Babe in the Woods: Eric's European Vacation Diary, Part the First: WILCO
As custodian of this fine trove, here is Eric's e-mail from Europe. See the bottom for my notes and edits.
Dearest Fellow Wilco Supporters-
As a friendly "fuck you" to all of my good friends back home in NYC who were unwilling or unable to obtain Wilco tickets to the June 8th show at Irving Plaza(1), I attended a certified kick-ass Wilco show last night at Club Vega right here in Copenhagen(2). Melissa, myself, and my 250 closest Danish hipster friends (indeed I believe the hipster first appeared in Denmark before invading the rest of the planet (3)) rocked out to the far out sounds of my favorite Yankee Hotel Foxtrot songs interspersed with my first listen to the new album (which somebody owes me a burn of because I no longer can afford to buy it(4)). Anyway, show was great and to top it off Missy decided to stalk the only member brave enough to hang out in the bar afterwards, Pat Sansone (apparently he joined the band to tour after the making of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot(5)(6)) and proceeded to introduce herself and make me look foolish as I stood sheepishly behind her as she made the introduction and continued to tell him all about our travels. Unfortunately, I was unable to hang out with Jeff Tweedy because I had a fat stash of valium (7) on me which I am sure would've made him think twice about that whole rehab regimen. So my magical mystical European musical tour continues. Who knows, maybe I'll see Wilson-Phillips in Oslo if I am lucky.
Keep your fingers crossed for me brothers. Tussen tak.
E (8)
[Editor's note: We here at the SoK feel that artistic expression should rely with the author. Except in the case of Eric.)
1. I got to see them in DC. I raged with some other concert-goers to form a "no tall people in front of us" club, and had the best seat (stand?) I've ever really had. Tweedy looked like Skelator, sang like a sparrow with a tracheotomy and made fun of Ronald Reagan's crispy corpse, which was also in town that week.
2. I went to Copenhagen with Drew, Jesse and Mike. We landed there on the way from London to Stockholm because somebody died on the plane. I said, "I'm glad I didn't order the fish". b-dum ching.
3. It was a velvet revolution, really. Next time call them Vikings. Or make a Lars Ulrich reference. Rookie.
4. You're copping my excessive parenthetical stees! And you're not poor. We in the insurance industry would call you "emerging mass affluent" and we would court your favor with candy and spices from the orient. And Wilco is at the top of their musical powers: "When the devil came, he was not red. He was chrome, and he said, 'come with me'." So true. Though, when I met the devil, he looked more like X-ibit and he pimped my ride for my soul.
5. What? More of this ()()()() nonsense? Gimme a (! Gimme a )! (!!)
6. He says, pushing his glasses to his brow, "Pat Sansone is Wilco bassist John Stirrat's partner in the Autumn defense and joined Wilco's touring group after the recording of A Ghost Is Born. Also joining was avant jazz guitarist Nels Cline, he of spider fingers fame [insert your own Marfan Syndrome joke. My last one had me feeling bad for weeks]. Sansone wears scarves around his neck and generally seems more foppish than the rest of the boys. He was especially great as a maraca player. He really sold it."
7. If history serves me, you had roofies.
8. I know I've given this tirade before: Write your damn name out. Three more letters. It's not like you're writing Chukwuemeka or something. People who have been typing for years can write their name in less than a second. Stopwatch ready: Kevin. Ok. 1.1 seconds. So why would people do this whole shortcut thing? Elegant indifference? Too cool for school? Trying to create an air of mystery about who wrote the e-mail? Maybe it was Eric estrada? erica eleniak? edward james olmos? No, these classy individuals would have called themselves ponch, chick from original baywatch and pockmarked teacher of Lou Diamond Phillips, respectively. Imagine if ee cummings signed his name, "holla back, e". no gravitas. Don't be sloppy. Stand up straight. Sign your name.
