Funny, a few months back I was trying to find a list of the bands that played Viva 2004 (or '05 or so). I searched and searched with no luck and alllllmost gave up... until I finally hit a page that had the lineup listed. It was mine. That I posted here on Barflies.

With that said, the 10th Anniversary is too big for me to bother typing. So at the risk of screwing over my future self... I give you:

a link

:P

"
The Rockabilly Party Weekend!
April 5-8, 2007

Viva Las Vegas 10 will take place at:
The Gold Coast Hotel & Casino
4000 W. Flamingo Road
Las Vegas, NV 89103

Showrooms open until 7am Friday - Sunday
Ballrooms open until 4am Thursday - Sunday

Other events scheduled at this year's VLV:
#VLV Shifters car show
# Tiki Pool Party
# Lucky Wristband Number Draw
# Burlesque Competition
# Miss Wolff's Jiving Dance School
# The Viva Las Vegas Jiving Competition
# The Charles Phoenix Vintage Slide Show
# Rockabilly Hall of Fame 10th Anniversary Show
# World Famous Artist Vince Ray will be present for autographsFree VLV 10 CD!
# Viva Las Vegas Art Show hosted by 8 Ball featuring rtwork by: Bosko; Sunny Buick; Dave Burke; Kirsten Easthope; Ewik; Doug Horne; Munktiki; David Perry; Lisa Petrucci; Mark "Atomos" Pilar; Sara Ray; Keith Weesner; Derek Yaniger; Mr. G; Makoto; Grimb; Wish; Jet Wrench; Fudemae; Dale Sizer; more TBA

"

If it weren’t for Scotty Moore, Bill Black, and DJ Fontana, you never would have heard of Elvis Presley. They are well known among rockabilly fans, rock historians, and record geeks, but to the general population and even some Elvis fans, the mention of their names will get an immediate response of “Who?” This book is unlikely to change that, but those of us in the former categories should be happy to learn more about these guys.
Scotty Moore and Bill Black were part-time bar-band musicians until Sam Phillips encouraged them to jam with some funny-looking kid named Elvis. Together they created “That’s All Right Mama,” which led to a few years of greatness before the evil Colonel Parker came along and ruined everything.
That’s where guitarist Moore, bassist Black, and drummer Fontana disappear from most history books. But in this book, that’s where the story gets interesting. I really liked getting a glimpse of the personalities behind the historical names. After their split from Elvis, they all took slightly different paths but remained close and occasionally collaborated. Fontana (who has a really cool name) was a professional drummer before the Elvis gig simply continued being a professional drummer and toured with Gene Vincent and Lefty Frizzell l before becoming a Nashville session player. Bill Black (who also had a cool name) became the first bass player in history to leave a successful band for a legitimate solo career. He had several decent-sized instrumental hits with the Bill Black Combo. As far as I know, the only other instance of “second-career bassist syndrome” occurred when Paul McCartney left the Beatles. If you want to be snarky about it and bring Peter Cetera and Sting into the discussion, you will only bring shame upon yourself.
Scotty Moore, being the cost complex character in the story, gets the most page time here. He becomes an embittered, reclusive studio engineer/producer who ends up selling all of his guitars and hitting the booze once in a while. For the most part, he prefers to maintain his privacy and therefore his dignity.

The third act in this drama involves the rediscovery of Scotty Moore and DJ Fontana by rockabilly revivalists in the 80’s and 90’s (Bill Black died of a brain tumor in 1965). They also receive much belated praise from big rock stars and those “give-em-an-award-before-they-die” type organizations. Moore and Fontana, separately and together, become involved in several projects that they hope will finally get them the recognition they deserve. When these projects, like the “All The King’s Men” CD fail to set the world on fire, the disappointment leads to more bitterness. In fact, the relative failure of “All The Kings Men” led to a falling out with co-author Griffin who not only produced the CD, but also acted as their manager for a while. The book is not a hatchet job by any means. The subjects are regarded with respect throughout, but they probably still won’t like it simply because they are naturally cantankerous old coots.
If you like a little dirt and sleaze with your rock and roll reading material, you’ll find a few road stories to keep your interest. You will learn that, when they were touring with Elvis, that the drummer was the real hound dog of the group. DJ Fontana’s penis was known as “The Monster” among his contemporaries.
Other than stories of Elvis’s poor personal hygiene, that’s as dirty as gets.
One thing that slightly bothered me was the unfair treatment of Elvis tribute artist Ronnie McDowell. The authors seem befuddled by Moore and Fontana’s preference to occasionally perform with McDowell and his band rather than be the subjects of the sycophantic hero worship of serious music geeks (Fontana calls them "gurms"). The authors obviously don’t like McDowell and go too far in bad-mouthing him. What they might not understand is that Moore and Fontana might simply enjoy playing with a singer that sounds as good as Elvis but doesn’t have all the weird psychological quirks. Maybe they just prefer being sidemen and not the center of attention. They don't see themselves as legends - just musicians.

