It is 4:48 am. This is important, so I'm stating it even though it will be in the dateline, because I don't pay much attention to blog datelines. Anyway, I've just come inside from smoking a cigarette. I think my neighbors, the Koenigs, might be massacring several teenage girls; it seems that they've installed a series of timed strobe lights, blue and white, to flash at seemingly random intervals, in order to provide a suitable setting while they terrorize and attack these teenage girls. Either that or (and I find this unlikely) they're watching a horror movie. I'm thinking maybe I should call the cops.

Anyway, Anne and Martin, you missed a beautiful show. You shouldn't have let the rain scare you off. The D-Plan rocked the fort tonight after the rain tapered off. Travis came on at about 7:20 and told us they were waiting it out, and would play if the weather lightened up to a drizzle. He thanked The Aquarium for being their guinea pig, and since that band's keyboard had broken down because of the water, they would wait. "We don't have anything else to do tonight."

I needed cigarettes, so Scott, Andy and I began travelling under one umbrella toward the place Scott recalled seeing a Rite Aid. It ended up being a Whole Foods Mart, only their store appeared to have been swallowed by a parking garage. We went up the three floors, seeing only concrete and cars at each level, and when we reached the third floor with the same result, decided we'd ridden that pony as far as it would go. The rain had let up, but we still went to the CVS next door to purchase my Jades and then ran back to Fort Reno in time to see the band setting up. And then they rocked, and the rocking kept up for the next hour.

"The City", "What Do You Want Me to Say?", "Ice of Boston" (without, unfortunately, a call to go up on stage), and and and "You Are Invited" and more and and then "OK Jokes Over", with covers of Elton John, "Back That Ass Up", and "(Can You Tell Me How to Get to) Sesame Street", and, man, a trombone, and much ass-shaking, and the drummer threw like fifteen sticks into the crowd, and a mother was dancing onstage with her baby, and, shit, man, it was, like, dood, you know, dood. Travis said they'd be playing a club show to make up for the "bullshit" of the nearly rained out event, in about six weeks, so you didn't miss their final show. But man, you should have been there anyway. Man.

Also, Scott, you shouldn't tell me so many things in the bathroom, even if they are "in confidence." Next time I'm going to have to bring a tape recorder. And for god's sake, will you stop touching me.

(Also, I'm approaching the one-week gap in my New York Times. I'm very pleased.)