“I really enjoyed the show. I’m glad you all could make it out,” I say, helping Doug disassemble the projector screen.
“Thanks, man, we had a great time,” Doug says, scratching his infinite beard.
Derek shouts from across the room, “Brian, didn’t you say that same thing to Everclear a few days ago?”
“Everclear?” Doug squawks. “They’re horrible! Aren’t they that 90’s cock-rock band?”
“Cock-rock with just a whisper of pussy,” I say. It makes Doug laugh, and I was surprised to hear him do that kind of grossly human activity… his stage presence screamed, “I have Aspergers syndrome. You all are an audience of sevens and fours.”
It was a great time these past two nights. Just about every song I could have wanted was played. Twice in the case of “Carry the Zero.” Last night Built to Spill became Bostick’s favorite band when the drummer started dismantling and packing up his drum-kit during the final song.
The night ended with a dude who everyone agreed sucked (he began his night trying to sneak in the back, tipped thirty cents on twenty five dollars of purchases, harassed Whitney all night, etc., etc.) trying to get in a fight. This action was, in a way, a relief as it justified me grabbing him by the neck to control him. It was something we’d all wanted to do. “You know, if we killed him and tossed him into the junkyard, those junkyard dogs would devour his corpse by morning,” Mike suggests.
Look at me… I’ve gone and used “pussy” in two consecutive blog entries. Which reminds me, I saw Tony near the intersection of 40 and Airport Rd… it looked like he was making good on his intentions to leave town.