Ho-hum, another couple of tired old punk bands phoning in another show at some stinky dive in exchange for some chump change? How did you get so cynical?
I had forgotten how great the Dickies are – not were, but are. I admit that I haven’t seen them live in over twenty years and that I only own their first two and a half albums. They may never have the same impact that they had in the late 70’s and early 80’s, but they’re still alive and still rocking. Singer Leonard Phillips has matured into a middle-aged man who looks like equal parts Norman Bates, Dr. Bricker from “The Love Boat”, and a post-Spinal Tap Michael McKean. Guitarist Stan Lee’s hair seems to be gaining mass as it slides down the back of his head. I don’t know who the “new” guys in the band are now, but it doesn’t matter – They’re the Fricken’ Dickies, damn it. What does matter is that the bass player wears a big plushy teddy bear suit. It also matters that Leonard wears a gorilla mask when performing “You Drive Me Ape You Big Gorilla” and uses a giant penis-shaped puppet when they do “If Stuart Could Talk.” Other props implemented during the show include a doggie puppet, an inflatable love doll, and the all-important diving mask and snorkel combo. These are not merely silly props or cheap gimmicks; they are effective tools for communication.
That’s what most of punk rock is lacking – Production Values!
Did I mention that the bass player dresses like a teddy bear? I wonder if that’s something he brought with him when he joined the band, or if they already had the suit and were looking for a bass player that could fit into it.
Never take the Dickies for granted. Think about it – they’re brilliant. They can’t be held responsible for all the horrible goofy pop-punk bands and prop comics that they inspired. That would be like blaming Thomas Edison for “American Idol.”

Fear is now Lee Ving and three younger guys. I don’t know who they are either. They’re probably all in other bands. They were just going through the motions, but they were accomplished enough to be incapable of sucking. They did them all – “I Don’t Care About You,” “I Love Livin’ in the City,” and basically the whole first album. Fear songs performed live are basically yelling with free jazz accompaniment. However, there’s something about their music that makes big drunk guys want to fight. Don't they know that Fear is supposed to be funny?

As per usual, here is the email I send out to my KUCI DJ-folks so they are "hip" to all the "goovy" new "music" in the KUCI library.

Hey folks,

I hope you all survived the weekend. I, personally, managed to claw my way
through the weekend with a brain that still feels slightly mushy from lack
of sleep and extremely loud music. When your weekend plans involve a
concert, you are probably in for fun. If the directions to the venue
include “find the alleyway between 3rd street and main”, and you’re in
downtown Los Angeles, you are either in for LOTS of fun, or a night you
will later be describing to authorities. Since I’ve worked up plenty of
positive karma in my “reading to blind puppies” non-profit, it was the
former. The venue, known as “The Smell”, is, for those who aren’t
familiar, more of an art-space, and features generally “arty” music, which
can range anywhere from really intricate and interesting music performed
well and with passion, to folks in facepaint where you turn to your friend
and inquire, “This is a joke, right?” Our night included 8 bands, so we
got the full gamut. Bands from Japan playing 20-minute long, hypnotic
songs. Bands from San Francisco shrieking into
telephones-turned-into-microphones. Bands from Oympia playing a unique
brand of deranged blues-rock (truly the highlight). I mean, if you’re
going to dance in an alley in downtown LA, you want deranged blues-rock,
don’t you?

After getting to bed at 4am (losing an hour for DST), I crawled out of bed
and headed to KUCI to see Do Make Say Think perform in the lobby. Packing
our humble little lobby with eight multi-instrumentalists, and all their
gear, and all the DJs who showed up to watch, made for a warm little
intimate gathering. It was such a thrill to sing along with them in a
wordless choir and clap along with a band I enjoy. That number of
musicians then lets the music take a slow, cinematic crescendo into such a
powerful and redemptive wall of sound that it is blowing right through
your body in a way that I really have to assume will be discovered to cure
cancer by medical professionals in the future. I always begrudge wearing
earplugs to concerts, but that’s the only volume that this effect can be
achieved through. Anyway. Enough of that, I gotta get this shit done.

