Sunday, March 02, 2003
Stage. Their bassist is the spitting image of Kurt Cobain. I told Summer that I had never had the urge to hump the leg of a complete stranger so badly. Her response was to tell me "well, good thing he has two legs." Josh offered to fight of security guards for us. Good music, too. Great energy.
The Exies. An obvious rip off of the Pixies, name-wise at least. Not excellent, but not bad.
Trapt. This is where I started to slip. All I could think of doing was tilting my head back and watching the way the light played with the smoke that rose from both cigarette butt and lip. Josh and Summer went crazy. Sam and Crys seemed like they couldn't care less. I was stuck in the middle, just wishing I was at the Fireside so I could carry myself to the back benches and turn my mind onto "fetal position." There's no back benches at Water Street. There's nothing that resembles Chicago in Rochester.
Never in my life have I wanted to be home this badly.
7:05 PM
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