Tomorrow, August 24th, Girl Talk is playing at the legendary Cain's Ballroom.
"Girl Talk is the pseudonym of DJ and remixer Greg Gillis. A Pittsburgh native who works as a biomedical research engineer during the day, Gillis channels his other creative energies into Girl Talk, whose sample-based dance tracks have made him the John Oswald or Christian Marclay of the mash-up generation: each of his songs are built on recognizable samples of recent hit singles, recontextualized into an entirely new piece. Not just a geeky studio boffin, Gillis is also a manic, intense live performer known for his high-speed exhortations into the mic and tendency to strip to his underwear on-stage while dancing circles around his laptop and DJ setup..."~~Courtesy of allmusic.com.
Needless to say, we are all very excited.
Tickets are $14--day of show, so come on!
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Thursday, August 23, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
What do you mean? We can drive!
This evening I made a playlist, burned that playlist onto a compact disc and left my apartment. I went to KilKenny's Irish Pub on Cherry St. (I normally am terrified of this establishment on the basis the name alone generally fills me with anxiety, for personal reasons...). I went to see this girl and her roommates and her roommates' boyfriends. I had a pepsi, which the server didn't charge me for (oh, happiness). So I left him a very generous tip of two dollars, this is VERY generous considering the beverage, had I been charged, would have come out to approximately $1.29 (no 15% here!).
After my brief stay at this public house I drove my car and listened to the playlist that I transferred onto compact disc. I like the songs, and I'm much more attentive to music if I'm in my car. It's my vehicle of solitude. So I drove around, listened to this music and played an extensive game of cat and mouse with a Tulsa police officer, which I will proudly boast, I won. He was under the assumption I was doing something illegal, I was not. So he kept slowing down and letting me pass, then a few moments later would speed up right behind me. Sometimes he would slow down so far I couldn't see his headlights because he was behind a hill, in which event I would switch lanes (without signaling....haha, fucker!), this headlight hiding happened 4 or 5 times, and each time I switched lanes he would switch until he was right behind me. Our game lasted about 12 miles. I eventually pulled into a QuikTrip and bought some refreshment...he kept driving, seemingly giving up--imagine my surprise when I pulled back out onto the street and he pulled out behind me from the Wendy's parking lot on 71st St. What a fucker. I turn north on Riverside Drive, he follows. When I approached to 51st Street he sped off, sirens blaring and lights flashing...something more pressing must have come up. Or, maybe he just wanted to flex his nuts (which is also called sabre-rattling in some circles).
Fast forward a few moments. I am heading east on Cherry St. approaching Utica. I want to turn left onto Utica to head to my apartment. The light is a green bulb which means I must yield to oncoming traffic before I can turn left; however, in this circumstance the yielding driver has the legal right to pull halfway into the intersection in order to successfully and safely complete said turn. Most people don't realize this...this a great source of dissatisfaction to me. Anyway, I pull out halfway into the intersection...three cars continue their progress through the intersection. The fourth and final car, a taxi, comes to a complete stop. I'm sitting there, halfway through...he's sitting on the stop line at the intersection. I wait...and wait...and wait. I'm yielding, you see...fulfilling my obligation to share the road. I don't take his action as generousity, I was right. The light turns yellow, I complete my turn and then immediately pull into the Shell gas station at the corner of 15th Street and Utica (I realized I was running low on smokes, you see). So this fucker in the taxi pulls in also, which I thought was strange, considering his turn signal was not indicating his intention to make a right hand turn onto Utica in order to then turn into the petrol station. Boy, was I right...this was strange! I walk into the store, buy some cigarettes and leave the store. This fucking wise ass is standing outside of his car, he walks up to me and starts attempting to berate me. He's of Middle-Eastern descent, which is perfectly okay and in no way surprising, because after all, he is driving a taxi. All the taxi drivers I've ever had personal experiences with have either been of Middle-Eastern lineage or from Africa (no, not African American...Africa immigrants...they are incredibly friendly people...and are very, very weirded out by drag queens according to my taxi driver in Dallas one night, or at least he was), except my taxi driver on New Year's this year, who was as white as Casper, and very burly.
