Riverhead, began performing. Their bassist looked like a goth version of the Joker.

But more importantly, Stolen Babies was the next act. I had a clear view of the drum kit and took a picture of the logo stamped on it.

First one out was Gil [the drummer] and he did some test runs on the drums, which I filmed. Ruben informed me that he wanted Gil's brocade suit jacket.

Next out was Rani [bassist and brother of Gil]. Each time one of them would come out I'd squeal.

Ben [keyboards and oil drum] followed.

And then Gil brought out Dominique's Weltmeister accordion and set it down and I took some pictures of it-I could have touched it if I wanted to-it was that close. And then Dominique came out and put on the Weltmeister! I've waited two years to see them. I could have seen them on the Hottest Women in Metal tour but I had to go to a memorial for my grandmother in Washington and missed out on seeing THREE of my favorite female-fronted bands. Sorry, Nanny, but you had been cremated for three months and if it were just postponed a day....and the Dresden Dolls were performing the next day, too, so I was rather pissed the whole journey.

Their set included Spill!, Filistata, Lifeless, Push Button, Tall Tales, Mind Your Eyes. I think I got them all.

Here are the pictures I took:

After their performance when they were clearing away their instruments, Dominique bent down and put her hand out so I and the people around me could touch it and she said that the band would be hanging out in the lobby after Combichrist.

The next band was Black Light Burns and they were all wearing black clothes that reminded me of clothes men wore in the 1800's. Wes Borland [ex Limp Bizkit] was the frontman and he had a handlebar mustache. Anyway, when they were performing, he took off his vest, and then his shirt, and kept dousing himself in water before flinging himself around like he was being electrocuted. Seriously-he was bouncing off the walls. Just check out the pictures on their myspace page to see:

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=36794676

Then after the longest wait ever, Combichrist came out. Well, you couldn't really see them come out because of the fog, but they had to come out somewhere...two drummers, one keyboardist, and one vocalist. The drum sets reminded me of industrial versions of the ones they had at Celtic Woman. They put on a superb show. The singer was really into it and everyone would start jumping and he'd be bouncing around. He reminded me of Till Lindmann from Rammstein with his facial expression-the blue eyes that are so light they're almost white, the mohawk, the [fake?]blood dripping down, the creepy-doll-face-conducting-an-invisible-orchestra actions. It was a lot like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8pBe1Zbd3Y Except the female drummer wasn't there.

They did three encore songs, one of which, if it were turned into a radio version, would be called "This__will__you up," haha.

So Ruben and I made our way over to the Stolen Babies merch table and I told them that they did an amazing show and gave them the sketchbook I painted to them and Dominique turned to Gil and Rani and said that she was just talking about how she should have brought a notebook but only had pieces of paper. A practical present. They really liked it-I hoped they would given their love for artists like Gris Grimly, Tim Burton, and Crab Scrambly [who illustrated their album].

Ruben asked Gil where he got his brocade jacket and he replied, "I got it in a porn shop in Seattle." And Dominique confirmed it, haha. I wouldn't think porn shops would sell clothing.

And Jose was there, so I made him take a picture of us with the band. It was a small area and part of it was a step up, so we had to spend a minute arranging ourselves. I've read that Dominique is really tiny, but she was as tall as me. She was wearing heeled boots, so I think she'd be a couple inches shorter at the most, but I was expecting a hobbit, haha. She's so pretty. And her makeup was flawless because her skin was flawless [only girls notice these things!].

Ruben wanted to buy something, so I made a quick pit stop and when I came out, Ruben was chatting with Rani and Rani turned to me and made me sign the sketchbook and promised they'd fill it up and bring it next time they came to SLC. They kept thanking me for the sketchbook and telling me how cool it looked-praise from the Stolen Babies was so very cool. I'm still in awe. They're either in or on their way to Denver right now and then one or two more shows with Combichrist, I believe. So it's not really long enough to be a tour, but I still expect them to fill up the book with many ideas for the new album.