1. Panda Bear – Person Pitch (Paw Tracks)
Easily one of the best CDs I’ve heard all year. If this doesn’t make
year-end best lists, I would be horribly shocked. Panda Bear is one of
those dudes from Animal Collective. He released a solo album a couple
years ago that was this sort of ethereal singing and guitar angel-song
collection of untitled works. Now he’s back with an album that’s way
more accessible, but still as beautiful and unique. If pop died, and
it’s soul became an angel and got itself a little harp (well, sampler
in this case), and totally awesome wings, and could live in a cloud and
play you the catchiest twelve-minute songs in history, it would be this
album. Nothing I’ve added this year has as high a recommendation as
this album. If this album were a girl, I would work up my courage to
talk to it all night, and then chicken out and feel badly about myself
for days afterwards.

2. LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver (Capital)
If you are still unfamiliar with this band, I am going to spend the next
few days wondering how you managed to completely escape the miasma of hype
which has completely drenched the music criticism world since well before his
debut album dropped. James Murphy has apparently ingested every krautrock
and disco album ever, and now, like a mother bird, he has regurgitated
musical nutrition to keep you alive. And when I say “alive”, I mean
“dancing forever until you are so exhausted you can no longer use verbs,
but rather need to just point at things and make crude mimings of what you
need them for.” When you put this CD on, you feel 10 times sexier. That is
based on rigorous scientific studies I have done. About sexiness. The
results are published in the “Journal of American Sexiness Studies and
General Bad-ass-ness.”

3. Cyann & Ben – Sweet Beliefs (Ever)
You know M83? No? Have you ever seen an independent movie trailer? OK. You
know that song they play? That’s M83. Well, probably. Anyway, these dudes
roll with that band. But while M83 makes these pixilated digi-scapes of
beautiful electro-drone-rock, C&B want to throw down some actual
instruments, and more singing, and come from a bit of a folkier
background. It’s from France! They have food there!

4. Low – Drums and Guns (Sub Pop)
Dude, if you’ve never heard of this band, how do you have a show on
college radio?

5. Maps & Atlases – Trees, Swallows, Houses (Sargent House)
This is like some crazy mix of Don Caballero, Hella, At the Drive In, and
Cap’n Jazz (but noisier). INSANE guitar and drums doing SICKENINGLY
INTRICATE music with TOTALLY AWESOME time signatures. I figure, if I
e-yell at you, you’ll listen to me. This is really catchy and exciting.
Like, it’s all jittery and running 1000 miles and hour, and I want to just
start kicking things and shouting! Yay!

6. Drakkar Sauna – Jabraham Lincoln (Marriage)
Ever so often, Portland, Oregon’s Marriage records drops a huge package of
their stuff in my lap, and I smile a little because their stuff sounds
so..unique...most the time that it's always a pleasant little fresh-sounding pick-me-up. This band sounds like some sort of lo-fi Beirut/Avett Bros/Animal Collective kind of thing (much more the first two). If you’re sick of the rest of the shit I add, may I point you towards this album? Man. As this album plays, and I write this, these kids
are winning me over with their charms. Damn this job, and the never ending
bitch-slap it gives my wallet (because I’m not going to just download it
illegally, you philistines).

7. Elvis Perkins – Ash Wednesday (XL)
“Kyle. This album is getting a lot of hype, and it’s good. Add it.” “Dude,
it’s folky indie stuff and everyone is sick of it.” “Add it.” “Fine, but
it’s gonna chart one week, and no one will play it again. Mark my words.”
Prove me wrong, kids. Prove me wrong. (Yes, I say things like “mark my
words”. Because I am a B-movie villain.)

8. Germans – Cape Fear (Arena Rock)
Did you guys see the Cape Fear? DeNiro is pretty rad in that remake. (This
sounds like Pavement, Broken Social Scene, and Flaming Lips. Can you tell
I’m tired and want to go home?)

8. Kinetic Stereokids – Basement Kids (Overdraft)
So, it says they’ve opened for Explosions in the Sky, Trail of Dead,
Secret Machines, and Wolf Eyes. That last one HAS to be a typo though.
This is like, lo-fi Elliott Smith-ish stuff. Wolf Eyes is like getting
your ears’ balls kicked by a horse on fire. It gets a little lofi-raw and
distorty, but it’s not squealing walls of metal-made noise. That’s for
damned sure.

