I must have certifiable rocks in my head to’ve enthusiastically taken on the unenviable task of booking the bands at a club out here in Portland, Oregon.
Feeling scared and vulnerable, Stillwell decided to play it cool and hitchhike into the mountains, eat weeds, and have nothing to do with movies for a while.
With “electronica” emitting its final thrusts like an epileptic’s death throes, it’s time to admit they had the stupidest nicknames since black metal and Goth.
As Will hurried through the dark, freezing streets, he thought about the plan: Get the hell out of this town, marry Winona Ryder, and live happily ever after. All he had to do was write a book…
I enjoyed all three shows, but came out of two annoyed by the actions of the performers – not because I didn’t like their acts, but by other stuff they did.
I had experimented with as many fermented chemicals as I cared to ingest. I’d found my likes, my dislikes, that which made me angry, sad, and projectile vomit.