So I flyered a couple of blocks around my house with that Sac PD press release for the rape. People really noticed when I was putting them up, and it was cool to interact with my neighbors and talk about it. I gave the flyer to this group of three pre-teen girls and told them to be careful and they were really nice about it. The weird thing is that I started to get really paranoid that the rapist would see me and target me for doing this. A guy walked past me that looked like the guy in the sketch, without the mustache (and he has most likely shaved that off if he's seen the sketch). This guy looked like a state worker walking to his car, though. And then a guy with a mustache, but who didn't really look like the sketch was lurking at the school and kept staring at me. That freaked me out, and what the fuck was who doing at the school, anyway? So many creeps. I'll probably flyer farther out after work today.
After a hearty serving of beef wellington (which, for those of you who don't know, is filet mignon, topped with pate and sauteed mushrooms, and surrounded by a puff pastry shell), made for me by one of Sacramento's hottest new chefs, I went to the Jennifer Gentle show at the Fool's Foundation. This show was a good example of why I almost never go to a show on a week night. I was really fooled into thinking that I could see the band and still be asleep by midnight. Ha. The first performer (Dead Western) started at 10:00. Now, as Thumper sez in "Bambi", "mama says if you can't say nothing nice, don't say nothin' at all" and I always take the advice of cute bunnies, so I'm not going to say anything. Well, one thing. Regardless of the quality of his performance, I think anyone would agree that for a solo performer whose musical pace is glacially slow, performing for an hour is a bit of a stretch. I went inside for the last song because it was so cold outside and when I noticed the hushed tone I was worried that the people inside had heard my loud kvetching. By the time Jennifer Gentle took the stage I was itching to go. They sounded good, but were also slower than I had expected, and when the third song turned out to be one of those slowly building, floaty, spacey kind of songs I cut out. Kind of a dud show. For me.
Does anyone else hate the New Yorker music critic (Sasha Frere-Jones) besides me? There is a big article on Slint in this week's issue. I've never heard Slint before, but there is this irritating thing in the article where, as Slint is playing at Irving Plaza, Sasha is furiously scribbling the mental images that come to his mind, which range from like atomic bombs falling, to deer pooping in the forest, or something. I'm totally misquoting but whatever he wrote is equally stupid. This week's (April 11th) issue is great, though. A return to form for the first time in months.