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post #194
bio: chris

first post
that week

Previous Posts
On Sting (and other crap)
Things I Say to My Dad, Because (like myself) He Thinks, Irrationally, He's Going to Die Soon
Why Hipstamatic Was Invented
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all
Black Pear Tree (Guest Post from John Darnielle)

Listening for the Sounds of Subtle Atrophy
I was feeling like crap on Friday. Had stayed up way too late. Had probably a bit too much to drink for a Thursday night. The threat of a transit strike loomed overhead as I woke up way late for work and the streets were a mess of wet white and grey.

I wasn't going anywhere. Except to work, once I figured out that the transit strike hadn't actually taken place. But that was it.

Til around 4 when I get a message from Dogg.

"You can totally make it, dogg."
"Leave now. Get out of there by 5. You can make it to karaoke by 9:30."
"Come on. It's not the same without the Romine. You could be drinking with Mark the Shark! Marty'll probably even buy you a shot. Come on, dogg."

Well, they don't need me here, and I know you're all there. So I left, carrying nothing with me but the shirt on my back and the humble contents of my little black bag.

So I got to karaoke around 10:30, and wham, I got right back into it. Just like old times.

"Do it! Do Thunder Road! If you don't put it up there, I'm putting it up for you."

Still kind of sick and pretty damn tired, I really didn't feel like singing. But, I dunno, the outpouring of love from the old crew... I mean, how can you say no to that? Jack and cokes just like they used to be. Mark the Shark patting you on the back. The old skanky 50 year old lady who has a crush on you coming up to you shouting "HUGGIES!" and molesting your nipples. Who can say no to that?

And when you actually do get up there to sing, and your voice is all fucked and you're tired, and you look out to the crowd and see all your closest, dearest old friends singing along and pumping their fists at you... well, the room starts to get a little dusty.

Thanks, guys.

Home again. Watching the Huskies with Klutch. Fried pickles and beer. Saying the words "teh" and "r0x0rz" a lot. Staying up til 5 in the morning drinking whiskey with dogg talking ‘bout all the old times. Sunday night r0x0rz with klutch, Paul, and Jess. These are my kinds of these. And these are my people.

Oh yeah. About the Sunday night r0x0rz.

Hallelujah the Hills. You may have heard me drone on and on about this band called The Stairs a while back. They were fronted by an old buddy of mine from my Boston days – Ryan Walsh. Well, The Stairs broke up, and Ryan went on to form Halleujah the Hills.

This was only their third show, and the first chance I had to see them. Sunday night at 11. TT the Bear's. There was no way I was missing this by a couple of hours. No way in hell.

So I think Ryan was a little surprised to see me when I walked into the show.

It was nice to see him and have a little chat. I dunno, I kinda get a little dumbstruck sometimes when I see him now. It's a little weird, because when I lived in Boston, he was a guy I'd hang out with at Common Ground and drink with – and now, he makes some of my most favorite music in the whole wide world.

He's a good man, that Ryan.

And the show was Holy Shit Good. Holy Holy Shit.

For those of you in New York, they are playing Sin-E on Saturday, Jan. 7th. So trust me when I tell you that you have to go. Have to, have to, have to. You'll kick yourself someday if you don't. I'd bet my life on it.

Have I ever steered you wrong before?

So yeah. I stayed for the show, got on a 2:30 AM bus back to the city, and made it to work by 8. Still wearing the same clothes I wore to the show – blue flannel shirt, and the same jeans I always wear. And here I am.

That's one of the best decisions I have ever made.

There is something innately sad, a little, about going back to Boston. It's never quite like it was when I lived there, and it can't be. But that's probably a good ting. There's no part of me that thinks I shouldn't have left when I did, but there will always be a small part of me that wants to come back. Going back always reminds me of all the little bits of myself I think I've forgotten or lost along the way, and I like those bits an awful lot. I am thankful for that.

I won't be so presumptuous as to say that this was the best weekend ever – I've had some great ones – but it sure felt like that. I hadn't been that deep down-to-the-bone happy in a long time.

(Raise The Flag of your Sibling's Favorite Daydream -- 2005, Hallelujah the Hills. Song posted with permission from the author.)

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