The King and I

Friday night was a highline evening, kicking off in the early afternoon in the Bruno, and angling to Amoeba for respite. The fearsome French then congregrated in David's apartment for cigarettes and beer, and the girls danced. Outtasight. Next stop was Goemon, which is possibly the worst sushi in the world, but if yer gonna eat bait for dinner, best it's in a festive environment with cute shy-of-age waitresses. We were seated 8 at a low shoes-off table, and we slid aside the shoji screen to smoke. Sake, Sapporo, and two hours in I was gassed. I also had an appointment at 4th and Market. I sobered up with cigarettes.

We arrived mid band 2, which is the best time to arrive, becuase who the fuck cares about warm up acts when the Flakes and King Khan and BBQ are on tap. Out back with the boys and the tattoed girls, the scene exploded. I haven't been happy at the Parkside since Dexter went fuck all for the five of us front and center. Last Friday was special, and it felt like 2003 all over again. Olys were drained, the Flakes ripped it up, and tobacco was constant. Banter was tight and I can't remember a goddam thing, but everyone had a good time, of this I am sure.

Then the dynamic duo took the stage. It was dumb to have expectations. I know it is. One should plan on misery and be surprised when the wheel turns right, but damn if we weren't opitimists for those early hours. Then the mic blew, the PA shut off, King played the 'another one bites the dust' riff, and tempers turned. It was messy when bad and good when good. The night peaked early, and the spirit waned in the morning breakdown hours.

Regrets, I have a few. But if yer asking was Friday night worth it, the answer is damn right. $8 to feel part of the better part of the human race is a small price to pay. The rest of you who were huddled at home under down quilts worrying about your IRA and your war and your acne can eat me. Rock and Roll makes good good sense...