So Many Possibilities...So Why Do I Have the Runs?

Karma's a bitch sometimes. Banal, but true. You can't take too many liberties in this world without justice crashing it's bronze hand down to smash your hopes of exploitation into golden blow for the gods. You know it's good when it's gold. With liberty and justice for all..

Yesterday was Death Cab day, which means I saw Death Cab for Cutie rock out. It was a perfect day besides the cool weather for which I was under dressed. After a Paramount breakfast--both paramount and hailing from Paramount Grill--I did a quick Boston News Net setup before Jess and I booked it over to the Bank of America Pavilion. Showing up two hours before our headlining superstars proved to be a bad idea as the sun got blown away by a chill that became a character building experience for the two of us. Needless to say, we felt we had plenty of character without the weather's influence. For the record, if you ever need to warm up at a cold outdoor venue, check the bathrooms. A five minute break by the pisser does wonders for your body heat, whether you piss in it or not...

By the time we arrived at the Pavilion, Amanda Palmer of the Dresden Dolls was on stage singing. I was surprised her voice didn't attract whales to the stage. There was one clearly gay boy with big, unattractively large hoop earrings standing five rows from the front singing absolutely every single one of her lyrics with a smile on his face and sweat on his brow. Although I felt like I was at the Menses Fair, watching Hedwig struggle with an absent crowd, I couldn't help but feel some respect for someone who truly loves her music as much as she loves that one random boy who understood her. She made that boy's day, singing right to him most of her set.

As much as the lone ranger with hula hoops did enjoy Miz Palmer's sea-mammalian mating calls, Jess and I had to walk around and find some food. For the best pizza in Beantown, everyone knows Pizzeria Regina's in the North End is paramount--this time, it just means paramount. You knew that...

The Pizzeria Regina's in malls and this Bank of America Pavilion, however, share nothing of the favorable qualities that the original has. But it was either that or laxative-injected venue food, so we went all out and ordered a whole pie. As you have to wait for those to be made, we stood off to the side and let the other customers pay. After the pizza was finished, my new buddy Gino gave me a pizza with more lube than my ass has EVER seen. Jess mumbles, "Wait I didn't pay yet" but I preclude her sentence with a curt, inconspicuous, "Just go." So we went...and that's how you rock yourself some price-inflated 22 dollar pizza for free.

Presidents of the United States of America were fun. There music is worth having if only for creating those All-American song montages in films. They had two really sweet choreographed and synchronized rock-outs that blew me away, but their song-transitions were staged and there were certain gimmicks they brought out in which they expected a certain reaction from the audience that they didn't get, which makes me feel a bit bad for them. I don't want to feel bad at a concert...POTUSA...you're fired! Unless you're singing Peaches or a cover of Video Killed the Radio Star. Those songs are epic.

Finally--and by this point, I've nestled up with Jess and tried to dance to POTUSA songs that I didn't particularly like to prevent hypothermia from setting in--Ben and the gang arrive, and my ears are graced with passion dripping from the sweaty clumps of hair blocking his view of my enthralled face. No, I'm not obsessed, just passionate about musical performance. Image is everything, and these guys are rocking the collared shirts and western button downs. I call my best friend, Jess, when "I'll Follow You into the Dark" comes on, and sing along into the receiver. Everyone in that pavilion got a chance to experience the birth and growth of each and every song as they took us on an emotional rollercoaster for a full hour and a half long. Their new stuff, by the way...major refinement has taken place and I'm excited to see where they go next. They are getting some groove, and I like it.

One great show, one mug of hot cocoa, and a photo-gossip session later, Karma pays me back for the pizza-themed peccadillo. All that grease, instead of clogging up my arteries and making me break out, turned my shit to brown, smelly spit. I had the runs all Sunday morning. Classy...

Today's lesson: If you're going to steal from the man, make sure you pay him back in some way...even if it's a dollar. Otherwise, you'll get the shits.

Peace

K