San Francisco- LES GEORGES LENINGRAD 11/25/06
I am counting out change at work, closing the registers, Twinjob leans on the counter next to me trying to break my focus with questions about the night ahead.
He sports newly coiffed hair, tint highlights and cut.
I've got black straight hair and his is a rich chocolatey curly style.
At work everyone is like
Your brother is Really Cute
Almost disbelievingly. Like they mean
I thought you were twins, your brother is Really Cute.
I say thanks. I'm not fishing for anything.
We leave at 6:30 and scoot to the mish, the wind is biting, and San Francisco drivers prove nonsensical, slowing for green lights and speeding up to reds, braking mid blcok for a turn that's 30 feet ahead.
At home we walk the dogs and eat more Thanksgiving leftovers.
I change from the really tight work jeans Twinjob just can't get over, into really tight going out black denim and my black and gold high top Puma's.
Ohio pees on Twinjob so he changes from a white customized hoody to a gray customized hoody.
He's mad that the dog peed on him and he had to change.
We argue over the decidedly casual fit of his denim, which he claims is slim fit, and I'm all
Those are baggy
He's all
"Compared to your denim leggings..."
We laze about and watch half of CSI:Miami.
It's a family thing.
Twinjob is all
"It is so cold"
Sorry it's not Miami
"Is the club cold?"
Yeah, they put out buckets of ice to maintain the temperature
"No. I mean is it a cold club"
That is totally ridiculous
"No, you know how some clubs or bars are just always cold, some bars in Newyorkcity are like that"
I don't know what you are talking about, it is a normal club, with heating.
We scoot to Bottom of Hell. The cold has not let up, I'm nervous about rain.
Scooting in the rain is bad enough but with his weight on the back
I'd for sure spill us on one of the hills.
We pay the $10 each and get our hands stamped.
It is empty.
We came early because I thought it would sell out and it is EMPTY.
Twinsey isn't here yet.
I call her, she's still waiting for the bus.
When I come back inside Twinjob is drinking a Miller High Life, I jump on him then get stuck fixing my hair in the mirror
He's all
"Why did we get here so early?"
In case it sold out
"Really? There is no one here"
I part and repart my hair
I'm all
Those two people at the end of the bar are in Les Georges Leningrad.
Twinjob is NOT impressed.
He wants gum, we hoof it up three steep hills to the corner market. He buys gum flavored gum. Outside I rip my horoscope out of the SFWeekly
TJ(Twinjob) tries to read it but he's all
I can't concentrate on this right now
Really? It's the shortest one on the page.
On our way back I ask TJ if he ever thinks we are meant to live together because we aren't whole people without each other.
Once it's out of my mouth my stomach turns with codependent embarrassment.
Twinsey calls, she's at the club.
I see her down the block and wave, but she doesn't wave back
I'm all
GOD, now I'm waving at strangers
really loud, so the stranger can hear, but it is Twinsey and she is giggling uncontrollably, it's the Twinniness of the sitch. She just came back from visiting her twin sister yesterday.
We all hug our hellos and head inside. The place is filling up, a little.
We accidentally stand under a heating duct/blower that is blowing cold air.
My brother is all
"I told you it wasn't a stupid question"
Twinsey is all
"What question?"
I explain the earlier discussion about cold clubs.
We go outside to sit because the night will be full of standing.
Twinjob tells Twinsey about his job, I ask Twinsey about my art and show her a new bandanna. I can hear pounding coming from inside the club.
We go in.
On stage there are three boys, one on bass, one on keys, one drumming. A girlish woman with awkward uglynonugly grown out hair leans barefooted against the edge of the stage with a beer bottle in one hand and a mic in the other. This is either Lemonade, San Francisco psychedelic/dance/noise, or Duchess Says, Quebeceze LGL pals. The music is noisy, and dancey, the singer goes through fits of apparent posession (eyes rolled back, twitching) childish dancing (walking like an egyptian) and absolute boredom (sitting on the stage squeezed between the monitors).
I love it. TJ and Twinsey love it.
The singer wears a LGL shirt, I'm guessing this is Duccess Says. Then they perform a song in which the main lyric is Duchess Says.
A girl in short shorts dark stockings and ballet flats dances all shoulders elbows and hips, arty sexy dancing right up front, right in the singer's face. I cringe.
