April 8th, 2006

weezer

thursday : mellow as an atypical crowd compliment

I was late meeting Samantha at Neumo's because I was determined to finish at least watching the first volume of late-fee inducing the Best of Youth before leaving my apartment to see the Fruit Bats. This is an unfortunate conflict between hating to make people wait at war with a simultaneous discomfort with arriving anywhere early.

When I got there, the showroom was nearly empty, except for a few people scattered on the edges out of the light, and a few of us in the only half-open upstairs area. We caught up on our assorted travels, got some drinks, and stood around waiting for Sam Jayne once it looked like people had actually started to show up.

After a few songs, and compliments from the former Love as Laughter frontman about the crowd's mellowness; we took a break to hang out at the "Bad Juju" on the sauna couch and to get some fries next door. This caused us to miss a band of Scandinavian origin, but not to miss the Fruit Bats. The headliners alternated between rocking and slower solo numbers. By the end of the encore, Eric Johnson was dipping into the catalog of songs whose lyrics were better known to superfans (who knew?) than to himself.
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the only earth?

friday : cat scratch fever

Last night I was walking from Wallingford to Fremont and tried to pick up a cat that walked up to me. But apparently it was all a tease and my hand ended up with some pretty ugly-looking scratches on it.

I was in the neighborhood with some friends. The evening started after cutting out of work early to go to Wonderbar, where the decorators have fully embraced 2006 as the Year of the Chandelier. They've upped the ante by including some lampshades to cover the awkward ceiling to lightbulb gap, giving the over-mirrored space the look of a lounge under attack from stylized jellyfish.

Other than a few other quirks (being asked whether I wanted my edamame on the rocks), it was nice enough. We left to have dinner at Beso del Sol, inhaling several baskets of chips while waiting for other people to arrive. And then later, after eating some of us made the westward hike, crossing the aurora skybridge and encountering the previously-mentioned death kitty, and an in-the-middle of huhville art gallery that was still open and displaying very colorful paintings about insects.

This was on our way to the Buckaroo. Although I never visited the bar in the pre-901 days, the absence of an excessively smoky interior (previously one of its key charms, I'm told), did not completely destroy its strange atmosphere. A substantial fraction of those in attendance were wearing badges to identify themselves as Spud Donors, smokers stood feet away from the door, and some odd guy chased us away from his abandoned bar stool. Apparently, the coaster on top of the near empty glass is a signifier that one has merely stepped outside to consume some narcotics and intends to return to claim the spot.