There's rumor going around that Destroyers have a price

My Monday night in the city in the rain...

Unlike the previous weekend, this past weekend was uneventful, mostly because between 7pm Thursday night and 7:45am Monday morning, I worked about 50 hours and slept about 15. I was so looking forward to the joys of Monday night, so I could see Destroyer kick some ass at the Mercury Lounge. Unfortunately, due to the usual plans falling through, I went by myself, which isn't always a bad thing.

Before i left for NYC, my copy of "Revive" by Imaginary baseball League arrived in the mail. It kicks oh-so-much ass. Seriously, it sounds magnificent. There are a million words floating in my head about how I feel about it. Fucking EPIC are two of them that spring to mind. Other terms have to do with the Southern literary traditions it seems to be borne from, specifically Faulkner, though I will admit that I only ever read "The Sound and Fury" once, for school, circa ninth grade, and didn't really dig it all that much at the time, but I did latch on to the character of Quentin Compson IV, most likely because of his resultant suicide in the novel, enough to want to start a band with his name...maybe someday I will, kind of like a reverse Black Francis/Frank Black... Anyways, I was very happy to have it arrive in time for me to drive to and from the city listening to it.

Happilly, I sold my extra ticket to some dude named Ed who gave me the ten bucks AND bought me a beer. And then I got to stand in the front next to a VERY freaking crazy married woman who kept dancing like it was bootylicious kung-fu...I've got a funny feeling there will be bruises on my body when I wake up. In the past (as recently as a month ago, or maybe even just a few hours prior to the show tonight), i would have wanted to kill this one, but I just kinda went with it and managed to enjoy the pandemonium nonetheless. I just hope Dan Bejar doesn't think that I was friends with her or anything...since I tended not to discourage her.

During Frog Eyes' set, I started writing some music journalist shite about their set (they turned out later to be Dan's backing band as well) while dancing when the weirdo twins briefly fled the scene of the attack. They struck me as kinda wanting to be later-era Pere Ubu (more "I hear They Smoke the BBQ" than "Final Solution") inspired, as if Joy Division's Ian Curtis had not died, but simply had his soul transplanted into Dave Thomas's body (Pere Ubu's Dave Thomas, not the dead Wendy's dude, or David Clayton-Thomas of Blood, Sweat & Tears, or even Dave Thomas the actor/comedian from SCTV and "Strange Brew"), his voice some bizare love child of Tim Harrington and Will Oldham crossbred with a J. Mascis whine...I dunno...I'm going off on tangents here.

I did some more writing afterwards, as I wound up in Two Boots Pizza because of a random friend encounter as I was walking up Avenue A and Nan from Schwervon was sitting there, so I went in. Within minutes, I sat there alone, as the rain grew steadily heavier, so I ate a slice and drank some iced tea, and have been feeling kinda yucky ever since....but I did some writing, which I need to finish when I go to my house and get ready to sleep, about random things I did in the rain, and then eating the pizza and stuff. I am boring. Sorry.