The 35th Precinct

Totally random thoughts, AKA, brain lint:

-Uebermutter is actually kind of cool. Rammsteinliebe recced them as "Lady Rammstein at its finest." I'm not sure about that, but "Heim und Herd" was a good song. I was lukewarm about the other two tracks I sampled, but those women had stones. Apparently, they only made one album before calling it quits in 2008.

-Dero Goi tries way too hard to be cool. His hammy, schlocky unsettling goth schtick in the "Augen Auf!" video was absurd, and I spent more time laughing than being creeped out by their mini-Supernatural-episode video. Dude, your music is catchy and interesting and solid. Let it speak for itself.

-Who had the spiked hair first, Richard or Dero? Richard wears it better.

-"Crap" is a lame name for a rock guy. It's not punk or edgy. It's just stupid.


My brain has been racing at a million miles an hour since I decided to go to another Rammstein show. The day before yesterday, I had a "OMG, what the fuck do you think you're DOING?" moment, when I began to doubt the wisdom of taking such a long roadtrip in a van with almost one hundred and fifty-thousand miles on it, and conjuring up half a dozen doomsday scenarios in which I and my little party ended up stranded on the side of the road with a dead engine billowing the acrid, white smoke of defeat. I had similar scenarios in the days leading to the MSG show, and it went off flawlessly, but past success isn't a guarantee against future calamity.

Eventually, I'll have to get together with my traveling companion and see what she'd like to do in terms of hotel. I haven't really pushed for concrete plans yet because I'm frequently accused of being self-centered and oblivious to others' preferences and needs. I can't say it's entirely untrue, but it isn't intentional; planning around a disability has the unfortunate effect of giving the planners tunnel vision, particularly when one of them is disabled. I get so fixated on avoiding all the pitfalls of traveling and ensuring that I won't end up in the hospital with a blown ligament or shit my pants in front of a stranger and embarrass us both that I often forget that what might work best for me might be untenable for them.

Matters are further hampered by the fact that I deal almost exclusively in cash, which means that I can't make hotel reservations. I could use the debit card, I suppose, but I've heard too many horror stories of companies putting authorization holds on accounts far in excess of the cost of the service or keying in the wrong amount and draining the account, so I'd rather just hand over a wad of cash. I'm not cut out for an increasingly plastic economy. Then again, it's rumored that my late father buried much of his money in coffee cans in his backyard, and so perhaps I have inherited his disdain for imaginary money.

We'll figure it out soon enough.