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Also bored...via Sonni

Jul. 25th, 2006 | 02:39 pm

1. Elaborate on your default icon.
A picture of me taken by Todd last summer in front of a painting by Jeremy McDermott of the soon to be music sensation, Coho.

2. What's your current relationship status?
In love

3. Ever have a near-death experience?
Yeah, alcohol poisoning.

4. Name an obvious quality you have.
I'm verbose.

5. What's the name of the song that's stuck in your head right now?
For the Benefit of Mr. Kite.

6. Name a celebrity you would marry:

7. Who will cut and paste this first?

8. Has anyone ever said you look like a celebrity?
Yeah, everyone from Victor Mature to Bruce Willis

9. Do you wear a watch? What kind?
no, I know the time of day within 10 minutes instinctively

10. Do you have anything pierced?
Multiple ear piercings and one eyebrow

11. Do you have any tattoos?

12. Do you like pain?
absolutely not.

13. Do you like to shop?

14. What was the last thing you paid for with cash?
A bottle of Mountain Dew

15. What was the last thing you paid for with your credit card?
I don't have one.

16. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?
The nurse at my doctors office

17. What is on your desktop background?
nothing. Just black.

18. What is the background on your cell phone?
I don't have one

19. Do you like redheads?
Depends on the redhead

20. Do you know any twins?
not currently

21. Do you have any weird relatives?

22. What was the last movie you watched?
A Boy and His Dog

23. What was the last book you read?
Dibbs:In Search of Self.

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Meeting the Guru pt.2-the signing

Jul. 14th, 2006 | 03:26 am
How do I feeel: calmcalm
Playing in my head: "Wake me up when September ends", Green Day

After Rob Brezsny's illuminating, inspiring talk, he invitied anyone interested to have books signed. I didn't have a book for him to sign, but got in line anyway. I have some photos I've been writing on and giving out to to people, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to give Rob one of them and thank him his writing over the years, and tell him I had named my muse after one of the characters in The Televisionary Oracle. I normally do not like to stand in lines, and will almost invariably have my headphones on in an attempt to separate myself from the drone of the others in line. Last night though, I left my headphones in my bag instead, and quietly enjoyed the atmosphere. I picked up a book about Bruce Springsteen to skim through so that I didn't get jumpy or impatient while the line moved slowly forward. At one point I was brought gently from my own private New Jersey by the sound of a voice directed at me."Hey, Doc Marten would you like a chocolate?" It took a moment for me to remember that I was wearing a Doc Martens tee shirt, but I smiled and accepted a chocolate before returning to my skimming. There was some casual rearranging of places in line as we moved forward, and when I was maybe five people from the front, an attractive woman with wicked awesome hair caught my eye and said, "Hey Doc Marten, why don't you go ahead of me since my people have fallen back a bit." I agreed and thanked her. My attention shifted from the book to Brezsny as I got closer. I was not surprised to see him chatting happily and attentively with all who approched him. I noticed a woman sitting beyond the end of the line and immediately my brain said, "Rapunzel Blavatsky". The powerfully beautiful woman had long jet black hair and some sort of eagle-esque bird tattoed across her ample chest. She wore black, knee high boots. I really thought she must be the person the character in The Televisionary Oracle was sculpted from. I forced my eyes from her commanding presence and turned slightly away to keep myself from starring. About the same time, I sensed that the woman who had switched places with me in line was watching me. As I usually do when this happens, I cast my eyes downward and began shuffling a bit. I'm used to being watched for one reason or another, and since there was no reason for the womans attention to be based in suspicion, I tried to put a friendly, albeit aloof cast to my shuffling. Before to long I saw the woman move to a spot directly in front of me. I could tell that she was now not just watching, but studying me. Before to long I heard her say, "Doc Marten, do you know you have absolutely beautiful eyes?"

I felt the unease of my lifelong shyness with the opposite sex creep into my essence as I raised my head and smiled. "Thank you, that's very kind of you to say."

"You're welcome.... I'm very serious", she said with a matter of fact, calm confidence as we now locked on each others eyes. She hesitated and took me in with her gaze. "Oh...not only beautiful, but very expressive."

