June 13, 2002

Two things that piss me off: when really dumb, annoying people get unjustifiably egotistical; and when really smart, cool people get down on themselves.

Moving right along, then...

I went to Williamsburg to see Jonathan Richman @ Northsix. I didn't plan ahead very well -- I knew there was a chance the show might be sold out, but I dillydallied about buying tix in advance. So I did my usual thing of taking the subway into Manhattan and doubling back into Brooklyn on the L train -- like everything else in Williamsburg, their subway routes are a royal pain in the u-kno-whut. (The only reason I bother to visit that shitholesville is because it's where all the good bands are booked now.) Jono was indeed sold out, but that didn't upset me too much; he'll be back.

Stopped into a coffeehouse/zine store to plan my next move. Got the Onion (they have the print version available here, with local listings), and reminded myself that a new club called Southpaw was opening tonight.

Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to get from Williamsburg to Park Slope by subway? You wouldn't think so... I mean, I could have taken a cab and been there in ten minutes, but it's the principle of the thing, and I'm broke. By the time I got to the butt-end of the Slope, it was 11 pm. I think I left my house around 7:30. No fucking way in hell should it have taken that long to navigate Brooklyn.

Subways I took this evening:

The 5 to Union Square
The L to Bedford St.
The L to Lorimer St./Metropolitan Avenue
The G to Smith/9th
The F to 7th Ave (and a long, long walk from there to Southpaw, which is actually within walking distance of where I live)
The 2 to Clark st.

The show itself is hardly worthy of coverage -- I got there in time to see the headliners, an Aussie Stones knockoff called (I think) the Twelves. The crowd was far more into 'em than I was. One drunk guy fell on his ass from dancing too fervently. Another guy, some sexist shmuck, had his hand on his girlfriend's ass the whole time I was there. Yuck. The girl didn't seem to mind, which means that either she's one of them anti-feminists or she's just incredibly oblivious. (I mean, I guess it's not patently sexist, but it icks me out; he may as well have had his other hand jammed into her twat.)

The club looks like yr average dimly lit NYC yuppie bar -- not punkrock enough -- but the setup's good b/c there's both lotsa places to sit and lotsa places to dance, the beer's cold and cheap (if you're poor, Beast for two bucks), and there are video games in the downstairs lounge (I didn't get to see which ones). I'll go back, if only to spite tha Scumsuckin' Nation of Williamsburg. May it choke on the exhaust fumes from the BQE and the stench of rotting sewage.