tonight, 91 north was just closed. just like that. you turned a corner, and a bunch of cop cars in the middle of the road made you veer off to this connector thing by the mall exit. apparently the berlin turnpike (affectionately known as the "shunpike") connects to route 9, which when taken south gets you back to 91. and it isn't even a huge hassle. just in case you ever, you know, are like, driving on the highway and they like, close it or something.
I got to the iron horse the song before andrew bird took the stage. usually the doors are at 7, the opener is at 8, and the headliner is at 9. andrew went on at about 8:20, and by 10 I was in the car calling kristin. short set, but good nonetheless. the place was almost as packed as it was for the mountain goats. I didn't really get to take any pictures, and hated the people sitting at tables in the front snapping away.
he talked more this time, he was much more tangible. except he'd say how a song was about the end of the world from your armchair or an unhealthy obsession with calcium in the 8th grade. but he talked. last time I saw him, for the first time, at the space with kristin, in like, another lifetime it seems, he just completely checked out. something behind his eyes went away. and tonight, he still checked out, but came back for a few moments every few songs and said funny random things.
there was a girl standing in front of us, pretty much stinking drunk, dancing around and invoking riots of shushed giggles from the four or five of us standing behind her. I wanted to buy her shots of tequila and take bets. and on top of being disruptive, she took the setlist.
douchebag. I got a poster. so there.
that's my random informational late night post. it's also worthy to note that once I hit the great state of mass there was a station, 91.5, that rocked sondre lerche back-to-back with the magic numbers. interestingly enough, when I came out and turned the car back on after the show, it was that really, really bad dirt-rock track: I'm... sailing ay-way... so bad. curious, but bad. I'm still sleeping a lot. but now I'm having lots and lots of sex, so somewhere it all works itself out. even sleeping through the jeff tweedy show last night by accident.
on another note, I wouldn't suggest wearing new stiff knee-high docs to a show where you potentially have to stand for over an hour. owie.
kristin, go write. even if it's a thousand words on the perfect ham sandwich. have one of your characters cook so you can put in a recipe or something. dream sequence. donations to ill-chosen charities. shit, I'm writing a book about a girl who wants to write a book someday. I love you. I have no idea what happens after chicago. I'm going to assess things at the post office tomorrow. because anything can be solved by the right progression of power chords and a few well-placed fake accents.