"Thanks, really, I appreciate that," I said. I continued to shuffle and my eyes began to dart down to the floor and back to hers as I searched for something appropriate to say. I very seldom talk to people I don't know, especially attractive women. In almost any other circumstance I would have politely excused myself at that point, but I was just two people from the front of the line. The best thing I could come up with in response was something about normally wearing sunglasses.

"Yes, I can tell that you usually hide your eyes...why?"

"Well...lately I guess it's becasue I don't want people to see the pain and the anguish I can't keep from my eyes...they've things over the last couple years...I've been living in the street...I've seen a lot things I wish I hadn't."

"Why do you wish you hadn't seen them?"

"Um....it's not so much that I guess as that I wish I hadn't had to see them."

"Yeah...ok...well that's understandable, I do see the pain in there, but they're still beautiful."

"Thanks," I said again, and my eyes went down again. We went silent, but I could feel her still trying to draw me out.

"Do you like poetry", I asked, my eyes barely coming up.

"Yes, very much."

"I'll write down a web address where you can read some of my poetry and other writing if you'd like."

"Yes, please, I would like that."


Then it was time for me to have my audience with Brezsny. I kept the fanboy in my hip pocket, thanked him for the writing and gave him my little memento. I told him about Rapunzel, then told him I didn't have a book to sign, but that it would be cool if he could write something in my notebook. He took the notebook and asked if the first page was ok. I said sure, and as he wrote I asked him if the woman behind us was Rapunzel Blavatsky. He looked at the woman, smiled and said, "no...but I can see how you might think she was." He handed me back my notebook and shook my hand as I thanked him again. In the notebook he had written, "For LatopBob-Rowdy Blessings...May you and Rapunzel do great work together, Rob Brezsny". I sat down at a nearby table and wrote out the address of this journal and my email address, and also the time and location of the open mic I've been hosting for a couple months. Then I tore the page out of the notebook and took it to the woman I had been talking to earlier, explaining what was written on it. She accepted the piece of paper with a smile and a thank you. I said, "You're welcome, thank you...thank you for talking to me." As I backed away to leave, she blushed and curtsied, and got that look on her face that I see from people occasionally, but still do not understand....that look like I was somebody special.

It was indeed a delicious evening.

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Meeting the Guru

Jul. 13th, 2006 | 11:35 am

Rob Brezsny. If the name does not bang a gong and send a happy shiver up your back that ends with a mischevious smile of truth and beauty on your lips, read no further until you go here http://www.freewillastrology.com/ and study a bit. For those of you enlightened...er...empowered by Brezsny's free will astrology, or his autobio/fictional masterpiece, The Televisionary Oracle, please read on. Brezsny appeared at Eliot Bay Book Company in Seattle last night, ostensibly to read from his latest book,Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia:How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You With Blessings. Despite being under the influence of the tail end of a horrific 48 hour bug of some sort, I got myself down there in time to get a good seat. I went outside for some air about 45 minutes prior to the start of the reading, and was musing about whether or not I would recognize Brezsny if a cab or limo pulled up and he got out. As I chastised myself for thinking Brezsny might arrive in a limo, I turned and there he was walking towards me, pulling a rolling attache bag behind him. No cab, no entourage...just a tallish, slender, rather androgynous person moving with what I interpreted as a calm purposefulness. Having answered my queston of whether I would recognize him, I went back inside and settled into my seat.

Brezsny took to the small stage promptly at 6pm. He spoke for about 90 minutes I think...honestly, time was not a factor and may not have existed at all. He never picked up the book and referred to it specifically only few times. I feel slightly inadequate to describe his talk, so let me simply put it this way. It was the most amazing stream of truth and beauty I have ever been privileged to witness. If you care about yourself, your fellow humans, your planet, your universe... you WILL go out and buy a copy of Pronoia is the Antidote for Paranoia:How the Whole World is Conspiring to Shower You With Blessings

More about the reading...actually the book signing that came after the reading, shortly.

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life's rich pagent

Jun. 25th, 2006 | 03:49 pm

I just got booted out of my living arrangement. Because of this I've had to back out on joining The Insurgents.