After thouroughly freaking out and trashing her keytar the lead singer beckons this tall unfortunate dude to the edge of the stage. She gets on his shoulders. He carries her into the crowd during the song, bopping and spinning. She leans back and the crowd catches her. After the song from her spot laying on the floor she says in a slurred sweet french accent
"I don't know what happened...
I was tired, so in ze van I drank
two
Red Buulls. I thought I am too tired for ze show
Then I made to vomit. Then I came here and
felt like vomit again.
I don't know what happened..."
When they are through I buy a cd, Les Georges Leningrad, and two buttons. We go to the scooter so I can store my merch.
Outside we chat about my not so recent departure from Finest Dearest and Twinsey's upcoming audition for a radio show at her school, Stanford.
She lists some of her favorite bands at my request, they are all kind of loud bands. Twinsey is wearing:
Black flat shoes
Blue Jeans
A black skirt, or longish shirt over the jeans
A black top with some nice detailing
Her hair back with a thin plastic headband
Glasses.
I like that despite her mild appearence (no peircings, tattoos, or fashion bouffants) she likes edgier music.
We go back to the smoking patio where TJ picks up the smoldering butt of a half smoked cigarette and finishes it off.
We talk about our tenuous high school links to Asobi Seksu.
But who is James Hannah? After vague memories and descriptions it's determined that I am in fact thinking of Jay Stare.
Diabolical comes up. I describe how she makes me feel like I might commit suicide or have anonymous sex at any moment.
Twinsey looks at me with all sinecerity and says
"She can still do that? She still makes people feel that way?"
TJ brings up the Highs School reunion. He can't wait. I want to go dressed as a woman. I'm all
It's going to suck, having to be like 'Yeah, I work part time at a salon, and basically party and make unfamous art'
Twinsey is all
"Are you happy though?"
I guess
She's all
"It will suck that I'll have to say 'I'm getting my doctorate in Japenese literature' then watch people's faces change, eyes widen, and say 'Oh, that's interesting"
I could see how that's annoying, having to explain your major all the time and answer the same questions, and maybe make people feel uncomfortable with your academia.
I decide that some of my friends from high school were definitley Cunts.
I ask Twinsey to please excuse my language, use of the word Cunt.
There's some rumbling inside. It must be LGL. I'm too psyched.
Inside on the stage are three guys, one drummer, one guitar, one long haired guy standing next to some gongish instruments with a mic in his hand. Lemonade.
If I named my band Lemonade I'd be concerned people would free associate and think of pee, urine, everytime they heard the name. I think of pee.
They start playing. The lead singer pulls a plastic brighly colored mask over his face, we walk back outside to the sound of a looped gong and arythmic dancedrumming.
It's getting late.
We talk more about High School and who's doing what. LGL members are going back and forth from back stage.
At midnight we are back inside. The stage has two large white cardboard cutouts of hand drawn bats (the animals, not the sporting equipment). They take the stage: Poney dressed in a black party dress with yellow pokadots and a short black wig worn backwards. The drummer is dressed as a caveman superhero, as per usual, this time with chains hanging off his faux fur collar. The keyboardist wears a homemande gold mexican wrestling mask with eyebrows and mowhawk sewn on, and a gold top with large music note and lightening appliques.
The set starts as a wall of noise with driving mounting drums.
A dude in an ugly shirt (zippers on the shoulders and vents down the front) dances crazy. He doesn't dance as much as mosh. Everyone else is dancing, bopping, maybe bumping, but not moshing. He bumps into a well dressed (sweater collared shirt, trousers and vintage shoes) guy in front of me, who pushes him severly. There's almost a fight.
The dude in the ugly shirt, bad hair too(blond and spiked up or pushed back with gel and sweat, like how I desperately wanted my hair to look in the fifth grade) keeps knocking into people. Douche bag.
Their set is dancier than usual.
The drummer breaks a stick over his head in a show of TRUE MASCULINITY, then runs off stage to search for another one. I'm glad I'm not closer because he spits a whole lot.
At one point I have to protect Twinsey from the flailing douche bag. He almost knocks her over. I try to get a kick in but he bounces away too soon.
I'm struck by the artifice of menace that LGL put out there. But how that makes them seem actually really menacing. Because to me, only someone really crazy or weird, or smart, dangerously smart, could think up what they do and not let fear of obviousness get in the way.
We leave immediately after their set. TJ and I walk Twinsey to her busstop.
