It's A Small World, Afterall
So, way back in Rocktober, I was spared from having to make an awful decision between going to see my long-time favorites (The Wallflowers) and my new-found obsession (Hot Hot Heat). The WF postponed their shows to February, leaving me guilt-free to see the Heat in October. But wouldn't you know? When HHH announced their next round of tour dates, their LA gigs fell on the exact same dates as the re-scheduled WF gigs. Cuh-rikey. And that's how I found myself with tickets to four shows during the span of two days and Sophie's Choice looming over my head.
In a move that stunned pretty much everyone that's ever met me, I gave away my WF tickets and planted myself in line to see the Heat. I know, I KNOW. Insert your own "red letter day" joke right here, folks.
The rational part of my brain broke it down into HHH playing better, closer venues. I mean, why would I spend half the day driving out to a crap casino in the middle of nowhere to sit in an assigned seat with a crowd that probably wouldn't even stand up when I could crash with my buddy, hang out at Disneyland all day and be down front at a tiny GA venue?
But the truth is really this: HHH just sounded like way more fun.
I love The Wallflowers. I will always love The Wallflowers. They will always hold a certain magic with me that nobody will ever be able to compete with. But oh, goddamnit. Sometimes mama needs to dance! And clap! And scream along at the top of her lungs!
Before I start plowing into any of the LA weekend details, I need to back it up a week. Since the two loves of my life are live music and football (I am an enigma, I know) and since I am always looking for a good excuse to head home for the weekend, I threw together a quick trip up to Seattle to watch the Superbowl with the fam and see HHH at the Showbox, one of my fave hometown venues.
G-Money, one of my bestest Sea-town buddies, braved the drive out of the city out to my parents' house (talk about middle of nowhere) to get a slice of Americana and join in the Superfestivities. It was quite a sight to see every recliner in the house lined up in the living room, haha. Phat! I totally want to set it up like that again sometime, pop a giant bowl of popcorn and throw in a few movies.
The Giants won (I LOVE it, but still can't quite comprehend it) and G managed to win 3 out 4 quarters of the betting pool. The betting pool she didn't even want to enter. Unbelievable. I quickly informed her that her new windfall would be buying our drinks the following night, lest she try to stash it away. The 'rents loaded us up with more food than you could possibly imagine and I headed home with G to spend the rest of my visit at her house.
I swear to god, the next two days were spent lying in bed (no living room furniture, what to do?), watching DVDs (I got her hooked on Flight of the Conchords - not like that is hard) and feasting on all the food we pillaged from the party. Life is good. It was probably the most relaxing vacation either of us has had in a long time. The only time we left the house was to go to the show on Monday and to go over to visit her parentals for more home-cooked pampering on Tuesday. Did I mention that life is good?
Even though I knew the drill at the Showbox was to go into the bar before the show to get early entry, we still got down to the venue nice and early so I could scope things out and so we could have some time wandering around the market. Which was a mistake on both fronts because (little did I know), HHH was stuck in the mountain passes and rolled in just before the show (they even missed soundcheck) and it was so flippin' cold that my wussy California-acclimatized ass couldn't even handle being outside any longer. Shut up. Since the Green Room didn't open until 5pm, we killed an hour at a pub in the market. Where we met DJ, who decided to join the Army at 40, was just recently stationed at Fort Lewis and for some reason unknown to everyone, decided to tell us he "hadn't had any female contact for eight months." Well, oookay then, soldier. Nice to meet you, too. Oh, look at the time - we really have to get going. Yeesh.
In the safety of the Green Room and a very friendly bartender, G and I started making a dent in her previous day's winnings. I think we were already doing shots by the time E got there. Hey, you know what's awesome? Being shitfaced and dealing with a bathroom that's down a flight of stairs with narrow little steps and out a door that gets stuck. Ah, good times at the Showbox, man.
People started to line up and we fell in like good little soldiers. We were standing against that glass wall where they etch in the names of bands that have played the venue and looky looky who we were standing next to.
Yes, G was drunk enough to put her lips on a wall in a bar. God bless her.
I also found The Wallflowers and good ol' Pete Yorn. It was a happy little section, indeed.
Oh, and it was at this point that some wee little man weaseled his way into line with us. Eh, whatever. You bring the funny, you can stay. And it's not like I was in super concert fan mode that night, anyway. We got inside, set up shop right down front and center and time passed pretty quickly. I was just so happy to be at home in a familiar old haunt with some of my most favorite people. And you know, a wee little strangerman.
