I've got that post-show old-man thing going: stiff neck, achy knees, crotchetty hatred of anonymous pedestrians; it's all there. I'm almost at the point where I should be wearing high-water plaid pants and a bow tie, waiting for a table in Denny's at half past four. Hell, all we need is one more tour before Oldmonster is in full effect and we start writing songs about taffy and osteoporosis and what an insolent prick our caddy is. Personally, I can't wait.
Let's talk about the weekend. Our Saturday evening began with a quick soundcheck, followed by a stroll to Thee Parkside, where there was an SF Indie List shindig going on (meaning many folks drunk at 6, bands out the wazoo, Ted from BAGeL doing some bearded DJing in the corner) and where we ordered the slowest burgers since our cavemen ancestors harnessed fire. While we waited for thee burgers, we utilized Thee Parkside's bowed, rain-damaged ping pong table, upon which Dave dominated us like Roger Federer while making way too many Macho Man Randy Savage "Woo!!!" noises. Four or five hours later, we ate some burned yet bloody burger nuggets, said a few goodbyes and moseyed back to Bottom of the Hill.
Before I talk about the show, I need to thank East Bay rock superhumans Hijack the Disco for a) actually using a melodica in their live show, b) actually letting someone as notoriously clumsy and cruel to equipment as I am borrow it, and c) actually driving it to the club so I wouldn't have to leave the dank and cozy confines at Bottom. An incredibly generous and trusting thing to do, which I repaid by not throwing the mouth piano into a wall, like I did the last one, which, in retrospect, explains why that last one broke. Live and learn, live and learn.
In our typically roundabout way, we've finally reached the part where I talk about the show, which is ostensibly the reason for this entire post. And what can I say? It was fantastic. I'm putting it among my favorite Birdmonster shows ever. The crowd was energetic and large, the openers were great, and Bottom of the Hill was (as usual), accomidating, generous, and loud as all get out. They must have great neighbors there. Either that or they live in sound-proof caves. I could use one of those for my neighbors below me, who pound on the ceiling at 10:01 at night while you laugh gleefully at Gymkata. Either the pleasant neighbor or the cave. I'll take either. Preferably the former.
And honestly, I could go on and on about what a great time I had on Saturday, but, the aforementioned elderly symptoms of soreness are demanding I get away from the computer for a while. To everyone who was there: thanks so much. A memorable and incredibly enjoyable evening. Our hats, once on, now off.