1. Wednesday, August 14, 2002

    me and karisa went to the troubador last night 

    karisa hopefully by now you know i have the greatest friends.

    karisa just got back from a tour of new england and key west where she got her self a deep dark tropic tan. like she needed it.

    we got to the show early. hardly anyone was there. we discussed the new sam adams label, we agreed that we don’t like it one bit. why would you take the happy smiling proud sam off the label? karisa says its because people in cali don’t want to see an old guy from beantown on the beer bottle.

    i say i want to see him.

    she says no one is like me.

    i say no one is like her.

    very few girls wouldn’t bitch and just hide out in the back of the club analyzing the bartendresses many tattoos and smile and laugh and catch up as Jude hit his high notes and Pirner did what no musician should ever do live in concert: play every song from their new record while ignoring their glorious catalog of previous hits.


    asswipe cut his hair, lost his band, picked up the first three nice people that he could find, whipped out his trumpet, and proceeded to punish those of us who showed up at his show.

    so me and karisa drank so many sams that they had to break into the ones way in the back of the walk in fridge, the ones with the classic olde labels, so we drank all of those too.

    karisa has a funny way of making me want to do shots. when i say “let’s do a shot.” i usually mean, “let’s have a shot of rum.” karisa takes it as, “let’s do a half dozen kamikazes.”

    so kamikazes it was.

    she wore my favorite beastie boy tshirt, a long skirt, big boots and even though she said that she cut two inches off her hair it went way down her back. she looked better than ever.

    me, i wore my favorite cubs shirt, olive cords and black vans.

    im very lucky to have good friends who stick by me through thick and thin.

    and its great when they can keep up with me at the bar.