-Last night I went to see
Dragging an Ox Through Water, a local one man band I've liked since mid-high school and haven't seen since then. As a matter of fact, the first house show I ever went to was Brian's other band, Cheveron, at a somewhat legendary Eugene house venue called My House, run by Marc Moscato, who later got me a job at Microcosm; but that is neither here nor there. In addition to playing a quietly awesome set and being totally down with my "I was a big fan of yours in high school and you know my friend Barton" spiel while I was buying a 7",
Brian Mumford is also exactly how I want to (and expect to) look like once I go on testosterone. The headlining band, though, was called Firetruck: the lead singer/keyboardist was a guy I thought was cute in 9th grade, and they sounded like Le Tigre with boys. I danced really hard with a lot of ex-The United People's Art Club kids from that era, did
the David Archer patented Wuthering Heights dance, and dropped it like it was hot probably a little too often.
-I then did some deep hanging out with some good old friends; we all rolled deep to an alleged party at someone's parent's house out
Spring Blvd., but it ended up just being a bunch of high school kids who took our beers. So then we went back downtown to a party in a cement basement with all the walls and floors and ceiling covered in carpet. Everyone was smoking and drinking and laughing and throwing bottle caps at each other, and it seemed like Pinocchio had dragged a bunch of hipsters into the whale's belly with him.
Nick also suggested that we should form a band to play my songs, which I hope wasn't just a drunken threat.
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