Sinister: Industrial metal is just not polite

[JENOWL22 at xxx.com]

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.
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