6:44 a.m. and I'm crashing in slo-mo. Coming off an upper high but not tired enough to faint. I have to "get up" in an hour anyhow. What's the point of sleep?
Go back to Freezing number one. OK? Now ask me what I did last night.
I drank a Red Bull in Williamsburg.
Shit, no, god, I did more than THAT. I went to a club called Galapagos. Saw two bands. Liked 'em. Galapagos I approve of. It's arty and conceptual but you don't feel like you're walking into an advertisement for a lifestyle. No, it's dimly lit. Candles. Spacious -- an old garage, maybe. A (black?) reflecting pool with the subtlest island accoutrements. "Galapagos" for Brooklyn hepcats.
The Martinets: Aging Shimmy-Disc'ers playing NYC '77 redux, and they're good! Aliza says "yeah, but not dangerous" and she's right, but at least these guys were there -- they're at least 40. Or 38. Old enough to be cognizant of the first wave.
Dr. Mom: Aging Shimmy-Disc'ers (including Ann Magnuson), playing Bongwater tunes, covers, and a sprinkling of new songs. Old Ann is funnier and cooler than Old Patti. Old Ann is funnier and cooler than Young Ann! Plus, she's starting to resemble Irma La Douce-era Shirley Maclaine, which... yum.