This taxi driver starts yelling at me about how I don't know how to drive, etc. He is cursing me in some version of English which is probably mixed with Farsi, or Arabic, I'm not going to pretend the know the difference. I then attempt to calmly explain to him that what I did was perfectly legal, and he is at fault for not knowing to continue straight through the intersection. He then tells me I owe him some money because of my perfectly legal action and his subsequent ignorance. His fare is obviously on my side and knows the rules (why can't SHE drive? I wish she would be sometimes because then I might not have to go through three cycles of green, yellow, and red next time a green bulb is present). I then express desire to call the police and have them settle it for us, he tells me this isn't necessary. He then re-enters his cab, and leaves.
What the hell?
So there you have it--fuckin' weirdo.
After my brief stay at this public house I drove my car and listened to the playlist that I transferred onto compact disc. I like the songs, and I'm much more attentive to music if I'm in my car. It's my vehicle of solitude. So I drove around, listened to this music and played an extensive game of cat and mouse with a Tulsa police officer, which I will proudly boast, I won. He was under the assumption I was doing something illegal, I was not. So he kept slowing down and letting me pass, then a few moments later would speed up right behind me. Sometimes he would slow down so far I couldn't see his headlights because he was behind a hill, in which event I would switch lanes (without signaling....haha, fucker!), this headlight hiding happened 4 or 5 times, and each time I switched lanes he would switch until he was right behind me. Our game lasted about 12 miles. I eventually pulled into a QuikTrip and bought some refreshment...he kept driving, seemingly giving up--imagine my surprise when I pulled back out onto the street and he pulled out behind me from the Wendy's parking lot on 71st St. What a fucker. I turn north on Riverside Drive, he follows. When I approached to 51st Street he sped off, sirens blaring and lights flashing...something more pressing must have come up. Or, maybe he just wanted to flex his nuts (which is also called sabre-rattling in some circles).
Fast forward a few moments. I am heading east on Cherry St. approaching Utica. I want to turn left onto Utica to head to my apartment. The light is a green bulb which means I must yield to oncoming traffic before I can turn left; however, in this circumstance the yielding driver has the legal right to pull halfway into the intersection in order to successfully and safely complete said turn. Most people don't realize this...this a great source of dissatisfaction to me. Anyway, I pull out halfway into the intersection...three cars continue their progress through the intersection. The fourth and final car, a taxi, comes to a complete stop. I'm sitting there, halfway through...he's sitting on the stop line at the intersection. I wait...and wait...and wait. I'm yielding, you see...fulfilling my obligation to share the road. I don't take his action as generousity, I was right. The light turns yellow, I complete my turn and then immediately pull into the Shell gas station at the corner of 15th Street and Utica (I realized I was running low on smokes, you see). So this fucker in the taxi pulls in also, which I thought was strange, considering his turn signal was not indicating his intention to make a right hand turn onto Utica in order to then turn into the petrol station. Boy, was I right...this was strange! I walk into the store, buy some cigarettes and leave the store. This fucking wise ass is standing outside of his car, he walks up to me and starts attempting to berate me. He's of Middle-Eastern descent, which is perfectly okay and in no way surprising, because after all, he is driving a taxi. All the taxi drivers I've ever had personal experiences with have either been of Middle-Eastern lineage or from Africa (no, not African American...Africa immigrants...they are incredibly friendly people...and are very, very weirded out by drag queens according to my taxi driver in Dallas one night, or at least he was), except my taxi driver on New Year's this year, who was as white as Casper, and very burly.
This taxi driver starts yelling at me about how I don't know how to drive, etc. He is cursing me in some version of English which is probably mixed with Farsi, or Arabic, I'm not going to pretend the know the difference. I then attempt to calmly explain to him that what I did was perfectly legal, and he is at fault for not knowing to continue straight through the intersection. He then tells me I owe him some money because of my perfectly legal action and his subsequent ignorance. His fare is obviously on my side and knows the rules (why can't SHE drive? I wish she would be sometimes because then I might not have to go through three cycles of green, yellow, and red next time a green bulb is present). I then express desire to call the police and have them settle it for us, he tells me this isn't necessary. He then re-enters his cab, and leaves.
What the hell?
So there you have it--fuckin' weirdo.
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