Oh Kyler

Oh Kyler from MSN.  Oh how stupid you are.  Oh how you drive me crazy.  Do you not read my email before you reply?  Do you not think before you reply?   Do you not understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?   Oh how I loathe to work with you, oh Kyler of MSN.  How you aggravate me.  Oh, woe is me.

I hate being sick

So, I’ve had this lame, achy, exhausted thing for the past two days.  Not really sick, as in, coughing, runny nose sick, but just that sore, wimpy, I can’t lift my arms kind of sick.   I’ve been napping for the most part of the week so far.  The worst part, I am missing Phenomenauts/Aquabats tonight.  I guess I will have to catch ’em next time.


spread the word

I have a lot of friends that are in bands.   Someone once said to me that musicians in San Francisco are like actors in Los Angeles;  if you lived in LA, everyone you knew would be in an actor and if you live in the Bay Area, just about everyone is a musician.  Plus, once you know one person in a band, then they start to multiply like bunnies.

A lot of my friends in the area have been having a problem with this one particular “promoter,” and it kills me to see.   I know how much time, effort, and finances they put into getting their shows together.   To see them get shafted by a promoter breaks my heart.   To see a band travel three hours to play a show in Berkeley, and get nothing, not even get $40 bucks to throw in the gas tank, is disgusting.

So, I’m posting this here: http//www.myspace.com/boycottsavage

If you’re a music fan or musician in the bay area, you should check it out, because ignorance is no excuse.

This person has infected one of my favorite places, Blake’s on Telegraph, and until she’s gone from there, it’ll break my heart, but I won’t be going to shows there.

I will be attending an awesome show in Berkeley at Ashkenaz on August 18:
Go Jimmy Go
Deals Gone Bad
The Uptones

Ashkenaz is a great place to see shows as it is always all ages and they serve Red Stripe.   I hope to see some of you there.  I know Miami will be in the front row with me, cutting it up.

Thanks for your attention.


I’m trying to brown bag my lunch to work, so that I can save some money.   I just had this sandwich that I made this morning, and it was so good.  Now I want another one, but of course, all the sandwich fixings are at home and I am here.   It’s sort of sad.

My independence

“We hold these truths to be self evident . . . “

Peggy Lu needs a new job!   In order to form a more perfect union, I have just finished sending out a resume.   Cross your fingers, my friends.   Something has got to change for me.   No more A/P.  I need something interesting, challenging, stimulating, ever-changing, and not dull.   I don’t need my job to be the end-all, be-all of my existence, but it would be nice if it was something I didn’t dread getting up for.  Right now, I’m trying to extend the three day weekend by not going to bed.  I’m going to hate life from around two to three tomorrow afternoon, when I start to fade, and my boss starts breathing down my neck.

Simple Pleasures

This is going to be an ode to my new joy, the tale of discovery of the latest, very bestest way to unwind from those rough days, and even rougher weeks. And I have been having those days and weeks. It’s long, it’s drawn out, and I can’t find my way in to bed before one in the morning, and yet, I’m still getting up before seven. I should say, I’m supposed to get up before seven. It’s not really working that way. So, I stumble out of bed at just too late to catch a shower. And so, I’ve become the shower in the evening girl, or the shower at one in the morning girl. (There’s this whole side issue about that, about the frizzy, freaky hair, which we won’t go into, because it’s much to rant, and this is meant to be a rave.) So, point being, I can reconcile going in to work without taking a shower, but I can’t go a whole day without one.

So, Michelle took pity on me this evening when my original plan had fallen apart. I didn’t want to go to San Jose to see The Mits without a co-pilot, and well, the wing woman and her steward were grounded. I whimpered to Michelle, and got invited to the movies with her and her husband. (Why do I have so few single friends?) They are, of course, normal, and were ready to call it an evening at midnight on a Friday when they had gotten up early and worked all day. I on the other day am far more masochistic, but not that creative. The best I could come up with after I left them was to stop by the grocery store and pick up a six pack.

I got home, cracked a Red Stripe, fired up the laptop, hit play on the Sex and the City DVD, and sat down to do some blogging. I don’t know if I was more inspired by the show or by the beer. That is when I remembered the morning, the falling out of bed, and in to the first pair of pants I laid my hands on in the fluid motion that led me out the door and in to work. I realized that I need to take at least one shower between episodes of sleep, or risk becoming an unwashed, hippy chick, walking San Francisco stereotype.

Now, I’m not claiming to be some kind of innovator. It’s been done before, and will inevitably continue to be done, especially by myself. I don’t know how the idea came to me, but I’m glad it did. As I hopped up, snatched my towel, and headed to it, without much thought, I stumbled upon a most wonderful thing.

A scooped up my towel and Red Stripe, and skipped to the loo.

I must sing its praises. It is exquisite. It is simplicity. It is perfection. It is Beer in the Shower.

The only question is, what will I do once I get back into a more reasonable pattern of showering before I go to work?