All? No, All!

I had wanted to showcase the reader submissions for personalized Virginia license plates, but their server is broken, presumably from the increase in traffic brought on by the yalestar.com spotlight. Good work anyway, fellas. I'll see about getting you a raise.

I also just got me a new digital camera that I'm real excited about, and as soon as the novelty of taking pictures of my dick wears off, I'll be able to flood this site with my stunning photography.

Dang, I got to be a proxy dad for a couple days last week! My uncle who lives here had another baby (well, technically speaking, his wife did) and I had to rush out of work to take care of their existing kid, AKA my cousin Samantha, who is two, and kept reminding me of that fact. She's a pretty manageable little kid for the most part. We watched Nick at Nite for hours, and she put curlers in my hair. Then I had to wake her up the next day and take her to daycare. In this way, I get all the utility of having a kid, with none of the ownership hassles!

Then on Friday I had to leave work again to go pick up the mom's parents (whom I've never met) at the airport. Family lore has it that her dad's grouchiness is astounding, so, in the interest of family tranquility, I steeled myself as I got to the airport, promising not to get mad, no matter what sort of rotten shit he said. But he turned out to be perfectly pleasant, a Pearl Harbor survivor in fact, so I was happy to let him spin yarns all the way back from the airport.

My man Rick had an extra ticket to a Fugazi show that night as well, and I figured that would be a gone gasser. They played in Missoula at the Moose Club on June 4, 1990, and I remembered how good a live band they were. This show was pretty cool too, but nothing mindblowing. It's weird how big a deal the press has made of how Ian stops the show when people start in with the "slamdance," I believe it's called. By now, everyone has come to expect it. So when he eventually stopped the show this night, the crowd went apeshit. It was actually pretty cool, the tongue lashing he dealt to a group of "whitecaps" (Scout's term for backwards-hat-wearing frat types) in the front row.

Saturday, Scout alerted us that Deke Dickerson was playing up in Central City, this old mining town up in the mountains that has been unceremoniously converted into a monstrosity of a casino. It's really pretty sickening to see. But that's no reason to skip out on a Deke Dickerson show. Plus the drinks were real cheap.

And what a treat to see Deke and the Ecco-Fonics in such an intimate setting! Three full sets for the gambling folks (most of whom were unaware that they were witnessing the genius behind Untamed Youth). There were a few rockabilly guys and gals* there, but, as is the case with most casinos, the overwhelming percentage of the constituency was Tareyton-smoking, stained-sweatpants white trash.

By the way, I forgot the camera both nights.

Here's a few lame photos from the ALL show last weekend:

I couldn't resist this shot of a girl's raunchy undies hanging out of the back of her pants.

This guy was hilarious. I kept seeing him around the theatre conspicuously flexing his arms.

Here's the ALL singer giving the kids what they want.

That's Karl Alvarez on bass. God damn, I am a shitty photographer.

And here's my mighty Jetta in a Denny's parking lot sporting an "I Love The Figgs" sticker.

*Some people in Denver take the rockabilly lifestyle to an almost embarrassing level. The costume is one thing, but when you see some guy pull up to the show in a blown '48 Merc with flames on the side, get out and walk around to open the door for his girl, and she's dressed like Frenchy from "Grease," and even does the little debutante walk, you've gotta wonder if these folks don't have enough to do. I wouldn't be at all surprised if some night they staged a little "West Side Story"-style rumble behind the Bluebird Theatre.

Of course, being from Montana, the notion of doing any sort of preparation before going to a show (besides shotgunning a six pack) is very foreign to me, and hence, gay.

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