A night of Montreal

In Spring 010 on April 10, 2010 at 2:18 am

At 3 a.m., as I was sitting in the privacy provided to me by Jimmy’s Sanitary Services about 2.6 miles away from 75 North in the middle of the woods where a lone Chevron station stood with my green bodysuit around my ankles, I realized it had been a pretty fucking great night.

And not only that, but conditions at that moment were perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. There was an 8-inch-gap in the bottom corner of the structure that let in a nice breeze. I felt surprisingly comfortable, for the first time in my port-a-potty history, in that little plastic shell. Conditions were perfect.

And the satisfaction of Montreal had provided me in Tampa was still buzzing in my ears and muscles. Still is today.

The set list Claire wrested from the hands of a small Asian girl with a bob. Now a small, angry Asian girl with a bob. Note the footprint. We’re hoping that’s Bryan’s. Prob not. But a girl can always hope.

Though reluctant to go to a 16+ show, knowing problems could be caused (and were, kind of), it was an opportunity not to be missed.

I was too excited to study that afternoon. But not to excited to stay away from “Away We Go.”

I heard it sucked, which kept my expectations from ruining anything for me. And I liked it–a lot. Claire arrived just in time to conveniently replay the scene where the 5-year-old, after being prodded by his A-type mother to “tell the nice couple what you know about babies” responds something like: “They like to breath. I covered her with a pillow and thought she stopped breathing. She didn’t. She’s sneaky. I’ll try again.”

Now. I understand this is disgusting and morbid. But the contrast of a blond child saying such morbid things with the verbal fluidity most college students don’t posses IS hilarious.

This provided road trip laughter. Along with Brian Posehn’s jokes about bodily fluids.

Fast forward. I didn’t bring feathers or a moustache, but I was still psyched.

James Husband warmed up the crowd with some mellower sounds.

“Claire, that looks like Kevin Barnes on the drums. Is it?”

“I can’t tell without all the make-up.”

“It totally is, his hair is really fluffy, but it totally is.”

“Ask Josh. Josh will know…Okay, it totally is!”

The excitement builds.

Barnes sounds great live as do all the instrumentals. Adam and Eve eat their apples on stage. Bloodless violence ensues. It rains feathers.

We are happy.

Claire and I listened to Hissing Faun, Are You the Destroyer? on the way back. Again. We spent today on YouTube with videos and interviews.

Funnily enough, though we both gravitate toward the more masculine, Claire and I find Kevin Barnes amazingly sexy. I’m also a heightist, but that doesn’t stop me from finding this petite man extremely attractive.

I feel like I should be able to appreciate his showmanship and musical and lyrical ability without becoming a lusty 14-year-old.

I can’t.

This is of course attributable to the lead singer/musician pheromone phenomena, which is embarrassing but unavoidable. Even with the gestapo circling my heart. Or loins. Whichever.



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