Tuesday evening, Verenice, Erica and I went to San Francisco.
Verenice's man hooked some some tickets
and a hotel room for the night.
We started at Verenice's favorite Korean restaurant
across the street from the Fillmore.
I ate this.
Like little baby fishes.
It wasn't bad.
I'm glad I was so hungry that I did not look before I
threw the first pieces
it into my mouth and began to chew.
I ate more after I looked because I knew
I could do it.
I felt proud.
I felt happy to have a beer.
It was somewhere in between
colored water and bud light.
I always order chicken.
We all shared a bunchastuff.
gross cold spicy fishy soup. hated it.
This album is good.
and the cover is pretty rad too.
The Black Crowes.
big ass beard
(like my running man)
I was shocked and bummed that not everyone
in the crowd that night looked like him.
I thought the Black Crowes were
Seventies Blues-Rock and would
have some decent looking fans.
The crowed had me thinking I was
at a Travis Tritt show.
I have a few albums
gifted from a friend, I know the Black Crowes
got a good sound...I guess I thought
gross people liked gross music.
Not that I went in hopes to stare and dance
with hot hippie rocknroller long-hairs,
but I was totally confused and distracted
by all the 37 year old short, fat, bald or spikey hair
rocking out with
their rhythm lackin selves.
It was hard at times to focus on Mr. Robinson.
I'm not superficial, I just like good-looking things.
When I was in a tractor-beam trance
I was able to truly enjoy
the funk, rock and soul experience.