The G and I have a friend who we credit/blam for introducing us crazy kids about 240 years ago in college. Judging by the size of things, though, we haven’t seen him in at least 8.25 months. We thought it’d be nice to rekindle this friendship but it’s proven rather difficult to track him down. His cell phone service has been canceled and the emails that the system administrator doesn’t kick back just go unanswered.
But we got a tip last week. Apparently, he and his “band” play acoustic cover version of 90’s alternative songs at the Front Page Arlington on Wednesday night. SEX TYPE THING!??! REEL BIG FISH!?! OFF TO BALLSTON!
Except not. Although we found a great parking spot, there was a line to get into the bar. The Front Page. A line. And we were older than anyone else there by 15 years. We couldn’t figure out who was lamer. But it probably wasn’t the two 30+ year olds who refused to wait to get their ID’s checked at a Arlington mall bar. And it looks like our friend won’t have the honor of seeing us in out latest versions and re-imagined Ultimate costumes.
But that’s only part of what this post is about. On the way there, the G claimed to have never heard the song that we discussed last week. You know, the one about fake lesbians? And since AM has admitted to loving the song and listening to it on the radio all the time and wanting to marry it, I knew it was often played on 99.5. So we tuned in.
We heard one Coldplay song before the DJ came back on. But before we got a chance to hear anything else, he said something that justifies my refusal to listen to anything other than Paul Harvey.
The young man, who I may remind you is music DJ in Washington DC, asked his listeners if they knew if the Black Cat was a different venue than DC9. He wasn’t sure. He’d been to the Black Cat before but it’d been awhile. Is it still around, he wondered? Did DC9 replace it? It had to be the same place because there couldn’t be that many places where bands could play in DC. I mean, after the MCI Center what else is there? Please to be texting him with the answer.
I’ve seen the G irate before. Crazy irrational angry with knives shooting out of her eyes and squiggly furious lines coming off her like Pigpen’s stank. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her this wolf-faced enraged. Especially over a stupid radio top 40 show.
I mean, I’m not a radio DJ or anything but I still know that they tore down the Black Cat in 2006 and built The Bayou in its place. It’s where Lungfish plays.