"I can't get laid in Germany."

wow! That is the best three letter word I can conjure up to emote a proper reaction to Friday night. I was taking my morning constitutional Friday when I received text from my younger brother, Jordan. "I have an extra ticket to Rammstein tonight. Can you go?"  Well, why not? If anything it would be great to people watch and size up the goth-industrial wardrobe in SoCal. Lord knows I had plenty of black garb in my SF goth days. I was curious to see the Los Angeles interpretation of a scene I still snobbishly deem exclusive to San Francisco. I still feel like a bit of an ex-pat down here.

Jordan picked me up at work and we scooted over to my house as quickly as possible. I threw on a skin tight, sleeveless black dress over my black nylon leggings and pulled on my tank-girl Doc's reminiscent of Simon Gallup in 1991. The dress was perfectly accessorized with a low slung silver, chain loop belt around my hips and then a white studded belt half an inch above it, still kissing the lower part of my navel. I pulled my hair into a high pony tail so it looked like a fountain of blond hair spouting out from the top of my head and I tousled my thick bangs a bit.

The old goth days will always linger in my make-up skill. I was able to paint a mystical picture of my eyes with deep royal blue eyeshadow blended in with glittery sliver and black. I painted my lips a deep burgundy, pulled on a slim fitting black leather jacket and was ready to roll.

The show was phenomenal. I thought I had descended into the pits of Hell as the singer bellowed German lyrics in a rich baritone and flames roared from a massive pair of iron wings extending from his back. It was easily a 16 foot wingspan. The crowd was thrown into a manic frenzy for 'Du Hast', one of the few songs I knew. It was certainly fantastic spectacle. I was alarmed to realize I did not bring earphones, but I am a girl of industry. I chewed two pieces of strawberry gum, carefully squished them into their magenta foil wrappers and carefully pushed them into my ears. Fortunately the gum stayed put and in light of the shotgun blasts of fireworks and pounding drums I think I acted wisely.

So now I can invent a new phrase for a person who has to improvise at the last minute, kind of like MacGyver, I'm a "gum ear." I like that phrase if I do say so myself...