OK. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna eat a quick dinner and go see “The
Host”. I have a particular fetish for Korean people being eaten by
monsters, and I’m glad a film has finally decided to pander to my perverse, sexual tastes. I bid you good night.

-kyle

Now that it's Daylight Saving Time, the clock in my truck is correct again. If only there were awards for such laziness. Sigh.

My latest read is Gretchen Wilson's autobiography, "Redneck Woman: Stories From My Life," which is, in addition to an account of her story thus far, it's also a celebration of the strong women in her family who have gotten her to that point. With a childhood that was certainly no fairytale, Gretchen exhorts other women, "If there's hope for me, there's hope for you."

I've enjoyed the two albums Gretchen's released (bona fide country albums which I believe are greater than the sum of their parts. Standing alone, Gretchen has "good" songs. In the context of a full album, she has "great" songs), but my favorite work of hers is not included on either Here for the Party or All Jacked Up. My favorite "Gretchen Wilson" song is a cover of Kris Kristofferson's "Sunday Morning Coming Down," included on a compilation called "The Pilgrim: A Celebration of Kris Kristofferson." There's just something about a female interpreting such a dark song that makes it even more depressing and hopeless. Gretchen writes in her autobiography, "I don't think I have ever sung a song that heavy." But according to Mrs. Kristofferson, Kris seemed to think she'd done it justice. Gretchen goes on to write that Kris's wife had called her after the recording session, saying, "I've only seen those blue eyes cry a few times and he cried when he heard your recording of this."

And maybe Gretchen was able to do it because she knows her country roots so well - and not just the classic hits. My favorite line in Gretchen's book is "People ask me all the time, 'So, what's in your CD player right now?' And the answer is, 'It's the old-timers, man, and they're making music better than ever and no one in commercial music seems to be paying attention.'"

Luckily, Gretchen is.

Check out this Japanese fusion restaurant that just opened on La Cienega: http://www.tokyotable.com/

The pricing is decent, the service is fast, and the food is delicious! I give it five stars.

I was incredibly sad to get this in my e-mail box February 23rd. It took me days to think about posting or even talking about it. Although Kirk's diagnosis was terminal and the end inevitable, his life was purposeful and he left us a legacy of wonderful music. This is one of the few bands (along with the Old 97s) that I "discovered" through college music and that kept me going through good times and bad. Not surprisingly, both bands were on Bloodshot Records. I feel like I owe them a debt of gratitude forever for recording such fine music.

****************************************
From Bloodshot Records:

On February 22nd (2007), Kirk Rundstrom, the singer/songwriter/guitarist for Split Lip Rayfield and Scroat Belly, passed away after a lengthy and heroic battle against cancer.

Kirk was, without debate, one of the most dynamic and passionate performers we have ever seen. To see him on stage was to see a man totally focused on, totally POSSESSED with, the music of the moment. He never ever took his audience for granted and delivered the goods with a ferocious energy that flowed through the room. I had personally seen him play some 75 times and it was never boring, it was never phoned in and it was hard to take my eyes off him. If you left a show of theirs without sweating, without losing yourself in the joyous abandon of music, it wasn¹t from his lack of trying. Standing still at a Split Lip show just wasn’t an option. His gift was the ability to let rock and roll well up from its purest emotional state and give it to the room in all its liberating glory.

When Kirk was diagnosed last spring, he was given just a few months. It is a testimony to his incredible spirit that he was performing into this month.

The fans that came out during this time filled the venues with palpable love. To have played a part in this accumulation of affection, in this tight knit community of Split Lip lovers, over the years is truly a humbling honor. He loved playing and it showed, and the fans loved him back.

Kirk is responsible for a lot of people having a LOT of fun over the years; if everyone could have that on their resumes, the world would be a much better place.

He is missed already.

Bloodshot Records

For more information about Split Lip Rayfield and Scroatbelly, visit Bloodshot Records' Split Lip Rayfield page,
and their Scroat Belly page,
or Split Lip Rayfield's web site and Kirk Rundstrom's site.

Recent footage of Kirk Rundstrom Band performing December 12th at The Bottleneck.

