PUMP IT UP (also it's halloween)

Whaddup. It's the night before Halloween and I am beyond excited to get that party started. Kelsey and I will be going as '90s-era Southern California cholitas. I've got my baggy overalls and wife-beater, all I need now are giant hoop earings, fake tattoos, and super thick, a few-shades-too-dark lip-liner. And to also turn my (new!) bangs into a big curl. YES!


I usually start planning the next year's Halloween the day after the actual holiday. Ideas for next year:
Wayne
Garth
Daniel Plainview (and hire a child to be H.W.), complete with a milkshake
Mary-Kate and/or Ashley circa the You're Invited straight-to-video movies.
Corky St. James

Any preferences?

Also, this weekend's jam: The Pixies-Wave of Mutilation
Along with Pavement, the Pixies were one of the first bands that I REALLY loved, that encouraged me to be more open and exploratory with music. In 8th or 9th grade, my older brother handed me a copy of Doolittle, and it was the weirdest, most nebulous, smartest thing I had ever heard. It's a band that's well-established in the musical canon, but somehow is always on the fringes. A band popular at the height of college radio in the 80s, but too popular for college stations today (at least at KVRX). A band who more people than you'd think know about, but somehow, Frank Black's shrieks and Kim Deal's echoing and haunting croons sound all like your personal discovery, a gem of your very own.



P.S. So, you know how Pavement is reuniting in 2010? The first shows of which will be in Central Park in September? I have a ticket. Sometimes I forget about it. But then, at various moments during the day, a euphoric wave of friendliness will wash over me, my cold heart will warm and expand like a marshmallow in a microwave, and I'll have a feeling that this world belongs to me and life isn't full of settled disappointments and muted desperation, and I'll wonder why. But then I remember: Pavement. Me. Front row. And I die a little bit.