Peace out

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I'm just a singer in a rock and roll band *faints*

Jun. 22nd, 2006 | 02:07 am
How do I feeel: indescribable
Playing in my head: Mr. Tambourine Man-Bob Dylan

I have just signed on with Seattle rock and roll legends The Insurgents as lead singer and lyricist. I am, quite frankly, stunned at myself. Six months ago I could hardly sing in front of my girlfriend. Thank you Todd, thank you Mills... and thanks to Insurgents founder Guitar Doug and Eddie the Skull for welcoming me into their band. The Insurgents are a performance art duo-now trio, who perform from behind masks and wreak havoc on the Seattle "music scene". My mask and character wil be that of a time travelling alien. My first performances with the band will be this coming weekend during Seattle's gay pride parade.

*faints again*

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(no subject)

May. 27th, 2006 | 09:20 pm
How do I feeel: okay
Playing in my head: "My Back Pages", Bob Dylan

Below is a link to a 14 minute video of me reading a real life story I wrote about an encounter with a fellow homeless person on the streets of downtown Seattle. Enjoy.

"Jeremy", read by the author

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I've been tagged....arf

Apr. 10th, 2006 | 07:02 pm
How do I feeel: pensivepensive
Playing in my head: Elton John - The Ballad Of Danny Bailey (1909-34)

At the behest of normaltrouble, I have been asked to list 6 wierd/ facts/things/habits about myself...so here we go

1. I have a jukebox in my head. Always have. I cannot remember a time when there was not one song or another playing in the background of my internal thought. The jukebox holds hundreds of songs in the popular versions in real time, right down to inflections of specific words and vocal styles of everybody from Paul McCartney to Kurt Cobain. My brain started collecting songs with "I Want to Hold Your Hand", by the Beatles and continued through about 1985...that's 20 years of popular music. It picks up again for the grunge era, but holds alomost nothing after the end of grunge. I don't care for modern music, and I've got plenty to listen to. My brain also references conversations through the jukebox. For example, if somebody asks where I've been I'm as likely to say, "I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard", as "I went to the store." I love harmony and have spent hundred of hours listening to people like Simon and Garfunkel and Crosby Stills Nash and Young, mentally dividing the vocals so that I know exactly who is singing what.

2. I have become passionate about singing. When I was in 9th grade, I had to sing a little piece for my music class. I was in full pubescent voice...so much so that the teacher led the class in a round of raucous laughter. I did not sing again for a 15 years... not in front of anyone, nor by myself. To see why this was particularly crushing, see #1. When my son was born, I started singing again. Babies laugh or cry without impunity, so it was finally safe to sing again. My kid seemed to like my singing...especially Springsteen. That was 20+ years ago. I started singing in the car next...then if NOBODY was around. I was horrified by the sound of my own voice, so I always wore headphones on high volume when I sang. Slowly...very slowly...the obsessive fear of my own voice began to subside. After I quit drinking and started taking ADD meds, I did some inner child work and discovered that my eight year old inner child wanted to sing...it was destroying him that he could not...but the 15 year old inner child would not allow it. I realized that this one was one of the main reasons I had been so at war with myself for so long. I convinced the 15 year old to chill about it somewhat. About this time, one of my roomates who was a trained opera singer said to me one day..."Bob...I've heard you singing in the basement, and your voice isn't that bad...it isn't great, but it's better than my husband's(Hi Mike :)) That broke down some walls. I started singing if I was walking down the street and nobody was too close. Then about 8 months ago, I knew it was time to get that monkey off my back. I made a cd of me singing songs a-capella and gave it to my late friend Todd. Todd was the most talented musician and singer I've ever known. He lstened to it and his review was this, "you know...you sing ok, and with some training you could probably be average or better because you have do the one thing already that holds most singers back...you sing with abandon." I felt like the biblical Joshua...the walls CAME CRUMBLING DOWN. Since then you can't stop me...I sing constantly. I went through a month or so where I sang to millapants for 3-4 hours a night. She's heard me sng everything from "Muskrat Love" to "Helter Skelter"...even the National Anthem, which I do quite well, thank you. I'm still not quite there in performance situations, but if I can drop 20 pounds I'm gonna get a pair of low riding leather pants and a peasant shirt and get up on stage with a band that plays The Doors. I'll face the wall and halfway through "Break on Through to the Other Side", I will, and like Morrison I'll face the audience and not give na fuck what they think...and I will be the lizard king...able to do ANYTHING. At that point, I'll know how many roads a man must walk down, and I'll call myself a man.

