2001-02-06

We made it to my B&B in the East Village. And it was nice. Totally decent accomodations for $75. Cute, clean, comfortable. All good. I tried to make myself look decent. Eh. I realized that I don�t mind looking like shit if it�s obvious that I don�t care. And I like to make the effort to look good if it actually shows. I hate trying and then having it not work. That pretty much how I felt Saturday. But I was good. I shrugged it off. Honest.

We had dinner at a friend�s apartment. Three girls. They were all very nice and fun to hang out with. But, man I felt my age. And after Ben cooked dinner (some kick ass macaroni able to counteract the effects of vodka tonics) we had this conversation about Americans and they�re perceived overseas. And about stereotypes in general. And it wasn�t until then that I really felt the age difference. I didn�t speak as freely as I would have around most people my own age. And I was a guest so I held back. It was definitely an intelligent conversation. And actually, it may not have been my age. Now that I think about it, the rational (micro) economist in me wanted to say a couple of things, but didn�t. Ben is definitely mature for his age. Wise beyond his years. A good thing.

We were smart and called for directions to the Knitting Factory, and the subway ride there went off perfectly. Yay. The club was packed. And again the signage was poor. It took a little while to find the will call window. There wasn�t one. There was a line. And I actually did the asking for once. This place had several levels with bars and different performance spaces. The main space was pretty small. There was a balcony, also small. It was less than half the size of 9:30. And hot. And full of annoying people. Just like any show I go to. The bar next the main space was cool. Strong drinks. The people weren�t any diffrent from the people you�d see out in DC. The New Yorkers I saw didn�t seem any more cool or any more attractive than the people around here. They�d like you to think they are, but they�re not. I watched Sean (guitarist) talk to this hair-flipping/smoking machine while Ben checked our coats.

Normally when I see Luna, I rest up. I want to be fresh and ready to stand on my feet for a couple of hours. Such was not the case on Saturday. But I sucked it up, because the show was excellent. Clem Snide was great. They did their song about Corey Feldman ( the �junkie jew�) and I loved Ben�s reaction to the first few lines of �I Love the Unknown�. You feel the pain. You can�t help it.

We were upstairs for Luna. It was the best show I�ve been to. I�m sure the hometown thing had something to do with it. And the crowd was rowdy. Which is always weird because Luna is not. I heard a couple of songs I�d never heard before which was great. They sounded amazing. Ben enjoyed it. And that made me happy. I enjoyed it despite feeling like I was going to die. �23 Minutes in Brussels� (my absolute favorite) was last. That song never fails to give me some energy. Usually it�s just enough to get me to the car and home. But it wasn�t enough to help me stand in line for the most inept coat check operation on the face of the earth. The reason they made you pay $2 up front was because they knew they�d never make a penny in tips. I won�t even go into the subway ride home. Ugh. Apparently you�re just supposed to �know� that the L train runs back and forth on the same track at night. Didn�t get back until around 2. So tired. So grimy. I walked up the stairs, put my key in the door. It didn�t work. I thought �what the fuck? this cannot be happening to me!� Then I realized I was on the wrong floor. Oops. It�s not like the rooms were numbered or anything.

I could not live in NY. I looked so bad at the end of the day. I�d have to work twice as hard just to look decent if I lived in that city. I never had a chance. My room, which was cute, was facing the street and two floors up from a bar. So I needed ear plugs, head phones and about an hour to fall asleep. Then I had dreams about still being out. Not restful at all.

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