A few weeks ago, somebody turned me on to the music of Bob Schneider. He was playing at the Roxy, so tonight I headed up to check him out. Now, even though it was only like 8 PM, I have to confess I was feeling a bit tired as I got in my car, got on the freeway and motored my way up to Hollywood. I gave serious consideration to just baling on the whole thing. But, you only live once, and I don't want to live it as a decrepit old man, so I grabbed my cane and my geritol and threw on the Pixies. "Whoo Hoo! Rock and Roll!" (please note that of those 3, only the last one was true, and at no time did I actually shout whoo hoo, rock and roll -- that's just the feeling I was trying to work up to)

I got up to Sunset, paid for parking, walked a few blocks to the Roxy, ignored the fact that I felt completely out of place compared to all the hipster kids who were walking past me, got to the box office, and realized with stark horror that the show had sold out. At no point had it even occurred to me to suspect that the show might sell out. This was a Wednesday night show with some dude I'd only ever even heard of a few weeks ago. I guess the Hollywood hipsters must have their ears closer to the ground than I did.

So, back in my car, and back on the freeway, and this time listening to Lucinda Williams (so, not rock 'n roll*). I got home in time to watch the West Wing and do some laundry. Clearly, I need to stay in the South Bay like a good little three one oher. I am just so completely not two one three (or whatever the hell the area code is in Hollywood these days.

*actually, I think that Lucinda Williams probably is rock 'n roll in an unrequited alt-country kind of way, but go with me here. It's a freaking metaphor or something.