3. I love to read my own writing.

4. I've wanted to be blonde since I was a small child. I bleached my hair the first time for an Amazon.com costume party that I attended as Roy Batty to my (ex)wife's Priss. I looked more like Malcolm McDowell than Rutger Hauer..but I fell in love with the blonde and have been blonde most of the time since.

5. I despise body hair and I shave mine quite religiously...neck to toe except for a bit of grass on the lawn.

6. I take the business of life very very seriously. I even take humour seriously...so...if I seem a bit pensive at times, it's because I believe that contemplation is the most valuable thing the human mind can be engaged with.

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A Rubber Tramp Comes Indoors

Apr. 6th, 2006 | 12:42 pm
How do I feeel: cheerful
Playing in my head: "Behind Blue Eyes" The Who

It wasn't long into this homeless sojurn that I began to say I was never going back to the mainstream. I knew that by refusing to compromise on that I was quite possibly sentencing myselfto a life of financial poverty and continued homelessness. But I have clung tightly to the belief that at some point I would have something to say and write that others would find value in, and that would provide me enough income to at worst live comfortably homeless. I sometimes fantasized about a patronage or a living arrangement "too good to be true", but I have always had more faith in my writing than in charity or serendipitous fantasy. The problem as of late is that I have struggled to find an environment stable enough to get any serious writing done except for poetry, and well, poetry is not a real hot seller folks.

A few weeks ago I was talking to a friend who I see very sporadically. Stan has been very supportive of both me and my work, and has expressed continuing concern for my health and safety in the same way that many of you have. He's a guy about my age who has been living on social security disability payments for many years due to various physical and emotional ailments. He mentioned that he and his girlfriend were going out of town for a week, and I jokingly asked if he needed somebody to house sit. He said..."Well...not at Cindy's house-you know I've moved in there full time now that her divorce is final(I did not), but we should talk about my apartment."

"Um...ok...let's talk."

"Well....(I think Stan listened to Ronald Reagan too much cuz he starts damn near every sentence with "well...") like I say, I've moved in with Cindy full time, so my apartment just kind of sits there....I'm not going to give it up anytime soon because it's so full of crap that I'm not going to get rid of and we don't have room for at Cindy's...you know Cindy and I really like you and we worry about you being in the street...I've been in that apartment for a very long time,so long that when I moved in it was still in the day when landlords promised to never raise the rent as long as you stayed...it costs me next to nothing." He stopped to light a cigarette, and offered me a"taylor made", as he always does.

"Oh yeah, sure, thanks" he handed me a smoke and as I lit his I continued, "How next to nothing Stan?"

He took a long drag and smiled. "Well.....got your attention did I?"

"Yeah, but ya know, "next to nothing" for most people might as well be a million bucks to somebody living on what I do."

"XXX bucks a month. Do you think half of that for a place to stay 4 or 5 nights a week is something you could handle?"

"What the fuck....god don't tease me Stan."

"Duuuuuuude....I'm completely serious. I'd have to talk to Cindy about it, and you'd have to put up with my crap being there, but I think we can work something out."

"What kind of crap?"

"Well....my t.v. and my stereo and the furniture...and my jewlery making stuff. And lots of cat hair...the cats are at Cindys, but I'm not the tidiest person and it's kinda messy."

"Stan...are you familiar with the concept of serendipity?"

"Well...yes. Oh and, it would have to be JUST you, no girls or anything, some of my jewelry making equipment is valuable."

"Stan....my girlfriend lives in Finland."

"Yeah, right, I knew that. Well... let me talk to Cindy and I'll get back to you when we get back into town next week...I've got your email, right?"

"Yeah...um...Stan....I don't know what to say...this is...this is...incredible...do you have any idea what this would mean to me?"

"Well...yeah. I'm hoping it means you'd expand that short story into a novel like you've been talking about because Cindy was an absolute nympho for about a week after she read the short story.....er...and that book about your being homeless too." *Wink*

"Heh...thanks, I was about to feel like a whore"

"Did that bother you?"