Louis XIV was up first and...pass. In the words of Mr. Concrete Robot, "eh, it's not really my thing." I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not a big fan of schtick. If your image is overshadowing your music? I'm probably not going to be interested. All that aside, it certainly didn't suck. We bopped along, I tried to ignore the cringeworthy lyrics and focused most of my attention on the violinists.
I lie. I actually focused most of my attention on the little door to the side of the stage. I recognize those silhouettes!
Can I just say how much I love the current HHH stage set up? I usually have to pull some Matrix-style ninja moves to see Paul behind Steve's keyboard, but right now they have Paul down front, with everyone equally spaced apart. Love it! I've always been a fan of the rhythm section, but ever since I took up the role of badass drummer in my apartment's Rock Band, um, "band," I am slightly obsessed with soaking up as many real-life drumming tutorials as possible. Someday (in my dream world) I will get Konopka to school me on "Here It Goes Again." I mean, what better way to conquer the Expert level than to go straight to the source, right?
I've strayed.
So, I had the perfect spot right down front, smack in front of TTPH. The Showbox stage is teeny tiny, so the guys were crowded pretty close together on the stage. The crowd quickly turned into a giant mosh pit and the combination of the reckless teenage elbows, super bouncy floor and mad push towards the front caused my buddies to quickly take a few steps back to safety. I sometimes forget that not everyone HAS TO be in front at all times. They got some breathing room and we kept an eye on each other through the show. Well, when I could turn around, which was limited. Sorry, girls. I'm pretty sure they were more interested in the bar, anyway.
I remember thinking a few things were odd during the show (they didn't do things they normally do during certain parts of songs, they scrapped one of the songs (Island) from the set, etc), but it wasn't until I later found out that Steve was sick that those things started to fit together into the bigger puzzle. I do remember Steve saying his voice was shot, so I'm sure they all thought he was sick, but I'm not sure anyone knew the extent at the time. Ecccch. My throat hurts everytime I look at that.
I was also feeling the pressure of picking up the slack for my missing partner-in-crime and being responsible for video duty. As much as I appreciate having it after the fact, I do not like filming. I want to rock out. It's bad enough that I have to be quiet when M-Dub is filming, but I feel really disconnected when I have the camera. So I got the one song I knew I would want and put the camera away. I suppose I should have tried to take some pictures. Oh well.
Oh, Goddamnit - Showbox
All extenuating circumstances aside, it was still a fantastic show and the crowd was totally into it. I also enjoyed being able to see a different side of the guys as they really came together to just get through the show. They were beat from the drive, the singer was barely scraping through - those are the days when it really must feel like a job. But the mental picture I am taking away is Luke, Paul and Dustin clustering together in the back, making each other laugh. TTPH was actually all smiles, all night and to my extreme joy, he walked straight up to me after the set and handed me a drumstick. Thanks, P! Still waiting on the Paul Hawley Instruction Video, though.
[And, awww. The very first Malcolm Cross drumstick I ever got was also at the Showbox, waaay back in the day. All these years later and I'm still wondering if that's supposed to be me or Simon playing the guitar.]
I had ditched my friends for long enough, so we all got out of there after the set and hung by the merch table to listen to Editors from afar. At some point, G went out to smoke and security deemed her unfit to continue drinking. They branded her wrist with a giant black "X." Hester Prynne done got cut off! I had no idea they actually did that. I suppose it's probably a good thing that I don't have firsthand knowledge of that.
After E left, G and I lingered out by the car, which happened to be in the same parking lot as the buses (or vans, depending on which band you're talking about). G and I amused ourselves by taking far too many pictures of a little U-Haul graffizzle. It didn't help that el drunk-o was trying to operate my camera. ;)
Just call me the Headmistress of the School of Rock. Repeat after me, kids.
Hey Satan! Paid my dues playin' in a rockin' band...
I find it amusing that even when I do take pictures, it ends up being pictures of words. Ha! This is why M-Dub handles the camera responsibilities and I do the writing.
We never actually attempted to talk to any of the guys that night, but I really didn't care. I was at home! With my peeps! That's all I really wanted, right there. We got in the car, cranked the heat (the erm, actual heat, not the music) and were back at G's in no time. Mmmm...leftovers...in bed. 'Twas a good night, good night.
