Friday, March 27, 2009

I am David Sparkle

I spoke with DiNero in my dream last night. We talked about "15 Minutes" among other things. A good portion of the dream took place in "Harvard Square."

Bryan picked me up around 10:45pm to go to the Ketman show at O'Brien's. By 10:52pm, we were on Harvard St., 50 feet from the venue and in the middle of the road stood an asshole. Bryan slowed down but and the asshole stood there staring at us lighting his cigarette. "Take your time buddy!" Bryan offered and threw his hands up. The asshole then threw his hands up in retort and proceeded to punch Bryan's window. "What the fuck!?" said Bryan. I laughed. We pulled up to the red traffic light 50 feet down from the punch. With his foot on the brake the car was forcing forward. I turned around and the asshole was now in an F250 pressing up against Bryan's two-door Saturn pushing us through the red-light. "What the fu--" and like a giant dick shot out of a cannon there's a TWAP! at the passenger side door. "WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?" Bryan threw his foot against the gas and we peeled-out through the red-light and up Cambridge St., asshole in tow. "They're following us, holy fuck!" Bryan yells and hooks left through the fire-station lot going the wrong way on a one-way. "THEY'RE FUCKING FOLLOWING US!" I turned behind us, "I think we lost'em, dude." "No man, they're following us", And he floors it across Brighton Ave, bobbing and weaving "Dukes of Hazard style" (as he would later recant). "Turn up Allston and down Greylock!" "Call the cops!" "9-1-1 Emergency Operator this call is being recorded what is your emergency?" We wound around to Comm Ave and having pulled over on Allston St., I tell the guy on the other line everything I've just written up until now. "Well, Dan, without a plate number there's really nothing we can do." That makes sense. "But you can come to the station and file a report because they did hit your vehicle." "Well, we're actually on our way to a show...could we maybe do this tomorrow?" "Sure, just do it within five days. Have a good time at the show."

By 11:10pm we're back on Harvard Ave looking for a spot again. Finally, we made it to O'Brien's. Bryan sees a friend outside and starts from the beginning. "Oh shit, that was you guys!? We fuckin saw that!" I head in and Kyle's working the door. I go over to Luke, Carolyn, Kurt and Paul. "So what happened?" And now it's my turn to recount the story again, only this time I throw my arms all over the place and return to my roots as a cartoon. "It'll come around to them, man. Kharma," assures Kurt.

"Who's playing?" "I don't know their name, but they're from Singapore and they're pretty good." I walked to the front and spent the next thirty minutes basking in the post-rock goodness of I am David Sparkle. They had just played SXSW and were making their way up the coast. Despite the many gear malfunctions (the second guitarist's amp was out for the better part of a six minute song), they were really sweet. Definitely on the mellower side of the scene (Fugazi's "Shut the Door" + Mogwai with a hint of Volta Do Mar on Lorazepam).

After their set I went outside for some air and to trade "loudest show ever" stories with Bryan, Kurt, and Paul. Mid sentence--literally halfway through pronouncing 'the'--I spot the F250, holy shit, it's fucking him!, and I'm off. I readjust my hat, grab my crotch and spit like I'm prepping for a fucking throw-down...HA! The asshole is behind the wheel laying on the horn and peeling out in front of The Draft. I ran into Carolyn and Luke and the three of us walked behind the truck to catch his plate number and ran off. Both of them text it to me and I call 9-1-1. "9-1-1 Emergency Operator this call is being recorded what is your emergency?" In the middle of an abbreviated version of the night the operator interrupts to let me know she's heard the story. "Oh, cool, so I have a plate number, can I give it to you?" "Yes, what is it?" 229 FZ8. "We'll send a car right over." "Could you not? I mean, could we maybe take care of this in the AM? I'm at a show right now." "So you don't want to report it then?" "No, I mean, we do, just, not right now." "OK, come in tomorrow."

As I'm hanging up, Bryan runs out giddy as fuck. "You got'em!?" Shit yeah, we did. Shit yeah.

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