Happy 4th of july!

Yes, yes I realise (with an s) that the 4th was days ago but I was too busy having a happy 4th of July to wish you all a happy 4th of July. 

My happy 4th did not include fireworks or BBQs or Beer drinking. Instead my lady friend and I went to see a screening of Jaws in the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. And we all know how I love a cemetery. This particular one has some lovely palm trees silhouetted by the faint pink glow of the city around it. 

My lack of 4th fireworks was rectified on the 5th. We went to THE Hollywood Bowl to see Tegan and Sara and Death Cab for Cutie. Apparently DCFC are kind of huge because they talked the LA Philharmonic Orchestra into playing with them and had an accompanying pyrotechnic display for their finale. They were most enjoyable and the Bowl sounds incredible. My only question is where was T&S's Orchestra and Fireworks? Hmm?

I must admit that living in Sydney has somewhat desensitised me to the marvels of fireworks. Although I can now appreciate the caliber of an Aussie firework. They really are quite good.

Where the F#*K has Sascha been. Part 2...

And so it was time to say our goodbyes to Bonnaroo and drive off into the sunsets of the south. Linda and I had intended to leave Manchester for Memphis, but we took a wrong turn - there will be many more such turns - and so we headed for Birmingham, Alabama.

As filthy as we were after the Roo, we needed to find showers asap so we stopped at a truck stop along the way. Aparently, truck stops want you to pay $10 for a shower. It is my firm belief that showers are a human right, like fresh drinking water and civil union. Truckers however, like our new friend Mike, get free showers as rewards on their trucky/petrol cardy things. Mike had to hang around while his truck was getting registered or something something and so offered us one of his shower point things. Clearly we looked that revolting and disheveled that the man felt a little sorry for us. 

Best. Shower.  Ever. And I've had some good showers in my time but after a week of hot-smelly-Tennessee-camping-music-festival dirt, nothing could compare. It was then that I discovered that half of my awesome tan was actually dirt as it scrubbed off. I do still have myself a fairly fantastic arm tan though. Finally, I actually look Australian.

Clean and shiny we were back on our way. The further south we got the harder I found it to understand people. Don't even ask me what the guy in the Birmingham laundry mat was saying. Even Linda couldn't understand him and she's from Kentucky. 

Side note: Linda is from Louisville. She must have said "Louisville" like a hundred times to me and only now have I realised what she's been saying. I thought it started with a W.

Now I realise we arrived in Birmingham on a Monday night and we may have been in the business district, however, there ain't nothing in that place. We spent what felt like hours looking for somewhere to eat. There was nothing open and no one around. Eventually we found a Pizza Hut (that was about to close), stuffed ourselves with greasy, saturated fats then curled up in the van to sleep it off.

Day two and we made it to New Orleans! Sorry, I mean N'awlins.  

Every thing from here on out was "hot as balls" as the loacls say. Luckily for us we were staying at a hostel with a pool. The water was so warm it was practically like taking a bath except with the germs of several Dutch boys and a whole bunch of Aussies floating around. Staying at the India House Hostel also reaffirmed what I have believed all along; The Australians are taking over. It is amazing how strong an Australian accent sounds when you haven't heard one in a while. Mate, we are bogans. But lovable bogans at very least.

Most of our time here was spent riding bikes through the French Quarter. That place certainly has personality. Makes me wish I was Tennessee Williams - minus the lobotmised sister and alcoholism- sitting on my balcony over looking the happenings on the street below.  

I wish we could have stayed longer. I was interested in further exploring the damage that still    remains from Katrina. Little bits of restoration seem to be everywhere, but The Quarter was barely effected. The severe damage occured further down the river where the levees broke. Those areas are apparently the lower income areas and so there is much rebuilding that still needs doing. Hurricane season starts next month and there is a strong belief that New Orleans will flood again someday. I'm not entirely sure how the levee system works, but apparently its not real strong in some places. 

Its amazing that with all the destruction, the town has retained its character. The tourists are still flocking to Bourban Street, the musicians are still playing their bit of foot path, the titty-bars are still open for business AND you can still take your drinks anywhere in town. 

Big Daddy's World Famous Love Acts

That was perhaps my favourite part of the place. The chaos that some how seems to function. You can buy a drink at one bar, walk around the streets and into another bar with the same drink! You can even go into gift shops or grocery stores with your drink. There are no crosswalks but people don't get run over. There are no laws about bike riding yet people bike everywhere. It really is a crazy, wonderful place.

 

Where the F#*K has Sascha been. Part 1...