Hey folks,

Here's this week's edition of "Kyle rambles like a retard for a while about new music at KUCI." If it's not the best thing you've ever read, I congratulate you on having read more than one thing.

Here we go:

Did everyone have a nice weekend? I used the weekend off to engage in a couple of things. Followed up on the launch of my website (HIPSTERBOOKCLUB.COM), which has had 500 visitors or so in the first couple of days, I believe, which I am pretty damned geeked on. I also attended a concert of one of my favorite bands (Matmos) at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County. The band ranges from really out-there experimental electronic stuff, to fun musique concrete pieces that are pretty danceable (ever dance to a song comprised of liposuction samples?). Since Friday’s show was a one-off collaboration with Marshall Allen, saxophonist of the Sun Ra Arkestra, the show was one of those really out-there ones. While I can appreciate the musicianship involved, I have come to the conclusion that I really do not truly understand avant-garde sax playing. Somewhere, Ornette Coleman and John Zorn would be rolling in their graves, were either of them dead. The audience was mostly guys, as not many ladies go in for such experimental music, it would seem. The gals that WERE there were so beautiful and hip that they seemed forever unattainable. Ever see a girl so gorgeous it makes you sad and mad? Yes, sir. That is a deeply confusing experience. Truly a chance to sup at the cornucopia of life’s emotive bounty.

Though, having seen the band three times now, and owning about ten albums/LPs/singles/etc., I’ve learned to expect anything from them onstage. I’ve seen them turn bare-bottom spanking onstage into a song. I’ve also seen them perform their “Tract for Valerie Solanas” onstage, which is something of an experience. Valerie Solanas was the ultra-feminist who attempted to assassinate Andy Warhol. She wrote a thing called the S.C.U.M. Manifesto which advocates the complete destruction of the male gender for the good of the world. Matmos constructed a song featuring samples of that manifesto being read, along with the obligatory sounds of scissors and other possible castrators being manipulated into a beat. During that performance I sat, the sounds of machetes in my ear, as a woman yelled things like “To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples!” at the audience. It was a real self-esteem boost.

Now that we're all bogged down with useless trivia, let's begin.

1. I’m from Barcelona – Let Me Introduce My Friends (Mute)
This 29-piece Swedish band’s debut album has landed on American shores with, of course, two bonus tracks to completely dick over the people who paid import prices. But, for those who waited patiently, and managed to ignore the scores of folks on the internet who were raving about this, now you too can listen to amazingly catchy Swedish pop with a huge chorus of voices singing about treehouses and love and so on. Seriously: if the song “Treehouse” doesn’t make you smile ear to ear, you can die in a fire for all I care.

2. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists – Living with the Living (Touch and Go)
Mr. Leo jumped off the Lookout! Records ship and got himself a bigger budget to record this one. I have a feeling I won’t really need to sell this album to you guys. It’s pretty damned anticipated. Another fifteen tracks of high-energy, political post-punk-pop. I have an ex-girlfriend who was really into this guy. Like, REALLY into. Like, I worried when I took her to see him because she spoke openly about things she would do to him in front of me. Dear Ted Leo: you should probably not have sex with my crazy ex-girlfriend. I warn you because I enjoy your music and don’t want you killed. (The bad kind of crazy, for the record.)

3. Klaxons – Myths of the Near Future (Geffen)
This band’s debut EP did pretty well at KUCI, so I thought I’d let folks decide if they like the full-length as much. UK-based hyper-energetic dance-rock is the new black, I understand. If you put this on at a party, and started dancing all cool, people would probably buy you drinks. Either that, or you could put this on and just start breaking things with a chair. Either way, that’s gonna be a rad party. Only one thing could make it MORE rad: s’mores. Am I right? You know I am.

4. SJ Esau – Wrong Faced Cat Feeding Collapse (Anticon)
So, Anticon records, a label known for it’s very forward-thinking (some would say pretentious, jerks would say awful and weird, I personally dig it lots), hiphop scored a pretty sizeable hit with 2005’s amazing experi-pop album “Elephant Eyelash” by Why? Since that did so well, they seem to have broadened their horizons to non-odd-hop. In keeping with the same forward thinking, genre-smearing agenda, they release the new album by SJ Esau (pronounced like the biblical character). This UK-based fellow strings together a bunch of bedroom-music with influences like (later-era) Mogwai, Fog, (early-era) Arab Strap, and Sonic Youth. While all those touchstones are audible, it really does its own thing, and is pretty solid. I have no idea what the title of the album means, though. Though, it still makes more sense than half the lyrics on Anticon. It’s like that time I did all that heroin and rewrote “Naked Lunch” as a mystery novel. Just kidding. I never did that. But you thought I was a total rock star for a second there, huh? No? Oh. OK.

