14

24-7 there. So we got to enjoy our apartment for most of the
afternoon, but having made dinner plans with my date to the
senior prom and his boyfriend, we had to go out in the evening.
Dinner was great, but by the time we hit the Matt Shipp show
we were drenching and wilted from the effort. Running into
the incomparable Beverly Lynn bolstered my spirits, and Matt
was, as usual (contrary to what Josh Ronsen may write), thrilling
to hear. The rest of the night besides that half-hour blew,
though. We spent two hours looking for canceled shows,
parties, etc. and finally collapsed at home, saddened by the turn
of events.

The next day, though, sunlight was streaming through our
windows. We bounded down to St. Mark's place to buy some
crap and people-watch. Jennifer ate so many pierogies that she
slept for about five hours at the hotel while I was taken to Shea
Stadium to see a Mets game. This was my second-favorite day
of the trip as not only did I get to see a baseball game,
afterwards was a show by one of my favorite guilty-pleasure
bands at CBGB. There was a nasty long line, unfortunately, but
a high school classmate of mine (hi, Brien!) was at the head of it
and kicked me on in to ensure I'd lose no precious time
standing around. Jen was still at home. Those pierogies, ya know.
Saturday was every bit as lovely, a perfect day for - barbecue?
What the fuck, we didn't go to New York to fucking eat
barbecue, we went to New York to eat bagels and lox, pizza and
hot dogs. It was the Bloodshot records deal, though, so I see
their point. You can't have insurgent country without cooking
meat outdoors, just like you can't have it without Jon Langford
onstage every five minutes, god bless 'em. Unquestionably,
GW's highlight of this afternoon was seeing Chip ("Wild
Thing," "Angel of the Morning," Angelina Jolie's uncle) Taylor
hop up on stage with the Waco Bros. That and the Blacks. We
like the Blacks. Hell, we pretty much liked everything there,
including the heretofore unknown pleasure of having a
screwdriver with your hamburger.

We liked that afternoon so much that it was all we could do to
stick our head in on former Austinite Jonathan Toubin, a man
most sorely missed on the Austin scene, to see how he was
faring with Grand Mal. And then I think we just ate and went
to bed. Early flight the next day and all. The sad thing is, when
I got back to Austin, I actually went out that Sunday to se the
Kinks hoot night at the Hole in the Wall, and, for reasons too
difficult to explain, was thrilled to be home.