New York City, The Mercury Lounge
I know these journals have been about an eighth as interesting as they should be. Maybe I'll rewrite them all someday, make 'em a little more jazzy.

Actually I made it home, I'm writing this very late Sunday night from home. What a long fucking trip back - I spent four hours at Midway, four hours! It was a fucking mess! It was packed, it was a madhouse! I slept, I drooled in public, I didn't give a shit. What a wreck! And the final flight, well at least it wasn't crowded, but this fat fucker across the aisle started snoring as as the plane was taking off, and didn't stop, I mean literally he snored the entire trip! Shit! After a while I thought, "oh, it's just snoring, it doesn't have to be such a bad thing, it's just another sound," and it was as if he read my mind: the most disgusting series of wet chunky snarfs came out. I barfed, barfed!

The show in NY was so fun, though. There were a buttload of people there, I don't know where they come from but they certainly came. And there were people there I'd told about the show, and a bunch of people I didn't tell who I didn't expect to see, and that was a hoot. It was fun! We played pretty well. I don't think I mentioned how much I've been fucking up these last few shows, Philadelphia and Boston I was pretty much dorkfisted. I kept forgetting how to do things or forgetting to play or thinking about... I don't know, my shoes or whether I should drink beer or water or something, thinking about anything but what I'm doing and then fucking up. So NY was a little better. I was actually nervous when we started! Me! Nervous! That never happens. Maybe Chelsea was there again, and I sensed it. But I didn't care: it was one of those rare nights, those nights that come only once every two or three years, when I feel it's okay to go home without getting laid. Isn't that something? Truly a special evening. Not that I get laid every night, good God no! But on this particular night it was actually okay not to get laid.

I did get to hang out with a pretty girl, though, and drink in a scummy bar. Earlier I hung out with an old friend in a rat-infested garden bar and drank sangria while shuddering in fear, so my night was full. This whole trip was full. What a fucking busy ten days! Shitballs! Tomorrow I'm going back to work, doesn't it make you sick? I was starting to enjoy the rock&roll world.


Back to the list