Hewwo, Guess where I was last night? I'll give you a clue. It was a concert, but not by a band I like. Fear Factory at the Glasgow Barrowlands. Gasp. See, what happened was my friend really likes them but didn't have anyone to go with so I agreed. This was before finding out the dress code and finding out that we had to show up hours early to try and catch a glimpse of the band. So I duly trotted along, but I was banned from wearing anything I usually do, so it was leather and corset and eyeliner for me, because we were going to blag our way backstage before the gig and cords and a duffle coat apparently do not lend credibility to this. Getting backstage was very easy. "Hi we're with Road Runner Records" (subliminal message "Hi, we've both got cleavage look") and we were past the bouncers and into the dressing room. I met three people from the band and failed to be impressed because I don't like them. But they were sweet. Well, one was a bit quiet and in a mood, and the lead singer Burton didn't talk much, but the guitarist Dino was swell. He played guitar a bit and asked if i played and I said yes so he said "do you know this" and played something heavy, and I said "no, but I know some Smiths stuff". And this became the legendary episode of me teaching Dino from Fear Factory how to play Bigmouth Strikes Again and some of String Bean Jean. But he was sweet, he signed stuff I didn't really want, and gave me his plectrum. Jaz took pictures so I can show them to all the trendies and say this is me teaching Dino a Smiths song" and destroy their world. The gig itself was utterly terrible because it was heavby metal. The supports were squeaky kiddie punk, and each song began with stuff like "this is a song about politicians", or "this one's for all the mother fucking rebels here". I got out of the mosh pit before Fear Factory came on because I want to live, and escaped with only bruises, a kick to the temple, what my friends all insist is a black eye, which hurts like hell, oh and some random boy tried to bite my chest and possibly is now impotent. Hopefully. And on a non-heavy metal note, Johnjohn is such a sweetheart and he deserves the perfect girl and no one less. Oh, and if there are any complete geeks in glasgow, near the Belgrove Hotel where all the crazy drunk homeless men stand outside and spew, theres a place called Chu's Cuisine. So ken, you've been found out. You sell kebabs to alcholics. Also I hope everyone had a swell Halloween/Samhain/ New Year. I went to see fireworks at a fairground on saturday. We had sparklers and I had a big long warm purple coat on and I bought a purple glo thing and pretended I was a space angel. Mixing super advanced technology with space magic to fight baddies and rescue puppies and kittens and orphans. And tinks stole my friends purse. Obviously if I'd had my purple glo thing at the time I could have just used superpowers to get it back and aprehend the villains. But I never. Maybe next time. Hugs, Jen Ps. I have lost faith in the postal service. I'd boycott it, but I kind of need it. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+