As we scoot over Potrero hill I scream sing
AY EE EYE EE OH AYE EEE
One of LGL's lyrics.
TJ laughs.
He sports newly coiffed hair, tint highlights and cut.
I've got black straight hair and his is a rich chocolatey curly style.
At work everyone is like
Your brother is Really Cute
Almost disbelievingly. Like they mean
I thought you were twins, your brother is Really Cute.
I say thanks. I'm not fishing for anything.
We leave at 6:30 and scoot to the mish, the wind is biting, and San Francisco drivers prove nonsensical, slowing for green lights and speeding up to reds, braking mid blcok for a turn that's 30 feet ahead.
At home we walk the dogs and eat more Thanksgiving leftovers.
I change from the really tight work jeans Twinjob just can't get over, into really tight going out black denim and my black and gold high top Puma's.
Ohio pees on Twinjob so he changes from a white customized hoody to a gray customized hoody.
He's mad that the dog peed on him and he had to change.
We argue over the decidedly casual fit of his denim, which he claims is slim fit, and I'm all
Those are baggy
He's all
"Compared to your denim leggings..."
We laze about and watch half of CSI:Miami.
It's a family thing.
Twinjob is all
"It is so cold"
Sorry it's not Miami
"Is the club cold?"
Yeah, they put out buckets of ice to maintain the temperature
"No. I mean is it a cold club"
That is totally ridiculous
"No, you know how some clubs or bars are just always cold, some bars in Newyorkcity are like that"
I don't know what you are talking about, it is a normal club, with heating.
We scoot to Bottom of Hell. The cold has not let up, I'm nervous about rain.
Scooting in the rain is bad enough but with his weight on the back
I'd for sure spill us on one of the hills.
We pay the $10 each and get our hands stamped.
It is empty.
We came early because I thought it would sell out and it is EMPTY.
Twinsey isn't here yet.
I call her, she's still waiting for the bus.
When I come back inside Twinjob is drinking a Miller High Life, I jump on him then get stuck fixing my hair in the mirror
He's all
"Why did we get here so early?"
In case it sold out
"Really? There is no one here"
I part and repart my hair
I'm all
Those two people at the end of the bar are in Les Georges Leningrad.
Twinjob is NOT impressed.
He wants gum, we hoof it up three steep hills to the corner market. He buys gum flavored gum. Outside I rip my horoscope out of the SFWeekly
TJ(Twinjob) tries to read it but he's all
I can't concentrate on this right now
Really? It's the shortest one on the page.
On our way back I ask TJ if he ever thinks we are meant to live together because we aren't whole people without each other.
Once it's out of my mouth my stomach turns with codependent embarrassment.
Twinsey calls, she's at the club.
I see her down the block and wave, but she doesn't wave back
I'm all
GOD, now I'm waving at strangers
really loud, so the stranger can hear, but it is Twinsey and she is giggling uncontrollably, it's the Twinniness of the sitch. She just came back from visiting her twin sister yesterday.
We all hug our hellos and head inside. The place is filling up, a little.
We accidentally stand under a heating duct/blower that is blowing cold air.
My brother is all
"I told you it wasn't a stupid question"
Twinsey is all
"What question?"
I explain the earlier discussion about cold clubs.
We go outside to sit because the night will be full of standing.
Twinjob tells Twinsey about his job, I ask Twinsey about my art and show her a new bandanna. I can hear pounding coming from inside the club.
We go in.
On stage there are three boys, one on bass, one on keys, one drumming. A girlish woman with awkward uglynonugly grown out hair leans barefooted against the edge of the stage with a beer bottle in one hand and a mic in the other. This is either Lemonade, San Francisco psychedelic/dance/noise, or Duchess Says, Quebeceze LGL pals. The music is noisy, and dancey, the singer goes through fits of apparent posession (eyes rolled back, twitching) childish dancing (walking like an egyptian) and absolute boredom (sitting on the stage squeezed between the monitors).
I love it. TJ and Twinsey love it.
The singer wears a LGL shirt, I'm guessing this is Duccess Says. Then they perform a song in which the main lyric is Duchess Says.
A girl in short shorts dark stockings and ballet flats dances all shoulders elbows and hips, arty sexy dancing right up front, right in the singer's face. I cringe.
After thouroughly freaking out and trashing her keytar the lead singer beckons this tall unfortunate dude to the edge of the stage. She gets on his shoulders. He carries her into the crowd during the song, bopping and spinning. She leans back and the crowd catches her. After the song from her spot laying on the floor she says in a slurred sweet french accent
"I don't know what happened...
