Cackling Girls

I'm here at Mother Fool's Coffeehouse in the back corner. I like it here since I can get my drink and do whatever while good music plays and people are around. Tonight there is a show and it's a bit packed. I was up front, but some creepy-looking girl kept staring at me and then their giddy, cackling frie(n)ds showed up. Their shrill chatter pierced my ears, which is amazing. I've killed 95% of my high range hearing due to years of heavy metal followed by years of punk with The Who constant through it all. I hate cackling girls, maybe even more than rednecks. I was about to leave when I remembered the back room where no one but yours truly is. It's a great respite.

I dug through the CDs I'm trading in. For years, I've put my receipts in the back of the jewel cases. I found one from July 11, 1992 in one. I think I'll dump all of them in the near future. They take up space and I have them all ripped. Yeah, there's the support-the-artist argument to buying CDs. Well, if I can work out how to convert AAC files into mp3s, I can pay the artist and not have all those CDs sitting around. God, I've got to have $8,000.00 or more worth at the prices I've bought them. Smoking would be cheaper, at least in the short run.

I now have company in my oasis. They're not too.. ooh, they may be leaving.... one has a ringing cell phone; BAD.... nope, they're sitting down. Crap.

I didn't have any readers for The Revolution on Wednesday night. That pissed me off. Usually, someone else organized readers, but this is twice in one month. I'll have to take care of at least one reader myself. That's another thing I'm doing tonight; working on a replacement website for the link above. I don't know how to get it to the right hands, though.

That damn putz keeps talking on his cell phone.

I should get back to doing what I wasn't doing before.

Auf Weidersehn.