Fast forward selekta!! Back to sunny, warm Los Angeles.
After a boring three days at work (normal life, blah), M-Dub and I were back on the concert circuit. Before heading over to meet her at the Wiltern on Saturday, I made a stop in Venice for a late breakfast at my Most Favorite Breakfast Joint with my buddy J, who was in town for the weekend. Three words, y'all: stuffed french toast. Yum. We sat outside in the sunshine and I tried not to stare at that really really ridiculously tall cheftestant from the last season of Top Chef who was sitting a few tables over.
MW and I met up at the Wiltern pretty early in the afternoon with the intention of grabbing some lunch before settling in line (and by lunch, I mean many, many margaritas). Not so much to our surprise, we saw some familiar faces already camped out in line. Since the guy in front of us ever so kindly agreed to hold our spot (score!), we ambled down to El Cholo for the Natalie Special. Two margs, down 'em fast, we certainly did. The pineapple marg was a first for me, and while I am still on the fence about that one, I can definitively say that the fiesta platter was a winner. Muy delicioso!
We were gone quite a long time, but only one person had joined the line by the time we stumbled back. The wait that day was interminable. It was awful. There were no fun distractions (not a whole lot to do in Koreatown) and the little girls in line kept finding new ways to piss me off. Like by making jokes about how "o-l-d" M-Dub and I are. Excuse me? It's borderline funny once, but really just the height of rudeness after that. Or their other fun game: scream your bloody head off to make people in the back of the line think that something is happening at the front. Hilarious. Yet again, I wonder what kind of parents these people have. Don't answer that, I don't actually want to know, lest my head explodes.
On top of that, I was feeling some residual guilt about the show I was not at and some anxiety about Steve being well enough to sing. So yeah, you could say my vibe was shot pretty much from the get-go. M-Dub had to break out the talking purse just to cheer me up. It's a talking purse...let's buy a cake!
The Editors fans around us in line pointed out that all four of the guys were out walking around, but shamefully, I would not have been able to to recognize anyone except Tom. I hate not being familiar with a band before I see them, and I tried so hard to do my Editors homework, but I just could not get past that guy's voice. And I really couldn't tell the difference between Emo Haircut #1 and Emo Haircut #2. Sorry! That being said, I was still really looking forward to seeing them live, because it seems that being a Snow Patrol fan goes hand in hand with being an Editors fan and I knew that we would inevitably fall for them.
We finally get inside (sure, camera's fine, but god forbid you have contraband gum!) and I do actually really appreciate the Wiltern for making the pit first come, first served and then limiting the number of people that get down there. There's nothing worse than the drunken idiot who shoves their way to the front at the last minute after you've been standing there all day. Santa Barbara, I'm looking at you. I will happily do the time to get the spot I want, but I expect that I shouldn't have to fight to maintain it.
As soon as we set up shop, we order a couple of big, delicious beers to help ease the pain. The $14 (each!) price tag does nothing to appease my general annoyance.
Louis first and yep - still not feeling them. Yep - vibe, still shot. God help me if Air Traffic Control is not constantly stuck in my head, though. I blame David Bowie, that freaky old bastard. Why yes, Bret, I would like to borrow your stripey jumper. Crap! I've strayed again.
HHH next and I was relieved to see the Notorious S.A.B. alive and con voce. The Man of 69 Jackets was also sporting a lovely navy blue number that won approval with both of us. Since MW filmed pretty much the whole damn show, I had to make like Milli Vanilli and bring only the lip syncing that night. The videos are pretty dark, but the sound, as always, is superb - particularly on Luke's guitar. I am especially fond of that night's "Talk To Me, Dance With Me" because at one point, Bays comes over and stomps his foot so hard in our faces that he actually kind of loses his balance a little bit. I'd like to think it was his way of saying "Would you fucking make some fucking noise already??!" Or maybe that's just what was going through my own head, haha. I love that you can hear MW break her own silence with a "wow" when he does that. Intense! There's also some fantastic mic stand flinging and soul glo head banging in that one. Some of my favorite Steve Bays signature moves!
