Current Listening: Bad Religion – “Hooray For Me” (Stranger Than Fiction)
When I slept with stony faces on the riverbank, / My angeldevil reveller shook me desperately in dying, / I don’t exactly want to apologize for anything, and now / We’re all mad and tangled in secret rooms with roman candles, / On an endless graveyard train
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It’s been a while since an update. Oh, well.
So here are the photos from camping with Carrie. The weather was beautiful for the first half of the trip, but turned sour the last half. We got some swimming in, though, but did not get a chance to use the raft I brought. That’s okay, though, because we’re planning a rafting trip down the Bitterroot for the end of July.
The campsite was beautiful. There were only four spots, and when we got there all were available. A few people came and went, but they seemed to be only roadtrippers, stopping over for the night. There was a beach (albeit a rocky one), a boat launch and dock, flushing toilets, and… could it be??? Showers!!! There was, sadly, no campfire, so we had to cook our s’mores over the grille. We ate well, too. I brought these fajita Gardenburgers which were excellent, as well as hot dogs. We even got some Count Chocula™ cereal, which was dee-lish!
On Tuesday when the weather turned sour we went into Bigfork and did some shopping. There was one store there that apparently had a ‘4th of July Sale’ where everything was half off. Unfortunately, everything was triple what someone would rationally pay. So we theorize that the store always has a sale — the next one would be a ‘Dog Days of Summer Sale.’ We had some yummy ice cream, and spent the rest of the day inside the tent because it was rainy and generally crummy.
I couldn’t sleep very well because I kept worrying about bears. This is what spending four years camping in an RV will do to you. Obviously, we were not attacked by any bears.
The next day we went to Polson, and hung around town. I went to John’s music store, but it was strangely closed, with a sign saying it would re-open June 23. Uh-oh. We saw Spider-Man 2 (my second time) and ate at a Chinese place (which gave Carrie food poisoning and me gas).
The drive back was beautiful. I love that area.
Current Listening: Armchair Martian – “Jessica’s Sucide” (Armchair Martian)
Current Listening: REM – “Drive” (Automatic For the People)
Current Listening: Swingin’ Udders — “Next in Line” (Fat Music Vol. 3: Physical Fatness)
The epitome of punk rock. No job, no respect for authority, can barely speak without drooling over everything. These guys hate everything. Unemployment, employment, the government, anarchy, everything. The only discernable skills they have are the ability to sneer for hours on end. They only go to shows to say how terrible punk rock has become. They don’t own any records released after 1985. If a band signs to a label that most people have never heard of (i.e., Epitaph, Fat Wreck Chords, Hopeless), then they immediately hate the band, even if they were its bigger fan before.
Covered in tattoos, piercings, and eye shadow, these punks live a twisted, troubled life. Mainly from the ass-whoopings they receive at the hands of the Old-School Punkers. These punks have a lot in common with typical goths, except that their self-hatred is only feigned. See, some goth found out a long time ago that girls with low self-esteem and scars on their wrists would sleep with him if he acted depressed and deep, too. Now, goths really feel that way, but the Hot Topic Punk only feels that way when he sleeps with one of the said goth girls and finds out that he got some new, interesting, collectible venereal disease.
Never weighing less than 300 pounds (all muscle), these punks are the behemoths of their class. Contrary to popular belief, not all skinheads are white power idiots – most of them are just idiots. They bray on and on about being working class, despite the fact that the bands they listen to generally stay in four-star hotels and only interact with the working class when they want a Big Mac. These guys don’t consider a mosh pit to be cool unless bones are breaking and blood is flowing.
This species orginated when the thin, whiny kids who used to hang out with the jocks realized they couldn’t get any because they did not run around like big idiots and try to ‘score’ with big, muscular men. So they decided that they would become introverts and cry about everything.
The worst of the lot. These kids are whiny, know-it-alls, and trendy as hell. Their lyrics are sophomoric, trite, and often about girls. They play shows with their screaming high school friends and record demos with money that their mommies and daddies gave them. They often get expensive guitars and Marshall stacks as birthday presents, and if not they can afford to buy them because they don’t have real expenses, like rent/car payments.
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