"No." *wink*

So................after a couple weeks of missed connections as of 2 nights ago, I have a place to live on a part time, semi-permanent basis. I have not had to compromise back towards the mainstream.Oh...did I mention broadband internet Smile

OK...here's the downside. The man is a pack rat of major proportion and when he said he wasn't the tidiest person around he was having an epileptic fit of understatement. It's gonna take me a week or two ofmoving boxes full of crap around...I mean...the guy has unopened junkmail from the nineties, and I think the bathroom was last cleaned during the Bush administration, that's Bush the elder. When he showed me how to use the stereo he said not to turn the volume up or down on the amplifier because it had a short and made a hideous noise. He then demonstrated...the noise that came out of the speakers made me shake and drool like Danny in The Shining when he sees the dead twins....REDRUM....REDRUM...but guess what? I pulled the bloody knob off today and doused the mechanism with windex...spun the knob back on and presto...no more Jack Torrence squeal.

So yeah...this rubber tramp has come back indoors....funny how sometimes walls can set one free.

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The Disturbing Disappearance of a Dear Friend

Apr. 5th, 2006 | 04:29 am

My friend Ronnie disappeared a couple months ago. Ronnie was first mentioned in my livejournal on May 1st of 2004, as an un-named "indigent person" whom I had a brief encounter with. It's a long, rambling entry about medication and ADD, and if there is anybody new to my journal I think it's worth reviewing, but I'll reprint the pasage about Ronnie here...

"I saw an indigent person on the street the other day, staggering, lurching towards me, filthy clothes. Scraggly unkempt beard and wild eyes,the smell of urine surrounding him like a sick wet blanket for half a block in all directions. For those of you who don't know, I've been a homeless person for 2 months now. As he passed me and I recovered from the smell, I turned and watched him. He sat down, picked up a newspaper and began reading. I felt my heart shatter from the empathy I felt. I had 4 dollars in my pocket-all the money I had to my name. I walked back to where he was sitting and softly said , "hey, dude, do you need a couple dollars." he looked up from the newspaper, his eyes were not wild, but sad. He nodded. I put my hand out with half of my monetary wealth, and said, "here ya go" He looked at the money and took it, looked back up at me-straight in the eye-and said, " thank you sir, thank you very much." I nodded and choked out, "You're welcome, sir" As I walked away, I was struck by the thought that with only a minor change here or there, that could have been me. That was followed in my brain by a phrase, "he may have turned left, when I turned right"....ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 ba ba ba ba ba, ba ba ba bum....1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4, over and over...I sat down and wrote the first verse of a poem

We may have been on the same street one day
In '75, or thereabouts anyway,
I may have looked right, away from the sun
he might have looked left, at the sound of someone
But there was a moment
just a note in a song
where my luck stayed good
and his luck went wrong."

Ronnie appears numerous times in this journal since that day. This is the second time, from July 16th of '04. He was still a nameless, smelly bum to me, but again, he had an obvious impact on me.

"The look on his face will never leave me. He sat sprawled on the sidewalk, the concrete beneath him heated from the blazing July sun. His right leg was stretched in front of him and covered at the foot by a tattered brown boot. The faded, dirty, mustard colored jeans led up to a left leg that was not quite underneath him, and not quite in front of him. His left arm, locked at the elbow, kept him about 75% upright. It looked a bit like a hurdlers stretch when I first noticed him there on sidewalk, in the same faded mustard jeans, faded mustard sweathshirt, and faded mustard winter coat he always wears. As I got closer the scene sharpened, and as the visual became more clear, it was assisted by the first whif of the urine cloud that surrounds the man who was struggling to keep his semi-balance on the scorching sidewalk. It was a couple more steps beyond that when I heard a faint hissing sound. I felt my normal relationship to time slow as my feet continued moving me forward, while my eyes conducted their split second search for the source of this hiss. The next four steps are seared into my brain as individual frames of memory. *CLICK* Oh no....oh shit....he's pissing.*CLICK* Aw man, it's running down the sidewalk. *CLICK* no...oh god don't make me look in his eyes. Awww.....oh man, I'm sorry....god, what can I do I'm sorry man....I can't help you.......yeah, I know about the pain......no I don't, I don't know anything about the kind of pain you must have seen.......how can so much sorrow, so much pain, so much despair exist in one person*CLICK*My head snaps forward at a sound, and for an instant long enough to be recorded as a moment of memory now, there is nothing.The fourth frame is blank."

