Forgetting Amnesia

Tonight I went to hear fellow blogger/writer Bryce Digdug perform his stand-up comedy at Amnesia. He was one of only two comedy acts in an interesting mix of a banjo player, new millennium Beat poets and a blues singers born during the second Reagan administration. It reminded me that I really need to have great-great aunt Carrie's zither harp tuned so I can start rehearsing my own performance art soon.

Even JunkThief was born after the Beats hit, but it was good to know that 20-somethings were doing something other than numbing white guy rap. Most memorable line of the night was "skinny people can't fly in Reno."

Afterwards, Bryce, "friendatella" and I went for a meal at the ever trusty Herbivore. Somehow the conversation weaved around to the sometimes tense relationship between fags and hippie chicks. I have had a number of hippie chick fag hags in my day and finally just gave up on trying to win their approval. Once I even tried Tom's of Maine deodorant which I dubbed "why bother," since it has no right to be called a deodorant. You'd do better putting sand under your arms. We seemed to agree that some hippie chicks blamed fags for their lifestyle bringing on AIDS. "Yes, it was all that red meat and soap," I offered.

I remember that about a decade ago a boyfriend and I stayed at the Riverside Drive rambling flat of a trust fund hippie chick. She was very judgmental of him because he drank Coca-cola. I tend to agree that it tastes like motor oil with sugar poured in (she compared it to carbonated fecal matter). But I actually came to his defence, probably buying me another year in a relationship that was headed south from the get go. Trust fund hippie chicks are the worst, I think. All that money to buy skin care products and six figure automobiles, but they tool around big cities with slogan covered bikes wearing Teva sandals.

Guilt leads to women who want to be gilt free. Maybe I'll add that to the JunkThief act when I get up the nerve for open mike.