5. Rosie Thomas – These Friends of Mine (Sing-a-long)
Who wants to hear the new album by Sufjan Stevens’ giiiiiiiirlfriiiiiiiiiiiend? I had the pleasure of seeing this gal open for Iron & Wine three years ago or so. Her actual speaking voice was this really endearing awkward chirp, as she blustered through her time speaking with the audience. It was cute. But the second she started singing, with this beautiful, round, shining and complete voice, she seemed to become another person entirely. Heavenly folk hymns with guest spots from Mr. Stevens, as well as her other friends (you know, no names like Dave Bazan, Jeremy Enigk, Damien Jurado, etc.) Put a funny closing joke here. I’m tired. No. Not like that. I said FUNNY, not creepy, furry-sex annecdotes.

6. Wolf & Cub – Vessels (4AD)
This band brings the total of “wolf” bands to roughly ten bagillion (a bagel followed by 30 zeroes). You got Wolf Parade, Wolf Eyes, Fuckwolf, AIDS Wolf, etc. Now you got one that specializes in “darkly psychedelic and danceable noise”. That “noise” is a bit too extreme, as this is hardly unlistenable. A distorted guitar isn’t noise, 4AD Records. I distorted guitar is totally awesome. Jerks.

7. Gruff Rhys – Candylion (Team Love)
Solo album from the guy from Super Furry Animals featuring poppy lyrics, electronic touches, xylophones and gameboy beats. Gruff can’t be that dude’s real name, can it? I guess it can be. With love, anything is possible.

8. Papercuts – Can’t Go Back (Gnomonsong)
Newest release from Andy Cabic (Vetiver) and Devendra Banhart’s (Devendra Banhart) label. Are you familiar with those bands? This band is a little more psych-rock than them (a LITTLE more). Basically, this is that stuff I always add.

9. Cassette – Beautiful California (Honor Roll, Inc.)
This album has 35 tracks on it. That is a higher number than the total tracks on Godspeed You Black Emperor!’s entire career-long catalog. Hell, you could probably throw a few side-projects in and it still wouldn’t be 35 tracks. Then again, one of their songs has the duration of about 16 of these. This right here is a bunch of short attention span electro-dance-rock “songs”. Can you really call it a song if it’s only :56 long? Seriously, what is that short and still considered good? Aside from sleeping with me, that is. SELF-DEPRECATORY ZING!!!

10. Maria Taylor – Lynn Teeter Flower (Saddle Creek)
Maria Taylor is one of those gals from Azure Ray. “Minus Numbers” John asked that I add this one or he’d steal it. So, here you go. Subtly electronic, Mirah-ish melancholy jamz. Like the Blow on downers. Less bedroom dance party, more rhythmic swaying while you think vaguely sad things. Like, “Oh man. I am totally out of peanut butter. This makes me a little sad.” Or “Dude. Where did my copy of ‘Welcome to the Dollhouse’ go? I hope no one stole it. I’d be pretty bummed.” Now make a lady with a pretty voice sing that over slightly bouncy, downtempo songs.

OK. Time to go home, and eat peanut butter while I watch Welcome to the Dollhouse.

Kyle

I'm not the type of girl who gets excited over nail polish at all, but then I was introduced to nail polish that CHANGES COLOR IN THE SUN, and now I have a reason to love nail polish. During a recent trip to San Diego to have dinner with a dear friend, she took me to Old Town for Mexican food and tourist traps, including a shop called Del Sol, which sells all kinds of things that change color in the sun. She went home with a pair of sunglasses; I went home with four bottles of nail polish, which I think is more nail polish than I've ever owned at one time. I got to try it out today, and when I watched the pale iridescent pink turn into a lovely shade of lavendar, you would've thought I'd won the LA marathon by the shriek of excitement I let out. Except, I dislike exercise in any form, so this is by far more exciting. Here's the best part, though - no need to drive to San Diego is required; you can purchase your own Del Sol products online!

Currently, I am wearing the nail polish color known as Vanity, but I also bought Eletrick, Rock Star, and Spike. And I may be purchasing more in the very near future. They really work, unlike cheap HyperColor t-shirts.

