Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Punky Tunester

PHRASE OF THE DAY
la crête: mohawk

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's . . . no wait, it's just a plane. But it's also SUPERMOLLY! Because she's INSIDE the plane! (Because unlike most super heroes, Supermolly doesn't have the gift of flight, or speed, or invisible planes. And she'd thank you to stop bugging her about it. It's a terrible inconvenience.)

But perhaps Supermolly is also in the plane because she officially bought her ticket home! So the ticking time bomb has been set to 31 days and some hours. Supermolly can't remember exactly right now. But it's probably okay. I mean when do ticking time bombs go down to the final seconds anyway? That never happens.

D-DAY: May 26th
Destination: Nashville
Via: Madrid & Dallas
Time: 20 hours
All: smiles :)

Also, in keeping with the superhero theme, I've recently discovered I have an alterego, Molly Fessler, and she's a card-carrying member of the underground punk scene of Nice, France.

Let me explain.

On Thursday night, our plans to wreak havoc on the quiz night crowd at MaNolans quickly derailed, crashing uncontrollably into an uncharacteristically clean alleyway basement punk show. (Adrien had a friend who was playing drums in one of the bands.)

I'll start off by saying I thought I knew what punk was, and I was mistaken.

Punk is loud.
Punk is thumpy.
Punk is wrought with angst and sweaty mosh-pits.

In order to get in, we had to get a membership card. My card was made out to Molly Fessler. It's good for a year.

Emily and I quickly noticed how out of place we were. My dress was just a little too flowery and my hair a little too braidy for this cave of black-jeaned, purple-haired ruffians who probably wouldn't ever use a word like "ruffian" (or the French equivalent).

I was also expecting it to be a LOT more crowded than it was. Maybe 25 people tops at the beginning. But then I thought about it for a minute. How big could the punk scene in Nice POSSIBLY be? And then I looked around again and was shocked that there were actually 25 people there.

The first band to play (and ultimately the only one I saw) was pretty much exactly what I should have expected. Long-haired guitarist, slightly heftier bassist, and a crazy drummer who took his shirt off halfway through.


The only part of the show that I found tolerable was the one song where they yodeled. I don't know if that's typical for punk music, but I do love a good yodel.

In the small area right in front of the band, there formed a mosh-pit, shove-y and violent, as mosh-pits are wont to be. But I had a hard time focusing on the mosh-pit, as almost all of my attention was drawn elsewhere.

The mohawk.
More than a foot tall.
RED.
It defied social norms and physics.
I felt inspired. By the mohawk. And the Shakespirit that visits when I've been alone for too long.

Shall I compare thee to a mohawk?
Thou art more lovely and more permanent
Rough winds do shake hair buds not yet mohawked
And hair gel's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the straightener doth press
And oft is his red complexion dimm'd
And every hair from hair sometime too stressed
By chance or having left too long untrimm'd
But thy eternal color shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that hair thou holdst
Nor shall Death Metal sag the precipice hair-sprayed
When in vertical lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, no breath will squash it
So long lives this, the mohawk in the mosh-pit.

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Though the mohawk made a fighting case, we did end up ditching the punky tunesters after the first set (leaving Adrien to support his drumming friend alone).

Then me, Emily, and her two French friends went to a gelateria, ate there, then to a café, ordered drinks, and sat outside, playing it super French.

It was very pleasant.

All in all a nice way to round out a somewhat unorthodox evening.

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Also, before going to the punk show, I met up at Emily's place for dinner and such. Our friend Agnes cut Em's bangs before we left.

Mustachioed friends are the best kind of friends.

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OH!

ALSO!

I just bought a plane ticket to go to SALZBURG!!! In AUSTRIA!!!!

Thanks to the wise guidance of a certain older sister, I was notified that there is a certain guided tour of the set and scenery from a certain famous musical concerning a certain Von Trapp family.

You guys . . . for 3 whole days after my exams, the hills will be alive with ME.

Get it.

So that will be coming later.

Until then, I will be soaking up these B-E-A-utiful riviera rays. Hoping to get a base tan. Hoping to circumvent melanoma. It's a delicate balance. And a crap-ton of sunscreen.

It's the home stretch. Let's do this.

Amitiés :)

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