tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7014850.post-1102605889787419342004-12-09T06:51:00.000-08:002004-12-10T01:51:11.750-08:00It was about time to make this giant post about how my parents were here for five days and how they drove me crazy because they're as stubbornly American as I am. However, it was going to end on an uplifting yet saddening note because eventually I got used to them and remembered I loved them, and when they left I was homesick and wanted to go to the taco trucks with you people. But that part of the post was abbreviated severely because of several happenings today. The best thing that happened was that Kat updated our blog with a sweet e-letter and I officially love her more than EVER. Which is a lot, friends. The worst thing is that some crazy fuck went onstage and shot Dimebag Darrell five or six times, and now he's dead. For some reason this is more upsetting and shocking than Elliott Smith's death. Pantera was one of those distinctly high school bands. There is a special place in my heart for them and Primus and Laibach...as much as one wants to remember their high school soundtrack as being only the Cure and the Dead Kennedys, I recall somebody getting so excited when they bought Cowboys From Hell, and playing it nonstop for weeks. Pantera rocked young minds. Even though a lot of those minds belonged to assholes named Vince or Brock who ended up joining the Marines after beating the shit out of you in high school, that wasn't Pantera's fault. Not entirely. The point is, I think they were a better band than a lot of people gave them credit for. This may have something to do with me being raised in the suburbs. randynoreply@blogger.com