You could go see the Yacht and the Thermals for free, tonight, at Backspace. You are either:
A.) So excited OMG you are sooo gonna dance your a$$ off! You love energy! Life is fun.
B.) Afraid of crowds. Friday night is always, without fail: bottle of pinot, bubble bath, candles, Mozart, Keats, you.
C.) Dude that’s not music and you hate kids (and attractive people in particular).
D.) Le sigh, saw the Thermals play in a basement back when North Portland was scary and everyone else lived in Kentucky.
Either way, far be it from us to find pain in one band’s gain, here’s the Thermals brand new video which, we will say this much, features an early autumnal Portland 2007 (dubbed by us as “Fall 2”) which looks as sweet as it did two months ago.
Also an early heads up about the Rom/Bill Mantlo benefit that’s going to be going down at Floating World Comics on December 6th. Two of your illustrious Miltonian hosts write for local, Portland newspapers. Neither remembered to pitch this. One of them in particular — the one that remembers getting a Rom as his first actually cool (read: non-Mickey Mouse) toy back in either 1979 or 1980 (appoximately) and his first cool (read: non-Archie) comic book probably around 1982.
Everything about this show is beautiful and noble, righteous and good, which is why this week, here at the Miltonian, is Rom Week. This is just the beginning.
Here’s a short, cool mention of the show at Comics Reporter, a blog about comics that we like. Check it.
Also! If you’re effeminate and continental, or manly and moneyed, or elegant in your womanliness, remember: Davis Cup tomorrow. Here. In Portland. World Class Tennis! Memorial Coloseum!
Tickets are so ridiculously sold you’d have to bribe the pope for an after-tea report, but that’s no reason not to have yourself some strawberries and cream and head to your favorite tennis lounge with a tee vee, and root root root for the home goddamn team, because it’s James Bond time, U.S. v. the Russian hordes–who are quite polite, we’ve seen them, we know, hard players, hard drivers, low flat spin, but they can’t volley for shit. What ever happened to conversation, guys? Even as a metaphor? What’s the capital of Texas, Russky?
Yeah…. I thought so.
Anyway, the tennis crowd’s 60% out of towners (fact!), and probably congenitally loaded, so this is your chance to loiter stylishly near the event and shine on with some fine young debutante or entitled-class gentleman far too classy to wear tennis whites after Labor Day. Who will, of course, eventually do you like they did poor Scarlett Johansson before knocking up some pedigreed mouse of a girl and dying of a slow smother.
Play on, America.