And with ringing ears and no voices left, we made our way home.

Her Ghost in the Fog.

We had fog on Friday. Real fog. I haven't seen fog like that since first grade. Here's a picture:

It was really bad during the night. Or really cool, depending on how you look at it. It would have been fun to walk around in it during the night but it was too cold, so instead there was dancing:

Falling out of bed.

Last night I was hanging halfway out of my bed in an attempt to reach the chapstick on my dresser [accursed canker sore!], when I fell out of bed. The trash can smacked against my lower jaw/right lymph node. Most of my weight fell on the heel of my left hand. And my right elbow got carpet burns. I was surprised no one heard my head collide with the trash can. I wonder if lymph nodes can rupture because that's what it felt like, reverberating through my teeth.

Combined with being sore and tired from the atrocity that is the boot-scootin' boogie, I am very sore, but glad I didn't bite my tongue off or something.

I am concerned about my left hand, though. If I didn't bruise the bones, I think there might be a teeny little fracture-there's this one spot that throbs and burns and turning my hand weird ways sets it off. Nothing to do for it.

Entry.

I actually got out of the house for reasons other than to wash vomit off my shoes. I know. It calls for a celebration.

Thursday I went to the junior high to help out with lunch duty and paperwork. There's some really tiny kids there. I need to write down all the things I did there sometime.

Friday I went to the YSA dance. I hate the term "YSA." I don't think one's relationship status should be part of it. It merely amplifies the hypocrisy of the thing-emphasis on being single but you're a freak if you're not married to a returned missionary at the ripe age of nineteen. Too much contradictions. But I went with our ward group and had some fun being in a circle of people making up dance moves. And I did the boot-scootin' boogie a couple times. I must mention the fog outside was so cool-it was like living in Halloween Town. Last time I remember fog like that was first grade.

So I woke up at one thirty this afternoon, still exhausted and quite sore. Country music isn't good for my weak health. And while accordions kick musical butt, a line of guys doing pow-wow noises to the polka before snatching away female hostages into a springy mosh pit is not. I got my forearm hit and can feel the deep bruising but have no visible bruising and fear my complaints wouldn't be considered legit.

Today after a brief stop to the library where I picked up this:

Amethystium! It's the project of Øystein Ramfjord. Why do Norwegians make such good music? I really like his compositions. New-age without being hokey. Where the keyboards don't sound like keyboards. Ethereal.

And then to the craft store because everything there is neat and I needed stuff for the Stolen Babies concert this Friday. They're the kind of band that comes out to hang out with the crowd after they perform, so I'm giving them a blank sketchbook, but I will paint something on the cover [haven't thought of what yet] since they're genuine artists and can use it to doodle and scribble on...not to mention they do a couple lines that make it work as a gift: Notebook, scrapbook/Somehow I've misplaced you/You were a scratch on a paper/Ink and a voice not meant to look back at me...

Yup. And I picked up some cool Indian pendant things because as I just wrote, they were cool. A

That's about it. Time to sleep some more.

Create, hate.

A review of my uneventful week where the tiniest of things are noticed.

Nothing happened until Thursday, where I was going to have Josh come over so I could explain my amazing zombie-movie idea explaining how Cassidy disappears. I've been inside the house for a sodding month and a half now and was looking forward to having someone come over, but I was blown off. And I don't know why either-he never answers the phone. Seriously-this was a big event-I made sure everything was clean and I actually didn't wear the pajamas I spend my days in and went to bed early and all that stuff. My parents are quick to point out the unreliable nature of the people I know. The dwindling list of people-everyone's at school when I take a break but everyone's partying when I go to school-how does that work? I'm either sick or tired and the rare occasion where I'm not I am blown off. My insides boil but the pills make me stay quiet-the murderous rage that should be tearing holes in the wall until my hands look like hamburger is drugged to become more depressed than I was in the first place. It's hard to say "Look what you've done" to deaf people. It was incredibly rude to blow me off in the first place, but to not answer for it is a slap in the face.

