Still Nursing it

in the end, colin and i opted to skip the chance of being shot along the railroad tracks in richmond. instead, he drove us to burnt ramen to see bum city saints. probably a good move.

burnt ramen is what you'd get if 924 gilman had a lovechild with the fleishhacker pool-- an off-the-grid warehouse complete with graffiti-covered walls, diarrhea-covered toilets, and a scattered amount of perma-fried squatters with names like moon and coyote.

i felt a bit out of place having just given myself a haircut and arriving in a tweed jacket. but i suppose i fit in more than colin who is in his forties and sports a cop mustache. and, after the booze started pouring and the music started musicking, we all had a fucking great time.


i should note that this photo was not taken by me. it was stolen from poseido's flickr and is of los miserables rather than bum city saints because i was too afraid forgot to bring my camera. but it gives you a decent idea of the stage.

this was the first time i'd seen bum city saints live despite the fact my roommate is one of the two guitarists. and though their drummer was sick/replaced by holiday bowl's drummer, they put on an awesome show.

a small part of me was glad the greenbay packers had won because one of the guitarists is from wisconsin and their show happened to fall on both suberbowl sunday and his birthday. i have a feeling i would've witnessed something awful had it been the steelers.

he'd actually coerced the entire band to wear packers jerseys, too.

so thank you packers, thank you bum city saints, and thank you friends who got drunk with me. by the end of it all, the circle pits grew till they half-swallowed the stage and people were stealing the mic to join in singing.

it was glorious.

anyone who has never been to a show like this needs to go immediately. the music is real, you can drink at any age and smoke wherever you damn well please, and everybody gets along even despite the violent pits of punk-appreciating dancers.

even if it's not how you soothe your soul, you need to go just to experience it.

oh, and i wasn't shot-- if you can't tell. but there was a great moment between sets when someone got onto the mic to say, "don't go outside: there's a shooting" and then all of the power went out. i felt like i was in a punk version of clue.

of course after the show, and after the shooting, colin's car transformed into something of a game of human tetris-- fitting seven people in a convertible volkswagen. it was a drunken intimate happening.

checklist for next show:

1. more flasks of whiskey
2. clothes i don't care about
3. a bigger vehicle
4. no interview the next morning