Come on, do the hand-jive -- now with mp3 goodness!

Update: click on the Meters link below for an mp3 of their song "Look-Ka Py Py"

For reasons best left unexplored, I had hoped to see some live punk-type music at a nearby venue. You can imagine my dismay upon arriving at said venue and seeing the hordes of 15-year-olds swarming the entrance!

(If you can't imagine my dismay, then do the following exercise: imagine something precious and beautiful, and then imagine 15-year-olds standing nearby. Sorta the same deal.)

(Similarly, you can imagine my relief that a friend claimed "prior plans" as a way of declining my invitation to the punk-rock show.)

I had an overpriced beer at La Casa Degli Ragazzi Con Quindici Anni, and then took off for destinations unknown.

"Destinations unknown" ended up being "Broadway". Ran into Colleen and DS2, and had a comical misunderstanding re: Me and You and Everyone We Know. Comical, I tell you!

After ditching the kids, I hit Amigo's -- no music yet. I hit Bud's -- no music yet. I hit the Roxy -- no music yet. I went back to Amigo's, then back to Bud's, then back to the Roxy. Somewhere in there I squeezed in a visit to Lydia's (no music yet) and two visits to the Yard & Flagon (no music ever). I'm pretty sure I had four or five beers in the course of these journeys.

Oh Christ, and now I remember that I filled up my home voicemail with random notes and non sequiturs because at some point I got the urge to chronicle my Odysseia Rockis but did not have my notepad in my jacket.

("Odysseia Rockis" is what I thought "Odyssey of Rock" would translate to in Latin. Reason #453 for me not to drink: exponentially poorer understanding of Latin vocabulary and declensions.)

Yes, I called my voicemail so many times that it eventually filled up, so I called Crystal/Maura/Rob's voicemail once. Dear Crystal/Maura/Rob: that ... wasn't me. I don't know who that was. Did you ever see that episode of Star Trek titled "Mirror Mirror"? Sure you did. (Don't lie; it's unbecoming.) So you'll understand that I didn't call your voicemail; it was either Shirtless Sulu or Goatee'd Spock.

I suspect it was also one of them that almost fell asleep watching Surface play at Amigo's, because I never would. The drummer for Surface was amazing; I even had to tell her so after the show. But the rest of the show? Underwhelming. And what kind of a name is "Surface"? I'll tell you what kind of name it is: the horrible kind. Kids these days demand multiple words, not to mention imagery and punnery. (I hate puns like Baby Jesus hates it when you masturbate, but if a band calls itself "The Death-Ray Davies", you gotta let 'em keep it.)

Where was I? Oh yeah -- I almost fell asleep during La Exhibicion De La Musica Rock, and then I walked home, and then I saw that I had improperly set the vcr, and thus the Meters (the fucking Meters!) playing Letterman is something that will exist only in TV Guide for me.

Did I tell you about this afternoon, when I walked home from the Safeway with 16 rolls of toilet paper under my arm and desperately needed to go to the bathroom? If I weren't so busy clenching at the time, I'm sure I could have figured out which kind of irony was involved; as it is, let's just be glad I'm good at distracting myself.