We knew that if we cleared out after the set, we could probably talk to the guys, but we really wanted to stay and give Editors a shot. And as much as it pained us to not get some face time with HHH, we had a great time and really enjoyed the show. Well, I should back up. There was a minute there right at the beginning of Editors' set that I thought we were gonna make like trees and get outta there. During the very first song, some drunken idiot shoved his way to the front (I guess it's inevitable everywhere) and - swear to God - clocked a girl in the face because she accidentally bumped into him. It was so unexpected and it all happened so fast that all I can remember is blood and hysterical crying and desperately trying to get the security guard's attention to help get her out of there. Well, that and MW just ripping that bastard a new one and chasing him out of the pit. Everyone in the vicinity totally had her back, but she went into authoritative mode and that guy scrammed fast. The poor girl finally got taken out of there and THANK GOD she found us again after the show to let us know that she was okay. We all thought that she had a broken nose, for sure.
Ugh, I still get a little queasy when I hear "Camera" because of that whole thing. We were both so shaken up that it wasn't even enjoyable to be in there and I really thought we were going to head out at that point. I turned around and all I could see was darkness and a massive crowd and trying to make our way out of that didn't look so good, either. At this point, we had banded together with our little pocket of people that had witnessed the whole thing and at least we were all looking out for each other in our area. We stayed put and after a few songs, calmed down enough to start enjoying the show.
Just as predicted, MW and I fell pretty quickly for yet another angsty Brit band. I mean, all it really took was a big light show and a few crazy Pilates dance moves and all of our unrequited Gary Lightbody love transferred right on to poor, unwitting Tom Smith. Sorry, Tom. By the way, do you mind if we call you Gary? Personally, I spent most of the night watching Chris and his cardigan sweater and pointy shoes walk in circles.
MW filmed quite a few snippets from the show, including the one song I remember liking instantly - "All Sparks." The whole show was just sooo Snow Patrol that we were even comparing the two as it went along. Tell me that Tom and Russ busting out an acoustic version of "Push Your Head Towards The Air" is not totally their version of "The Finish Line." It was like deja vu up in there.
Anyway. It was a fantastic show and for me, the live version blew the records out of the water. I am sure we will be back for more the next time they decide to roll through town. And so the slippery slope begins again...
We lingered inside after the show and were some of the last people to file out. As we were walking out, we passed a group of guys hanging out in the mezzanine section. I immediately recognized the familiar mug of Brian Aubert from Silversun Pickups in the corner. I started elbowing MW and as I turned around to point him out, I saw another familiar face that made me stop dead in my tracks. I'm sure my eyes got really big as I started whispering "Paul! Paul!" to MW. At this point, she was beyond confused and I was trying to clarify that it was Pablo Paul, not Too Tall Paul all while trying not to make a fangirl spectacle and trying to assure security that yes, we are leaving, totally, right now.
Pablo Diablo! I mean, I suppose it was fitting and all, since the two bands are so intrinsically connected and I saw Tom from Editors at the Snow Patrol show at the Greek to then see Paul at the Editors gig, but man. I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR A SNOW PATROL SIGHTING. I think my Scottish accent just kicked back in. Wait...is that...my vibe...making a comeback...?
We hung around the buses for a while and I would be a big fat liar if I didn't say that we were really hoping to see a Scotsman in a blue scarf come strolling by. But, alas. It started to get cold, the "o-l-d" jokes started flying again and nothing of interest was happening. The one bright spot was that I was happy to report that my "fo shizzle" was still etched on the back of the Hot Hot U-Haul. Before my vibe could start crumbling again, I made the executive decision to get the hell out of there. We caravanned back down to the OC, M-Dub almost got run off the road by a rogue bus and I said hello to my old friend, MW's couch.
We had every intention of getting up early and maximizing Disneyland time on Sunday, but it just didn't work out that way. I seem to remember sitting around for a long time trying to figure out which Editors songs MW had recorded. Wait, did he say something about "blood running through our veins?" We lazed around and rolled out pretty late in the morning. Per tradition, we hit up the 'Buck for a delicious caffeine fix (really the catalyst that got us out of the house) on the way and I'm just waiting for them to add the "Too Many Mutha Uckers Uckin' With My Chaaaaai" to the menu. I'd like to pop an apple in a few asses, myself. Yeeeah.
We walked past HOB and saw some of the same people from the day before already in line. Oh hell no, I can't deal with this all day. We went over to the D-Land entrance to go get our Magic Kingdom on, but the line was ridiculous. Like, just the bag check was backed up all the way to La Brea Bakery. I have never seen anything like it. I guess all of SoCal was taking advantage of the first sunny weekend in recent memory. We decided it would be way too busy in there to be any fun, so we turned around and just spent the day strolling around Downtown Disney. At one point, "Chasing Cars" started blaring over the PA and I am sure I am in the background of some innocent tourist's pictures/video giving a dramatic lip sync performance. Hee!