The only high point of my week was getting a free grapefruit from Bob from Harmon's. Bob and Randy, you know? This was the Bob-from the commercials. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate free produce, but isn't it terribly miserable that the only happy thing that happened this week was a grapefruit?

Last night was Ruben's birthday party and someone vomited right where I stepped out of the car and I didn't see it because it was dark outside, so I spent my time at the party slowly being nauseated by some sort of odor that reminded me of elementary school and it was only upon leaving that I saw the massive pile of upchuck by the van. I'm sensitive to smells and retched as I had to step over it and drive home gingerly pressing the pedals of the car with my toes.

After further inspection today in the light, I got most of it off via frosted grass, but nonetheless armed myself with gloves, a steel wire brush, carpet cleaner, and ammonia.

These were my new, specifically-asked-for-Christmas shoes, too.

Add in the things that would be little by themselves and you have me pretty pissed off at everything. I'm waiting for a way out-a job, a car? Coincidentally in the middle of a recession. "Half the world is down the toilet and half's on its way,"-Ministry. It's like being aware of being dead and you realize how terribly boring it is to just sit there and rot and the people you want to swing by forgot you're still thinking and you don't want charity from anyone else.

Doodly ding dong tick tock.

Well, I finished a bunch of chores, many of them "not my chores" and took a bath and washed my hair and took my pills [which got somewhat stuck on the way down and gave me some terrible heartburn]and did dishes, swept the floor, did a little stretching and bicycling and now have nothing to do. It is therefore a good time to blog.

Yesterday my day was devoted to doing "good deeds" since I woke up too late to go to church. 11:45, more specifically, courtesy of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. And that good deed? Illustrating Dorian's book for his creative writing assignment, which took a little over seven hours to do. Yeah, it was due today and I drove it to his house late last night. And the teacher who assigned it was one I really really really didn't like last year. She's senile and always changes her mind and though I gave her multiple doctor notes, had my dad talk to her, and so forth to explain my absence, she still gave me a bad grade in creative writing but somehow deemed me worthy to be the art director of the more stressing Lit Mag class. All we did in that class was watch movies and read "poems" about fish. I even made fun of her in a poem and she read it and gave it a good grade because she didn't get it. "Pontificate, you faded star!"[-Emilie Autumn].

Sorry. Once I saw that the illustrations had to be done in only felt-tip pen, I knew who assigned it and had a sudden urge to burn the school down, ha.

Oh, wanna see my new pink camera?

It's pretty sweet. I need to think of a name for it. Something long and British and related to candy and tea. It's easy to find it against all the black things of my bedroom. And I'll need to get a little case for it and I shall put the name I name it on said case. And perhaps a memory card that can hold more info than my current one which held like, 300-something on my old deceased camera but only 100-something on this one; but more film time on this one, strangely.

And now to get rid of the feeling that my heart is pumping Vitamin C. While everyone else is starting a new semester, I am being loaded with herbal capsules and lozenges in addition to all my other pills to get me feeling better. Scrambled eggs, it is!

I heard Elise got pneumonia, and Brother Hancock got it really bad and had an oxygen mask. Masque. That's a fancier way of looking at it. I can sympathize but my two pneumonia occasions weren't severe enough for hospitilization because we caught it early on. I did have an inhaler for the first one-the instructions were to use it twice a day or something but I would be coughing so bad and it'd feel like drowning to inhale, so I puffed away on that thing like a smoker. It was a weird feeling to inhale-like when the tip of your fingernail gets bent back or you hit your funny bone or you get tapped on the knee with one of those reflex things. Once at school when I was well enough to go with my little inhaler I remember standing there coughing and I couldn't inhale and school had just gotten out so everyone was walking around and I was thinking "I'm gonna pass out soon, so try to fall sideways so you don't hurt anything." I didn't pass out though. That would have been a good story.

Enough storytelling for now. My health problems would fry this computer with their length. Off to make scrambled eggs.

-K.