Polynesian pop-themed sideshow freaks? oh my,,,,

March 11, 2007
6 PM
$12 - $27
Safari Sam's
www.safari-sams.com

For more info, see: Freakshow Deluxe

There are some things you come to expect from your family and from your hometown. When I go home to Riverside, for example, I expect that my grandmother will complain incessantly about her gardener, but she'll never fire him. My grandmother has employed this gardener for the better part of 20 years, and not once have I ever heard her express pleasure with his work. He broke the sprinklers; he said he fixed the leak, but he didn't, he overcharged her for this and that...My grandmother, mind you, is not one of those cranky old ladies who does nothing but sit around and bitch all day. She's a firecracker, and the mantra of her life is "Keep a happy heart." She writes it on almost every card and letter she sends me, and reminds me of it every time we talk on the phone. So when my grandmother complains that her gardener is doing a lousy job, I take it to mean that her gardener is doing a lousy job. And although she's threatened to fire him, she never does. What makes even less sense to me, though, is that about five years after my grandmother hired this particular gardener (and began her two decades of complaining about him), my parents hired him, too. I must have been about thirteen at the time, and even then, I remember thinking, "Why?" And sure enough, soon my parents started expressing dissatisfaction with his work. "I told him it was too early to prune the roses, but he did anyway," was my mother's first complaint. It's not clear to me what my parents expected from this man.

Another expectation that I have from Riverside is that the service at Farmer Boys' will leave much to be desired. It's one of a handful of restaurants within a mile of my parents' house, and while it's a chain, it's not a super-huge chain, and it cooks food to order. When you're in the mood for a quick meal, when your other options are Del Taco and Jack in the Box, you can see how the sandwiches at Farmer Boys' are awfully appealing. Unfortunately, the service is terrible, but like my grandmother's gardener, we can't seem to stop giving this restaurant our money. When my girlfriends from high school fill out those ridiculous "high school" surveys on myspace (okay, I'm guilty of the occasional myspace bulletin, too), when the question about "off-campus lunch" comes up, they all seem to mention Farmer Boys' as our most frequented restaurant. My father and his friends also enjoy meeting there for breakfast on weekend mornings, despite that their orders constantly get mixed up, and that the staff always seems cranky. My dad's best friend once even got into a shouting match with the cashier over something ridiculous. The last time my mom and I went there, they forgot part of our order, but after so many years, we'd come to expect it, and weren't really bothered by it.

But something happened recently that has me both delighted and concerned. I'd gone home to visit last weekend With my work schedule, "weekends" consist of Thursdays and Fridays, which doesn't bode too well for my social schedule, but works great for running errands, like, say, closing checking accounts, which was my mission last Friday. I'd opened a checking account at this particular bank while I was still going to junior college in Riverside, and thought that having a bank that was open on Saturdays would be quite convenient. It was a small bank, with branches only in Riverside, but I liked the personal attention I got. The tellers knew my name, and always asked how school or work was going, until I started going to school in Orange County. By this time, the bank had been bought out by a slightly larger bank and no longer had "Saturday hours," so I was forced to ask my sister to make deposits for me. They were always a little suspicious of my sister, since her ID didn't identify her as Victoria Pepper, but they never could figure out the harm in letting her deposit money in my account.

I was growing frustrated with ATM fees charged not only by the machine, but also by this bank, when something much more inconvenient than lack of omnipresence happened. After my roommate moved to Oklahoma with a girl he'd met on myspace less than six months prior, I was forced to find a new apartment. I found a super-cheap apartment on craigslist and wanted to secure it right away. But the landlord would accept money orders or cash only for the $650 deposit. Since I couldn't withdraw more than $200 a day from the ATM, I'd have to go to one of the branches to withdraw the money in person. I thought I'd just go online and find out where the nearest branch was, and hope there was one near the valley. I found the website for this bank, and to my horror, saw that it was ENTIRELY IN SPANISH.

Needless to say, I neither speak nor read Spanish.

I called the local Riverside branch, and asked (in English) if they had any branches in LA, specifically, in the Valley. The nearest one was in San Fernando. My boss graciously allowed me the time off of work to make the trip up there, where, as you can probably guess, I was the only white person in sight. When I arrived at the bank, the signs were all in Spanish, and the teller was talking to the only other customer there in Spanish. Fortunately, when she saw me, she figured she'd better speak in English. I made the withdrawal, put the deposit down, and decided that it was probably time to take advantage of Washington Mutual's free checking accounts. I opened one in July.

