constant narrator

Lamenting my lack of rock’n roll lifestyle last night, I got a call out of the blue at 11 at night from an old friend I’ve known since I was 17. He’s in a band. He’s playing a free afternoon show down on 6th. Do I wanna go?

So I ducked out of work and arrived at the Dirty Dog to see him and his band, The Slats. They were behind schedule, so I got to have a nice long conversation with him before they went on. They were fun, and noisy. Afterwards, I asked him if they had a place to crash, and he said they thought so but maybe I could be a backup plan.

Needless to say there are four guys crashed out on my floor at this moment.

It was awesome to go downtown today. The people watching was top-notch. Oh the hipness. So terribly, terribly hip. The emo boys with their tight jeans and black-in-your-face hair. The carefully messy facial hair of the hippy/sensitive singer-songwriters. The excessive eyeliner. So much fun. It’s been good to reconnect with Jon. I’d forgotten how much we used to blather on into the night, shooting the shit about American culture and technology and music. Good stuff. I’m going to be tired tomorrow.