1. this photo is why I sometimes love this city more than I care to admit.
2. They aren't fedoras, exactly, but like: little grandpa hats? What ARE these things? It is the new fashion craze sweeping teh indie nation or something; I saw at least three during the round of my new concert game, "Spot the Indie Kid in the Semi-Fedora" at the DPlan show, and then one real exuberent-like kid who I secretly loved wearing one at the Wrens. Please, let an old goat in on the secret?
3. Oh yeah, Wrens. i love them all. Jesus, they are so great live. Love. LOVE. All of them and their chubby old balding old old* selves. The rendition of "Happy" should have made the 18 indie sophomores standing/dancing/bopping right in front of me spontaneously O or something, if they were able to get through the pot haze** emenating from their hair to do so. Anyways, more here. I have never been to the Tombs, and I wish to never return. Ever. Ever. It was.... mind-bendingly scary. Like, I was concerned at first that the lynch mobs would come for C. and I, but then I realized just how drunk everyone was. That actually made it funnier, because no one in the bar could stand up. I felt like I was in an opposite-world carnival funhouse. The text messages alone on my phone re: the whole experience are worth saving though, I think.
* (not really that old. just, in context, all 5 of us were old.)
** (best thing the N told me all weekend: "So I was listening to the radio and a guy had the best line about drug use ever. He said, out of the blue, 'Man, pot makes you think you could write that book after all.' Awesome." god, truth. Take note, BSWW!)