Bored with the shops, we headed over to HOB to do a long, leisurely sit-down lunch (instead of our usual takeout from the bar). We were there so early that the Sunday Gospel Brunch was still going on, and to our utter glee, we saw Russ and Ed from Editors enjoying the buffet. I don't know why it was so amusing to us, but it really tickled us to see them heaping up plates and standing in the omelet line. Heeeeee. There's something so fascinating to me about how these guys would probably be mobbed if spotted in a restaurant overseas, but weren't even a blip on the radar here. I mean, except for MW and I giggling in a corner. It almost makes me want to go back every Sunday to see who is feasting at the brunch. Hey, Don Dokken and Queensryche are playing this Sunday...
After a very extended lunch, we decided to just fall into line. I mean, there are only so many laps you can make around Downtown Disney. The wait was much easier than the previous day (it's hard to be in a bad mood at D-Land) and time passed fairly quickly. There are always lots of things to watch at the Kingdom de Magic. One of the highlights was a group of ladies leaving the aforementioned Gospel Brunch. "Praise be to God!" We also saw all of the Louis guys, all of Editors (except the elusive Chris) and at one point, Paul and Steve walking around. I know M-Dub regrets not going over to say hello, but I don't know. I've always kept my distance with all bands before shows and I kind of enjoy maintaining my International Woman of Mystery status. I suppose writing a public blog kind of defeats the purpose, though.
Every time we're standing in line at HOB Anaheim, we wish that Mr. & Mrs. Rick Sticks were there to keep us company. If we had their number handy, we might have called them, just to come down and entertain us, haha. M-Dub started talking to the couple in line behind us and found out that they are also Pete Yorn fans. Weird! And awesome! When we finally get inside, we realize we are standing next to some of our compadres from the night before, the girls from the Fonda and the two Snow Patrol fans we actually made friends with at the Greek. Hey! You alllllll look familiar. It was really a fantastic little group and so much more fun than the night before. My vibe, she has never been happier.
Blah blah blah, Louis. Is it over yet? Sorry. I just. No.
Yay! Hot Hot Go Time! Security was ridiculously strict that night and Kevin the bouncer was planted right in front of our faces. I convinced M-Dub to just put the camera away and enjoy the show for once. I know it physically pained her not to film (especially when they busted out "Give Up?" or when Kevin the bouncer was singing along to "Bandages," heeeehee) and it sucks that we only have our memories to relive the moment, but I think it really added that much more magic to the night. I have been to many shows in my time and I never ever thought anything would even come close to competing with the epic 2003 WF show at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver (no! set! list!), but I don't know, dude. I'm about ready to declare this show the Best Show Ever. Certainly in my Top 3 all-time. And I do not throw that distinction out loosely.
The guys came out swinging with the high energy crowd fave "Talk To Me, Dance With Me" as the opener. Love that choice. I have never understood stringing the audience along only to bust the big guns out at the end when everyone is already bored. Slay 'em from the start, that's what I say. Since there was no camera to be quiet for and since I was in a super fantastic Disneyland mood and since we were dialing it up an extra notch for M-Dub's 11th show, we just let loose. We sang along at the top of our lungs, led the crowd in handclaps every chance we got and basically just gave it everything we had. Maybe we were blowing off steam. Maybe we were trying to say thank you to the guys for all they've given us this year. Maybe we were trying to say thank you for toughing it out when they could have easily cashed in the laryngitis card and called it quits. Maybe we just fucking love this band and wanted to show it in the best way we know how.
Maybe I'm a little bit punchdrunk. Sue me. We had the time of our lives. I just wish I had something tangible to remember it all by. I will have to make do with other people's reviews (Christ, I feel like I'm being reviewed in that one) and the mental picture that Steve commanded us to take of the moment. I wish I could have bottled all the love and energy in the room that night because it was unlike anything I have ever been a part of. I think they had to pull Steve off the stage with one of those Bugs Bunny cartoon hooks, he was having so much fun. When he said "This is why I'm in a rock band!" I wanted to tell him that THIS is why we go to rock shows. THANK YOU for the last eight months and a particularly special night to close it out on. I will just be over here, fiending like a cracky until they come back. Perhaps I will have to take up karaoke...
