muttered to a pal, in response to a band's comment about the building being a former whorehouse: "what building in san francisco didn't used to be a whorehouse?  i'm surprised that they're not all haunted, on account of being sacred whorial grounds."  so.  watching this uber-traditional new york new wave band.  who are old enough to have experienced new wave.  to have seen "some kind of wonderful" in the theater.  middle-aged and never gotten over teen angst, woo!!  most of the friends & acquaints are lukewarm to it... they're all twee and whatnot, and the people who might actually enjoy it didn't come.  not that i made a point of telling everyone.  it is a big deal to me, though.  first band i've gone to see in a yonk and a half, first vodka shots in just as many.  the band sings about martyrs, ghosts and monsters.  i can't quite relate anymore.  once in a while they hit just the right note and remind me of why i made the effort to get out of the house.  chills up the spine.  my friend whom i gave a copy of their album to, as a b-day gift, is seeing them for the first time.  he'd been looking forward to the show, i think.  afterwards he says: "the singer had the dirtiest feet i've ever seen."  what?!?!  he took off his shoes??  and didn't have socks on??  "yeah."  oh.  i didn't see that part.

then i told him that this one dude who'd passed by and said hello or bye or whatever could go choke on a big black cock, for all i care, and laughed.