I love Ron. Many people have commented to me that I must be one tough, adaptable S.O.B. to live the lifestyle I do. That may be true, but I'm a complete wuss when stacked up next to Ronald J. Robinson. Ronnie had a tumor and a decent slice of brain matter removed close to 20 years ago. He had been living on the streets of Ballard for nearly a decade at that point. A few years later, his girlfriend, 49 cent Jane, died. He's been fending for himself since. Ronnie never asks anyone for anything, but when someone gives him something, he is always grateful and polite, looking the person in the eye and thanking them. Shortly after I wrote about him the second time, I was telling Bert about the entry, an the impact this guy was having on me. Bert told me Ronnie's story, and suggested I talk to him. I said I wished I could, but didn't think I could take the smell. Bert gave me that, "wrong answer, computer boy", look, and walked off in a huff. I was already aware of the depth of Berts briliance, so I started talking to Ron. From that point we became very close. Ronnie is a disabled person and a drunk. He's also my friend and I love him like a brother.

When Ronnie disappeared a couple months ago it ripped a hole in me that kept digging itself deeper and deeper. People like Ron...when they disappear... god, I can't tell you how much it hurts. They become the literal personification-actually depersonification of Orwell's "unperson". There's no way to find out what has happened to them, because the hospitals and/or mourges won't tell you anything unless you're family. Thing is, people like Ron have no family, so they vanish as if they've never existed. Someone told me that Ronnie had fallen on the sidewalk and couldn't get up and that, "they came and took him away". I kept telling people I was going to print out everything I've written, all the pics I've taken, and copies of the video of me and Ronnie I've shot and take them to the local hospital where they take people like Ron, but I never did it. I was afraid... afraid I'd find out he was dead,or that I'd rip the head off of anyone who refused to give me answers.

I was sitting in Tullys the other day and looked up from whatever I was doing... and there he was, just shuffling down the block like he had never been gone. I ran outside and called to him, and by the time he turned around I was on him. I threw both my arms around him and started sobbing. He hugged me back and then started laughing when I let him go and he saw that I was crying. I managed to compose myself and asked where the hell he'd been. He said he'd been in the hospital. We talked a bit. I asked what they had done for him, and he said, "Well, they cut my hair and trimmed my beard." I didn't press about the medical details I had actually been looking for. I said, "Hey, I bet they wouldn't give you any beer."

"I bet they didn't....bastards", he said with a smirk.

I rolled him a smoke and he asked for a light. "Sure...I suppose you.."

"No, I don't want you to smoke it for me, asshole". He had gotten quicker from the rest and the decent food.

I lit his smoke and asked if I could take a picture of him. The last time I asked a couple months before he disappeared he had, for the first time, refused. This time he said-almost brightly-"Yeah, sure." I snapped a shot with my digital camera and looked at it...."That's the one Ron...this will make a star out of you."

"Oh, I'm sure it will".

"I gotta get back inside, Ronnie.....man, it's good to see you."

"It's good to be seen Bob....and it's good to see you too."

Here's a picture of Ronnie from about a year ago and the one I took the other day. He looks good, and I have a feeling he's gonna be there for me to tease and love for some time.

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Pinched from the fab and gear, but not grotty mary_shelly77

Mar. 27th, 2006 | 10:04 pm

Rock Star
You scored 98%!
You damn rock star. You know all the basics, and if you got any wrong, I bet it was that stupid Traveling Wilburys question.

Your friends are probably intimidated by your knowledge of classic rock and envy your impressive collection. When a classic rock song comes on the radio, you can probably identify it before the vocals kick in most of the time. You probably get good scores on the "maiden name of Clapton's mom" tests, too.

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender:
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 70% on notes
Link: The BASIC classic rock Test written by allmydays on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

I can't believe I missed one...excuuuuuuuuse me for not knowing who closed Woodstock

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