I saw Boy With a Fish last night in a tiny club down and to the right of me. It was packed tight, and we were burning up, but everyone was into the music and therefore didn’t care too much.
We got there a little before the music started, and when I walked up to the bar, a strange, oldish man started to talk to me. He said some things I won’t repeat, and then he said something that pissed me off a little — as much as a drunk stranger’s words can piss someone off. “You’re a woman,” he said. “It’s your mission to be loved. Your mission.”
Anyway, the show was great, and inspired some truly spectacular moves from the man to my left.
When I got home this morning, I found a Sushi Hana menu just across the threshold, which is strange because I’d thrown one away before I left for the night. Did the Sushi Hana people come back? Maybe. Or maybe a draft blew someone else’s menu under my door. I kind of hope, though, that the mysterious Germans next door had something to do with it.
The last scene of Fight Club is one of my favorites, and I don’t care if that makes my tastes pedestrian. It’s visually gorgeous to me, that song by the Pixies kicks tremendous ass, and I love the last line: “You met me at a very strange time in my life.”
With that, I’m headed upstate.