Dearest Fellow Wilco Supporters-
As a friendly "fuck you" to all of my good friends back home in NYC who were unwilling or unable to obtain Wilco tickets to the June 8th show at Irving Plaza(1), I attended a certified kick-ass Wilco show last night at Club Vega right here in Copenhagen(2). Melissa, myself, and my 250 closest Danish hipster friends (indeed I believe the hipster first appeared in Denmark before invading the rest of the planet (3)) rocked out to the far out sounds of my favorite Yankee Hotel Foxtrot songs interspersed with my first listen to the new album (which somebody owes me a burn of because I no longer can afford to buy it(4)). Anyway, show was great and to top it off Missy decided to stalk the only member brave enough to hang out in the bar afterwards, Pat Sansone (apparently he joined the band to tour after the making of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot(5)(6)) and proceeded to introduce herself and make me look foolish as I stood sheepishly behind her as she made the introduction and continued to tell him all about our travels. Unfortunately, I was unable to hang out with Jeff Tweedy because I had a fat stash of valium (7) on me which I am sure would've made him think twice about that whole rehab regimen. So my magical mystical European musical tour continues. Who knows, maybe I'll see Wilson-Phillips in Oslo if I am lucky.
Keep your fingers crossed for me brothers. Tussen tak.
E (8)
[Editor's note: We here at the SoK feel that artistic expression should rely with the author. Except in the case of Eric.)
1. I got to see them in DC. I raged with some other concert-goers to form a "no tall people in front of us" club, and had the best seat (stand?) I've ever really had. Tweedy looked like Skelator, sang like a sparrow with a tracheotomy and made fun of Ronald Reagan's crispy corpse, which was also in town that week.
2. I went to Copenhagen with Drew, Jesse and Mike. We landed there on the way from London to Stockholm because somebody died on the plane. I said, "I'm glad I didn't order the fish". b-dum ching.
3. It was a velvet revolution, really. Next time call them Vikings. Or make a Lars Ulrich reference. Rookie.
4. You're copping my excessive parenthetical stees! And you're not poor. We in the insurance industry would call you "emerging mass affluent" and we would court your favor with candy and spices from the orient. And Wilco is at the top of their musical powers: "When the devil came, he was not red. He was chrome, and he said, 'come with me'." So true. Though, when I met the devil, he looked more like X-ibit and he pimped my ride for my soul.
5. What? More of this ()()()() nonsense? Gimme a (! Gimme a )! (!!)
6. He says, pushing his glasses to his brow, "Pat Sansone is Wilco bassist John Stirrat's partner in the Autumn defense and joined Wilco's touring group after the recording of A Ghost Is Born. Also joining was avant jazz guitarist Nels Cline, he of spider fingers fame [insert your own Marfan Syndrome joke. My last one had me feeling bad for weeks]. Sansone wears scarves around his neck and generally seems more foppish than the rest of the boys. He was especially great as a maraca player. He really sold it."
7. If history serves me, you had roofies.
8. I know I've given this tirade before: Write your damn name out. Three more letters. It's not like you're writing Chukwuemeka or something. People who have been typing for years can write their name in less than a second. Stopwatch ready: Kevin. Ok. 1.1 seconds. So why would people do this whole shortcut thing? Elegant indifference? Too cool for school? Trying to create an air of mystery about who wrote the e-mail? Maybe it was Eric estrada? erica eleniak? edward james olmos? No, these classy individuals would have called themselves ponch, chick from original baywatch and pockmarked teacher of Lou Diamond Phillips, respectively. Imagine if ee cummings signed his name, "holla back, e". no gravitas. Don't be sloppy. Stand up straight. Sign your name.
4 Comments:
wow. i can almost visualize eric's self esteem crumbling into ashes a la alfonso soriano in the 2003 playoffs as he reads Kevin's merciless thrashing of his carefully honed writing style. actually the face i picture him making is sort of like when the bad guy from Temple of Doom ripped the still-beating heart out of some poor Sikh extra. Moloram, prepare to meet Gali!!
it's because i care. Eric, like Wilco, has the ability to levitate; when i see either not transcending the bounds of mere mortals, i shiver. they're also much bigger than i am, so behind my computer i can still rule. i will not rest until the heavens are filled with offensive thoughts and the rivers run dry of excremental prose. I will not capitulate. I will not fail.
Smooches,
k
mmmmmmm..i disagree.
edward james olmos would have certainly have called himself lieutenant martin castillo.
and he would have called crockett "cracker" if he was speaking really fast.
and don johnson had a top five single in 1986.
...And Don Johnson was also the Marlboro Man. His sidekick Harley Davidson was Mickey Rourke. Quick. Who in Hollywood does Mickey Rourke's pockmarked grill most resemble?
Edward James Olmos......take that New York.
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