On a semi-related note, I think my "no shows in August" resolution just dried, crumbled and fell to earth like a withered bellybutton, if I didn't already kill it deader n' hell and Bob Crane combined with that trip to NYC. Let's put it this way: Oneida at the Black Cat vs. an unprecedented Second Chance to see Mike Rep at the Bitchland, having missed him a coupla months back. Now I do love me some Oneida and dug their show at warehousenextdoorRIP where the one guy's little ol' daddy was selling the t-shirts, awww how sweet (yeah, I like old people. DEAL), but the Black Cat on a Saturday night is...something that makes me glad I got married so I don't HAVE to hang around in there. Ugly khaki knee shorts and BO, hello! I think there were all of like 10 attractive non-smelly clubdudes in DC evar, and they all joined Fugazi, married Eurotrash artist chix and relocated to Greenwich Village years ago. Plus the beer selection there, should I be in the mood, sucks melon balls. This is the East Coast, a major city, and the Good beer is supposed to be Here and not back home in Blighted Hickwood-by-the-Sea, but God looks out for fools and dependent cheeldern and puts the best brewskis within their reach, I guess.
So, yeah. I never thought I'd actually be glad to attend a show that's likely to be crawling with Matasnore buttkisser hipsterz, but ignorance (and the being ignored) can be very sweet. I am herd and not scene.
In the scalding creek we were happy
Just to be happy, yeah