dinosaur sr.

no one is really sure what I am doing with my life right now, least of all me, so there is no point in speculating on this website. however, I will tell you what I was doing last night. my dear friend liz clayton, fellow photographress and zinemaker type, came to the triangle and I had to show her a good time so…
1. first up we went to crook’s corner, a fine local chapel hill establishment to be sure but not one to cater to, um, how shall I say, vegans. so I had a plateful of (not kidding) fried green tomatoes bathed in lard, butter and crisco and deep fried in eggy breadcrumbs, boring white rice, leeks and greens soaked in butter and probably heavy cream just for the hell of it, and a side order of cheese grits, which is basically soggy cornmeal bathed in heavy cream, butter, eggs and cheese, well, I am guessing here but that’s what it felt like in my almost always vegan belly. I was rushed to the hospital for an emergency detox (am kidding). liz agrees that she owes me for this — but she believes it is unsanitary to offer a ‘cleanse’ to a platonic pal.
2. on to the next course of our silly evening… we went to the lincoln theater to see the sort of recently reformed dinosaur jr. there were about 5 people who were excited to be there and none of them were on stage. lou barlow, was he always an asshole or has l.a. turned him into one?, was so miserable up there, and so was j mascis, that I actually felt sorry for them despite the big wad of cash they surely tucked into the pockets of their grimy dockers just as soon as their giant shiny tour bus exited raleigh, NC, full of wives and infants, we are told. even their big hit song was played with such boredom and disinterest, it was hardly recognizable.
3. the main reason to go to see them is the super-uber-rad girl drummer in the opening act awesome color, a hair flipping young woman named allison who happens to look like an adorable teenage boy! old silver fox j mascis (who should be doing some johnny/edgar winter covers just because of his hairdo) and pumped-up lou could learn a thing or two about banter from the awesomely colorful bushwick, NY, trio, instead of hiding behind their hair like a couple of jabba the hutts. nice marshall stacks, though.
4. liz and I tried to size up the locals, uh, mostly gents of course in the raleigh establishment. yes, it felt like it was 1991, and not just because we lost our hearing at my bloody valentine shows in those days, but also because all the boys at this gig were of three different sartorial subcultures, which are not too far away from each other:
a. there were what I like to call the ‘fatty acids’, large men in acid washed jeans and usually a long sleeved black t-shirt or black fleece pullover.
b. there were some ‘my name is earls’. you get the picture. this is not ironic, new york/london trucker hat fashion. this is the genuine article.
c. there were the ‘screaming trees’ or better yet (liz’s idea) the TADs. the kind of gas-station-jacket-sporting, baseball cap featuring, and quite possibly soul-patch adorned gents who would have felt right at home at a sub pop night at the new music seminar. it was like time had stopped.
5. I thought about what would happen if some of my stylin’ uk gentlemen friends came over here for a visit. what would the raleigh population make of them? would the chicks dig it? would the local men be threatened by a different sort of masculine expression? I imagine all parties would not coexist peacefully. anyway, I really did feel bad for dino jr, who I used to enjoy back when I was little, and the poor show vibe was not all their fault; the audience was bloated and unenergetic as well (even those who hadn’t ingested three sticks of butter for dinner as I did).