Monday, March 30, 2015
We played at a bar in New London, Connecticut and nobody looked at us, and then we played Brooklyn at 3 in the afternoon while people ate brunch and drank Bloody Marys. Like most shows they were opportunities for me to act like I knew what I was doing. In Brooklyn I forgot to tune my bass before our first song and that seemed to set the tone. We drank slowly but surely throughout the day until I fell asleep at Jim's apartment, a loft and venue called David Blaine's The Steakhouse, while he and Becca and Katie and Erick played Goldeneye on N64. The last time we were here we played the DBTS One-Year Anniversary show and I managed to fall asleep in the middle of the incredibly loud, crowded after-party. It was right around the time Karen and I started dating. She sent me texts with a lot of x's and o's and I told her I'd be home as soon as we'd become huge stars in New York. She was a bridesmaid at her friend's wedding and I watched Frankie Cosmos play a set as "Cranky Gyongos", an Australian Frankie Cosmos cover band. The night wore on. A man puked on another man's head, people listened to Hunky Dory at high volume, people climbed up to the roof. I went to bed.
This time around the apartment was nearly empty. I woke up at 3 in the morning, heard reggaeton beats coming from the building next door, felt my heart sinking, which happens sometimes now. I went back to bed. At noon we left to get bagels and listened to the Tennessee Border Show on WKCR. It sounded glorious, or a word that's maybe better than glorious. It sounded correct, or like a relief, light and air coming in through the car windows; old country songs, steel guitar and fiddle, weariness put in the proper terms. I had some idea left over from the middle of the night that I'd call Karen when I got home, even though (or maybe because) we hadn't talked in two months. I figured she wouldn't pick up and I'd leave a voicemail, try to say "It's been hard living without you" and "I met a cat you'd really like, his name is Steakboy" and then hang up and feel like I've never been this stupid in my whole life, which isn't true, I've been stupid many times. We heard "Christine's Tune" and the couple lines that go "it's alright to call her but I'll bet you/the moon is full and you're just wasting time", and I reconsidered. We got breakfast, I saw Cassie Ramone as we left the bagel place, we dropped Jim off, we heard Red Sovine.
Should you ever do something twice? Is once good enough? We drove home and the hills of Pennsylvania and New York were covered in trees and the sun set behind them, just like last time, but this time the music was different (Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue in the Fall; small-market classic rock radio and Billy Joel in the Spring), and now there was snow on the ground, and instead of driving, I sat in the back seat, looking up from my book sometimes to see what there was to see.