Or perhaps I will have to celebrate my birthday weekend in New York. Eh, we'll see.
Yet again, we chose to stay down front and watch Editors instead of going to chat with HHH. I wish I could have done both, but my chances of seeing Editors again at such a small venue (especially when we're already down front) are slim to none. I watched Chris and his pointy shoes and cardigan sweater walk around in circles again, tried to differentiate Tom from Gary (sorry, not happening) and am thrilled to report that there was only sweat, no blood or tears in our section that night. Security finally eased up during the second to last song of the encore and I have never seen M-Dub scramble for the camera so quickly, haha. Talk about fiending like a cracky! They closed out with "Fingers in the Factories" and although the mic stand fiasco makes for an awesome rockstar exit, I feel inclined to point out that Mr. Taze, the hardest working roadie in the biz, never would have let that happen.
As we were walking out, a security guard that we have seen many times over the years at this venue tapped MW's arm and teased that he "should have taken [her] camera." MW chided him back and when he said that he wouldn't have cared if we taped the whole show, I was tempted to get it in writing for next time. Don't think I won't remind him of that shit! There is always a next time.
We walked back out to the car to pick up the cookies I had made for the guys. I know, nothing quite says rock and roll like homemade cookies. I really don't know why I always feel inclined to bring gifts for the Canucks - I honestly don't do it for anyone else. These guys just bring out this crazy creative streak in me. And it usually manifests itself as baked goods because it's combining itself with my overwhelming urge to feed their skinny asses. Paul, I too have some awesome soup recipes (split pea, now that's rock and roll, baby) - we should talk.
Anyway, we grab the HHH-inspired cookies and head back to the venue, but almost everyone has cleared out by then. Security let us go back upstairs (thanks, friends!), but nobody was around and they were shutting everything down by that point. Crap. All of a sudden, Oscar walks out the door and as much as we don't want to rely on someone else, we have to enlist his help. We ask him if the guys are around and he says that the others are gone and Steve is in a "business meeting." I know what you're trying to say! Aw yeah, it's business time. LOLOL! MW displays her incredulity that business meetings happen at 12:30am, but maybe that really is rock and roll. Maybe. We hand over the cookies and he promises to get them to the guys. I am instantly convinced they went straight into the trash. But I can be a pessimistic kind of gal sometimes.
We stood around for a minute in a "well, now what?" kind of mood because that wasn't exactly the note we were hoping to go out on and my pessimistic tendencies were not appeased when Oscar walked back out a minute later. He seemed surprised to see us still there and rattled off something about how Steve was so excited about the cookies. Because you busted into his "business meeting" to give him cookies? Yeah. I don't believe that for one second. Whatever. I suppose it's my own fault for choosing to stay for the show than hand them off myself. Which by the way, he also mentioned that he saw us stick around for Editors. OK, Rockwell.
Sometimes I really wish I could get my paranoid brain to shut up.
We went back downstairs and just walked around the now deserted Downtown Disney. It was super bizarre to have D-Land all to ourselves, even if it was just the mall, not the park. Especially after how insanely busy it was that day. It was all very "Splendid Isolation" - quite literally. Lock the gates, Goofy! You know what's weird? Even in the middle of the night, with nobody there, they still pump music through the PA. I might have even busted a move. You can't prove it.
In the ridiculously long period of time it has taken me to finish this here blog, MW and I have since gone to see FotC's own Rhys Darby do a stand up act (or two) at the El Rey. The whole thing was being filmed for a dubbed video...dub and unless we miraculously end up on the cutting room floor, you might even see our familiar mugs in it when it hits the shelves. He was nice as could be and I'm honestly still a little bit starstruck. I mean, it's Ginger Balls!! MW (of course) had fantastic video, but The Man has already come around to wipe them out.
And then a few days ago, I went down to see Lukey Luke's solo gig in hipster Silverlake. Well. I guess sometimes it pays to be the o-l-d fan. I wasn't expecting "Good Day To Die," but I sure did like it. Oscar and I pretended not to see each other and for my sanity's sake, I'm glad M-Dub was not in the house. She would have grilled him about those cookies again, fo sho.
Next up: Foos at the Foorum. It's gonna be really strange for me to see Rami with another band. Oh well, life goes on and it's too hard to hold a grudge against the splendid Mr. Grohl. I'm just happy I can still see The Lama rocking the keys somewhere.