03-22-2002
Chicago, Schuba's
 
I shouldn't be writing this tonight, I really shouldn't. It's 3:00 AM, maybe later, I'm tired, I'm not drunk but I am mighty tired. My friend Jim and his friend Keely are in the living room, long asleep; I'm wishing I were sleeping, we're getting up tomorrow & heading to Indianapolis for a show, then to Michigan on Sunday for that festival I think it is, and then - somehow - home in time for work on Monday.

The show tonight was fun. Okay? Do I have to say more? Well: The Swords Project, have I mentioned my fondess for them? Well, I am fond of them. I love watching them play, I enjoy listening to their records, of which there are now two; and now, having met them, I discover that I am somehow in love with all seven members of the band. It is a miracle! A miracle of my own slut-hood. I do like them, we're playing with them tomorrow night in Indianapolis and I am glad about it.

Mates of State played, too - but the place was so packed that I hardly paid attention. I think they were good? I think. There were all these people saying Quasi this and Quasi that but I don't know either band well enough to make any comparisons, and if you want to make some music with your husband or your wife, well fuck! good move! They were nice people. I was so chummy tonight! Everyone was my chum. Isn't chum some kind of shark bait? Is that good or bad? I am fucking tired!

So we played. Boy were my drums loud. We played alright, never quite took off but it was okay. Tim lost control of his bass at one point, sending it spewing into the middle of the stage like a severed appendage. I sang a song to the prettiest girl in the club and she grew flowers from her secret place. The doorman watched Andy and I urinate together. A photograph was taken of four of us under a table with steak knives and ... aand... and it is time for me to go to sleep. Perhaps better luck tomorrow.


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