I was tired, so in ze van I drank
two
Red Buulls. I thought I am too tired for ze show
Then I made to vomit. Then I came here and
felt like vomit again.
I don't know what happened..."
When they are through I buy a cd, Les Georges Leningrad, and two buttons. We go to the scooter so I can store my merch.
Outside we chat about my not so recent departure from Finest Dearest and Twinsey's upcoming audition for a radio show at her school, Stanford.
She lists some of her favorite bands at my request, they are all kind of loud bands. Twinsey is wearing:
Black flat shoes
Blue Jeans
A black skirt, or longish shirt over the jeans
A black top with some nice detailing
Her hair back with a thin plastic headband
Glasses.
I like that despite her mild appearence (no peircings, tattoos, or fashion bouffants) she likes edgier music.
We go back to the smoking patio where TJ picks up the smoldering butt of a half smoked cigarette and finishes it off.
We talk about our tenuous high school links to Asobi Seksu.
But who is James Hannah? After vague memories and descriptions it's determined that I am in fact thinking of Jay Stare.
Diabolical comes up. I describe how she makes me feel like I might commit suicide or have anonymous sex at any moment.
Twinsey looks at me with all sinecerity and says
"She can still do that? She still makes people feel that way?"
TJ brings up the Highs School reunion. He can't wait. I want to go dressed as a woman. I'm all
It's going to suck, having to be like 'Yeah, I work part time at a salon, and basically party and make unfamous art'
Twinsey is all
"Are you happy though?"
I guess
She's all
"It will suck that I'll have to say 'I'm getting my doctorate in Japenese literature' then watch people's faces change, eyes widen, and say 'Oh, that's interesting"
I could see how that's annoying, having to explain your major all the time and answer the same questions, and maybe make people feel uncomfortable with your academia.
I decide that some of my friends from high school were definitley Cunts.
I ask Twinsey to please excuse my language, use of the word Cunt.
There's some rumbling inside. It must be LGL. I'm too psyched.
Inside on the stage are three guys, one drummer, one guitar, one long haired guy standing next to some gongish instruments with a mic in his hand. Lemonade.
If I named my band Lemonade I'd be concerned people would free associate and think of pee, urine, everytime they heard the name. I think of pee.
They start playing. The lead singer pulls a plastic brighly colored mask over his face, we walk back outside to the sound of a looped gong and arythmic dancedrumming.
It's getting late.
We talk more about High School and who's doing what. LGL members are going back and forth from back stage.
At midnight we are back inside. The stage has two large white cardboard cutouts of hand drawn bats (the animals, not the sporting equipment). They take the stage: Poney dressed in a black party dress with yellow pokadots and a short black wig worn backwards. The drummer is dressed as a caveman superhero, as per usual, this time with chains hanging off his faux fur collar. The keyboardist wears a homemande gold mexican wrestling mask with eyebrows and mowhawk sewn on, and a gold top with large music note and lightening appliques.
The set starts as a wall of noise with driving mounting drums.
A dude in an ugly shirt (zippers on the shoulders and vents down the front) dances crazy. He doesn't dance as much as mosh. Everyone else is dancing, bopping, maybe bumping, but not moshing. He bumps into a well dressed (sweater collared shirt, trousers and vintage shoes) guy in front of me, who pushes him severly. There's almost a fight.
The dude in the ugly shirt, bad hair too(blond and spiked up or pushed back with gel and sweat, like how I desperately wanted my hair to look in the fifth grade) keeps knocking into people. Douche bag.
Their set is dancier than usual.
The drummer breaks a stick over his head in a show of TRUE MASCULINITY, then runs off stage to search for another one. I'm glad I'm not closer because he spits a whole lot.
At one point I have to protect Twinsey from the flailing douche bag. He almost knocks her over. I try to get a kick in but he bounces away too soon.
I'm struck by the artifice of menace that LGL put out there. But how that makes them seem actually really menacing. Because to me, only someone really crazy or weird, or smart, dangerously smart, could think up what they do and not let fear of obviousness get in the way.
We leave immediately after their set. TJ and I walk Twinsey to her busstop.
As we scoot over Potrero hill I scream sing
AY EE EYE EE OH AYE EEE
One of LGL's lyrics.
TJ laughs.
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