'Bred Crumbs
03.14.03
This morning during a now-rare car commute, I tuned the radio desperately and hopelessly, and settled for a moment on KFOG, where some rocker, asked if and why the local music scene was struggling, spouted a tired line I couldn't believe was being hauled out yet again: the one about San Francisco having become too "hoity-toity" and all the "freaks" not being able to create here anymore, but maybe things will get better now that all the "dot-com bastards" have been driven out.
Yawn. Fact is, I encountered far more enjoyers and performers of local indie rock in the dot-com world than I have in any of the other local circles I've traveled in.
But to top things off, the person spreading this trash turned out to be ... Stephan Jenkins of Third Eye Blind.
Huh.
I wonder, who's bought more Third Eye Blind discs, "freaks" or "dot-com bastards"?
03.13.03
SF Weekly tells us pirates arrrrr the hot new trend, but "replacing monkeys in the pop culture rumpus room"? Please. Nothing's funnier than monkeys.
03.12.03
The way things are going ...
Waitress: Welcome to the All-American Diner. What can I get for ya?
Customer: Oh, I guess I'll just have a chicken sandwich and some french fries.
Waitress: I'm sorry, we don't serve "french fries" anymore. But I can getcha a side of Freedom Fries!
Customer: What?
Waitress: "Freedom Fries." Not "French."
Customer: That's insipid.
Waitress: Excuse me?
Customer: Never mind. I'd rather just have a salad anyway.
Waitress: Yes, sir. What kind of dressing?
Customer: Well, I've never had much of a taste for "freedom" dressing ... how about Russian?
[Waitress glares at him.]
Customer: Of course. Thousand Island.
Waitress: Not on the menu anymore. We're pretty sure a thousand islands would include Cuba.
Customer: OK then, ranch! That's acceptable, right? A ranch, like in Texas!
Waitress: Sorry, we're out of ranch.
Customer: Look, forget it! I'll just have a hamburger and a Coke! It doesn't get more American than Coke now, does it?
Waitress: Sir, we do not serve hamburger – or bratwurst, or any German food.
Customer: Then just bring me a Liberty Meat Slab or whatever Orwellian nightmare you're calling a burger now, and hurry it up! I've got to be at Civic Center in fifteen minutes!
Waitress: Civic Center? What, do you have to get to a protest with your commie hippie friends? I've had enough of your attitude and your unorthodox thinking. As a Patriot, it's my duty to take away your freedom. I'm turning you in.
Customer: Turning me in? To who? What the hell's going on? When did this country– [Puts hand to mouth] Crap, it came loose again.
Waitress: What came loose?
Customer: The new crown for my tooth. [Shows her tooth-shaped piece of porcelain] I've been through root canal.
Waitress: Ow.
Customer: Yeah. And they glue this crown on temporarily to see how it fits before they make it permanent somehow, but it's come off three times in less than a day. Every time I eat, almost.
Waitress: Strange.
Customer: Something to do with my "inaccurate bite." Apparently, my teeth don't work the way they're supposed to or the same way every time, so they had trouble casting the mold for the crown, it was hard to place, they had to do a lot of shaving to keep it from sticking out too far, ick. Still, you think cement technology would have advanced a little more.
Waitress: Gee, sorry about that, your crown coming out and interrupting everything.
Customer: That's OK. I didn't really have a good ending for this french-fry sketch thing anyway. I need to go put this crown back on. You got a bathroom here?
Waitress: Not for the likes of you, comrade.
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