Since then, I've been holding two checking and two savings accounts, and last weekend, I decided that it was time to only keep one checking account. I arrived at the Riverside branch, prepared to be given an argument as to why I should keep my checking account. Sure enough, when I explained that I spent a lot of time in LA, which didn't have a lot of this bank's branches, I was told, "We have a lot of branches in LA."

Clearly, this was not a woman who's ever had to live in Los Angeles. Four or five branches in LA does not constitute "a lot." When the nearest branch is twenty miles away, and takes an hour to get there, looking at other options makes a lot of sense. But I tempered the blow by reminding her that I'd be keeping my savings account there.

Following this, it was time to eat, and I was prepared for lousy service but nice, fresh food at Farmer Boys.' You can only imagine my shock and surprise when the cashiers were more than cordial, my order was correct and complete, the waitress volunteered to refill my drink, twice asked if everything was all right, and before I could throw away my trash, a waiter offered to take care of it for me. In telling my story to my parents, recalled similar recent experiences. It seems that Farmer Boys' has stepped up to the plate.

So now I'm wondering if maybe my grandmother will be getting a new gardener.

In case you were unaware, the documentary about the Dixie Chicks Shut Up and Sing is now available for purchase. I'm too lazy, too poor, and too cranky to see films in theatres with a bunch of strangers and their cell phones, so I always wait until movies come out on DVD. Or sometimes still VHS.

Anyway, even though I'd bought my copy on Tuesday (the day it came out), it didn't ship until late last week, and it arrived on Wednesday.

I've since watched it twice, and was brought to tears both times.

It's about politics, censorship, music, standing up for what you believe in - both politically, musically, and professionally, and being willing to bet on yourself, even when it has seemingly has dire consequences at first. Given the recent sweep at the Grammys the Chicks enjoyed, it was clearly a risk worth taking.

Makes me proud to be a Chicks fan.

This Saturday, March 3, Santa Anita is presenting a "micro-brew fest" sponsored by KROQ and featuring a weenie total of about 12 breweries. 12? Lame. I don't go to a beer fest unless they've got like 50 micros representin'. But hey, all in attendance receive a free jockey-lamp. So it's not a total loss.

Saturday, March 10th - Two Shows: 1:30 and 3:00 p.m.

Bullocks Wilshire (now Southwestern Law School)
3050 Wilshire Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90010

$35 per person ADSLA member (membership must be current)
$45 per person non-ADSLA member

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Fabulous Vintage Fashion Show at the World Famous Bullocks Wilshire Building! Saturday, March 10th! Two Showings!

Once again the Art Deco Society of Los Angeles is offering its members and friends the opportunity to experience first-hand the glory of High Art Deco Style - - this time at the iconic Bullocks Wilshire Building.

Join us for an afternoon of fun vintage fashion in an unparalleled setting as 30 Years of Pin-up: 1927-1957 comes alive! With 80 vintage garments and live piano accompaniment presented in the exquisite environment of the Louis XVI Salon at Bullocks Wilshire, just as it would have been during the department store's heyday of the 1930s. And collectors take note: A selection of these delightfully evocative garments will be available for purchase following the show. The show will also include some vintage movie costumes previously worn by Ava Gardner, Ginger Rogers, Ann Miller, Esther Williams and Julie Andrews plus many more! It will certainly be an afternoon to remember!

Restored and now occupied by Southwestern this Art Deco gem of a building is not open to the general public, and seating is limited, so you will need to act fast!

Tickets available via Paypal. Ticket purchase deadline: Thursday, March 8th, 5:00 p.m.;

Telephone: Please call 310-659-3326 and leave your name, how many tickets, show time, credit card number, and most importantly, your telephone number. Ticket purchase deadline: Thursday, March 8th, 5:00 p.m.;

Regular mail. Make check payable to ADSLA and mail to PO Box 972; Hollywood, CA 90078. Please make sure you tell us how many tickets, show time, and your telephone number. Ticket purchase deadline: Monday, March 5th, 5:00 p.m.

Parking is $6.00 in the Southwestern Law School parking lot, located behind the Bullocks Wilshire Building at Wilshire Place and Seventh Street. There is also metered parking in the area, please read signs carefully.

No tickets will be mailed. Your name will be on a list

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For More Info: Art Deco Society of Los Angeles Events Page