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So. Took a road trip to Echo Park to this eentsy beentsy little indie record shop called Sea Level, just to avoid the $6 per ticket service charge that the devil Ticketmaster slaps on each ticket for the privelege of them printing it for you. This place was hilarious. First of all, it is in between a Spanish-speaking free clinic and a Payless shoes. We walk in, and two guys in ruffled pink old school tuxedo shirts are spinnin' accordian tunes, to which John dances to frantically. The DJ's laugh at him while we peruse all the yummy goodness of selection of hard to find music that communists like Tower NEVER carry. It felt like a scene from Slackers, with randomness abundant. I buy my two Mates of State/Rainer Maria tix, and we stick around to hear the DJ's act like the small hole in the wall is chock full of hipsters all up on the accordian tip. I felt whole again. They had Ms. Pac Man. I want to live there, or above it, and waddle down when I'm depressed and chat about obscure bands and cheap thrift finds. Ah, of course, a completely ridiculous dream, since in reality, most of those people drive shitty unpredictable cars, live with their mom, and make $7/hr. Nothing wrong with that, but hell, I do like going out to dinner without a Mc, or a King in the restaurant's name.
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