Double-feature last night: first Mostly Mozart (WAM, Faure) and then downtown for Francis and the Lights show at Mercury Lounge. In between we got some steak fries at Katz's.
(Wow, uneven bars look really hard. I have a Blueberry Boy Bait in the oven.)
Soemtimes the Mercury Lounge whips me into a rage but last night I was reasonably calm; I mean, I was kind of irritated by the amount of self-consciously sexy dancing going on by a nearby group of girls; and, you know, I'm pretty sick of just anyone thinking she can throw aggressive glasses on which have nothing to do with her face; and this one guy crashed into me and kind of hurt my foot - but, overall, as good a show as one expects from Mr. Starlight - certainly one of the hardest-working men on the indie rock scene. Slim's not in his good graces anymore because he addressed him by his real name AND on another occasion referred to his style as "funk." The one time I had dealings with him I was so intimidated by his romantic pallor and palpable air of melancholy that I couldn't do more than ask him, 'is that carpaccio?" (It was.)
(Boy Bait looks good.)
Subway smells better. Maeve brought me (along with tub of maple butter from Polly's Pancake Parlor) a really bizarre career romance called A Special Kind of Love, which I suppose refers to social worker Helen's love for her work, as she seems to despise and maltreat all the men I've run across so far, to say nothing of her secretary and her patients. Await further reports.
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