|It's nice to have a decent excuse to write something down. I've avoided it for the last few trips because the last few trips were a little boring. Not inspiring enough to make me want to make shit up about it. All attempts to stand in the same vicinity as an attractive woman thwarted in the most shameful manner. All onstaqe performances only mildly inspired. No tragedies worth reporting. I do intend to invent something at some point, just to round things out; but timeliness isn't an issue, as I'm not too worried about forgetting the details.|
The show in L.A., though, was a pleasure. The club was cool, we played well, people were friendly, there were shouts of delight, etc. Very nice. The attractive women still veered away, but I wasn't too worried about it. So this time out, I'll write.
We're doing these four West Coast shows with The New Year. The New Year has many members - I think there are seven of them. Most of them play guitar. They're friendly, so this trip should be enjoyable.
Los Angeles is filled with bare midriffs and live DJs, so there's a lot to take in. The Knitting Factory is shoved in the back corner of a long-abandoned mini mall on Hollywood Boulevard - the Hollywood Boulevard - and somehow avoids that sheen of cool that pervades this part of town. It's a dirty, dirty club, and we're dirty, dirty men. The fans were out tonight, though, which was a pleasure. I chatted with them in the bathroom, in the hallways, and even while playing songs on the stage. Even after the show - chat, chat, chat. We were all goddamned social butterflies, just like everyone else in this raging town. And the women? Ah, the women! Or - well, maybe I should say "the woman." Maybe I shouldn't say that, either, since the woman - dubbed "friendly" by myself, "crazy" by the others - didn't really pay much attention to me. But, well, still - you know. The next show is at a pizza parlor.
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