Today, walking to work in a glorious morning, I suddenly had a wild thought, that came out as a word: "Chinaski"... and why?

Last night, we went to the Capitol to see Les Claypool. Former bassist for Primus, the guy has quite a reputation, but I had never heard of him. B had been hanging out to see him for ten years or so. Considering yesterday's fatigue, I wanted nothing less than to be squeezed into that sauna-esque sardine-tin, but we did go. And I'm glad.

The audience was a little older than for Static-X, and also larger. We finally went upstairs, when the smell of beer and sweat and weed was making me too giddy to stand still. Upstairs however, there was just one line of vision, and although I got the odd glimpse from between bums and shoulders, there wasn't a great deal to see. I had an interesting view of the front few rows of audience, and some photographers rightup-pressed against the stage... now one of those guys came upstairs about half way through, and I kid you not, stood square in front of me. I started to think that perhaps I am so small he just failed to realise I was there. But no, I came to the conclusion that he was an arrogant prick that had noticed but didn't care.
So mostly, I had a good view of Les Claypool's feet...

But the music... weird and wow. Funky and sinuous. Full of movement. And it made me think it would be the kind of music the hero of Bukowski's novels would listen to... what was his name? Henry? Hank? ...

and the answer came to me on the freeway bridge on the way to work.

It's been a mad day so far, and because I couldn't bear to metricate much on the weekend, i have that to look forward to tonight... but at least the fatigue hasn't leaked into this week...yet :)

One of my favourite things about Fran Kelly is when she is speaking with a politician, and has to ask the hard questions, and she says "with respect minister..." and then she floors them.

...