Ok I know I'm a terrible Blogger. I've neglected the bloggosphere for weeks. My poor mother is on her death bed because the world is so horrible and without my witty repartee she has nothing to live for. Actually she just has the flu. See? Now I'm lying. Oh where will my horribleness end?!

How about right now dearest readers! That's right, I'm back with a vengeance and a burning desire to recap and over share. How does that sound? Fantastic!

I'm writing to you, once again, from sunny LA. But how on earth did I get myself back here? I here you ask. Well here's how. Cue Flashback music and wavy screen transition....

Our story begins in Nashville. Actually it began in San Francisco where I flew out of. It was here that I realised that my pants had a massive hole in the crotch. How long was this hole there? It certainly wasn't there when I got dressed to leave. And of course by the time this discovery was made my luggage, including all other pants, had already been checked onto the plane. Never fear, resourceful as anyone who attend CSU's Design for T&T, I used the pin from my "Happy Birthday Sascha" Disneyland badge to save me from further embarrassment. Lucky I wore undies that day.

So Nashville, where the lovely Linda collected me and off we went to Manchester. As Bonnaroo Volunteers (because we are cheap), we had to check in two days early and hang about until the happenings of the festival began a-happening. All I can say about those two days was that it was very hot and we set up a lovely campsite complete with Australian patriotism and battle cats.

Battle Cats Not Included

  

When the Roo officially began, I was introduced to my Volunteer Assignment. There was no trash (that means rubbish here) picking up for this little black duck, oh no, I was assigned to the Golf Cart Pool. I spent my two shifts being a golf buggy valet and at one point got to go on a buggy safari, on the hunt for stolen carts. Add to this amazingly enjoyable occupation the fact that neither of my shifts were scheduled at the same time as any of the bands I wanted to see, I felt like the luckiest Roo-ster in Manchester.

And what of the Bands? I hear you ask. Stellar. Never in Australia have I seen a festival line up of this magnitude. Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, Ani Difranco, MGMT (always thought this song was called Electric FIELD. Huh.), Bruce (The Boss) Springsteen (who treated everyone to a rendition of Santa Claus is coming to town), The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and my man, Snoop Dogg all on the one line up.

Erika Badu, a favourite of mine since high school, was phenomenal. Although the lady is not rocking the turban these days, her set had so much bass in it that I could feel my oesophagus vibrate. Girl Talk, had his own party up on stage with half the audience. Actually, no where close to half. That set was packed out. Kaki King (I do love me some Kaki) was shirtless! Although I did find the Yeah Yeah Yeahs playing one stage over some what distracting during Kaki's set. Karen O was going off.

I have nothing to say about Rodrigo y Gabriela except that they were amazing and my stand out favourite of the festival. Also, you should all listen to a Norwegian four piece called Katzenjammer. That's an order. They are not only adorable but their vocal harmonies are beautiful and they swapped instruments for every song. Those girls know how to put on a show.

I feel I should also mention Andrew Bird. Linda loves this man. She would possibly consider having his babies. He used to be the fiddler for a little group called The Squirrel Nut Zippers (whom I have just discovered have a FREE gig here in LA this month - Jealous, brother?) and also had a little something called Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire. Both were/are incredible. His new solo stuff, which he was playing at the Roo, is not as incredible as the aforementioned. But Linda did get the man to sign her Violin and that made her very happy.

Now I may have mentioned my fondness for Snoop Dogg before. While I do still love the man for his general snoop-ness, I suspect he may only have three songs. Also the crowd watching his set felt something a kin to spring break Cancun. To be expected really.

The Roo was indeed all the magic a festival should be. It was hot and dirty and muddy and rainy and smelly and heaps fun. I did not shower for a week - in true festival spirit and because,  despite free showers being offered to Volunteers I did not feel it important enough to wait in line for an hour to get one. Speaking of facilities, the USA, land of opportunity, does not have porter loos that flush. Nor do they have sinks. Come on guys, is this 1996? I can't remember the last Australian festival I attended where the facilities were so primitive. Oh well at least I know well enough not to fall in one. 

 

I'm sorry Ms Jackson...

Your son has died, over shadowing Farrah Fawcett in the process. 

I love me some MJ. I always have. Exhibit A is my current itunes library, Exhibit B is the fact the Billie Jean is not the only Jackson track I can sing-a-long to. The man was a genius and like all genius's had a few problems existing like the rest of us. Plebs that we are.

When the news broke, I was staying in Westwood, blocks away from UCLA Medical Facility where he died. Helicopters were flying overhead all day and the crazies camped outside the hospital were only a short walk away. Lovely.