I
had the fucking greatest night ever last night... okay, maybe I
should steer away from superlatives, lest they become horribly
overused in today's post, but suffice to say, last night was fucking
sick.
On Thursday last week I bought a shirt from some shop on Brunswick St after Richie and I had SMASHED OUT A GYM SESSION, (still can't do it without irony) and I'd been waiting all weekend for a nice day to wear it out so that I could rock the thing with no jacket over the top. It's got a funky little lining on the sleeves that roll back and I didn't want a jacket diluting how good the shirt was, but yesterday I caved and righted myself with the idea that I was going to be inside at the Rochester all night anyway, so my shit would get ample airtime. That was the first good decision I made last night.
The Rochester was great, probably our best night yet (again) and the new setup in the front of the bar worked well, although I'm still a little worried about it in the case that we don't have a bumper audience like we did last night. Brad Oakes killed it MCing, and one of the coolest spontaneous little happenings I've seen on stage threw the whole crowd into hysterics around halfway through the second bracket: after taking some time to agonize over a girl's difficult name (it was something like 'Atoha', I forget, but it's important), Brad then went on to explain to everyone what a tow bar is, for those who didn't know. He started his explanation with “A tow bar...” and before he could continue, the girl, who thought he was trying to pronounce her name, corrected him. Everyone heard. Fucking hilarious.
I had one of my best sets yet, and after the show the fun times kept on coming, although I was a little upset about the two super-cute girls who I had chatted to at half-time leaving as soon as the show finished and waving goodbye to my stunned face as I raked my brain for ways to make them stay. By 'a little upset', I mean I said, “FUCKING GOD DAMN IT!” lots and lots of times, quickly.
I smoked just the right amount of weed in the beer garden, and then had a hilarious run-in with a girl whose name I didn't even catch: she told me to come inside and play table tennis with her, and was getting right up in my face about it, so rather than sit there and become a receptacle for her abuse, I licked my index finger, and shoved it up her nose. She lost her mind and was angry, but she stayed though didn't she? Yes she fucking did. And I laughed harder than I've laughed in a long time. She spent the rest of the night trying to get back at me but it was clear to everyone involved that the winner had already been decided.
We played pool.
After the Rochester closed we dropped Blake home – that in itself involves almost an hour round trip – and then afterwards Luka, Micaela and I sat in Luka's car and talked shit 'til sunrise, being interrupted once by police, and once by a stray cat. We also had a half-hour or so phone call with Phil on loudspeaker in the car, and I don't know, probably heaps of other shit I can't remember that will trickle through my brain over the next few weeks as I repeat the stories of last night to everyone I meet. Just me sticking my finger in that chick's nose by itself was probably in my highlights reel for 2013, everything else was just icing on that cake.
So happy Amateur Pilot Day everyone, September 11, 2013. I hope you're all doing well, I'm doing absolutely treacle right now. Have fun, and don't yourselves.
Peace, Taco.
On Thursday last week I bought a shirt from some shop on Brunswick St after Richie and I had SMASHED OUT A GYM SESSION, (still can't do it without irony) and I'd been waiting all weekend for a nice day to wear it out so that I could rock the thing with no jacket over the top. It's got a funky little lining on the sleeves that roll back and I didn't want a jacket diluting how good the shirt was, but yesterday I caved and righted myself with the idea that I was going to be inside at the Rochester all night anyway, so my shit would get ample airtime. That was the first good decision I made last night.
The Rochester was great, probably our best night yet (again) and the new setup in the front of the bar worked well, although I'm still a little worried about it in the case that we don't have a bumper audience like we did last night. Brad Oakes killed it MCing, and one of the coolest spontaneous little happenings I've seen on stage threw the whole crowd into hysterics around halfway through the second bracket: after taking some time to agonize over a girl's difficult name (it was something like 'Atoha', I forget, but it's important), Brad then went on to explain to everyone what a tow bar is, for those who didn't know. He started his explanation with “A tow bar...” and before he could continue, the girl, who thought he was trying to pronounce her name, corrected him. Everyone heard. Fucking hilarious.
I had one of my best sets yet, and after the show the fun times kept on coming, although I was a little upset about the two super-cute girls who I had chatted to at half-time leaving as soon as the show finished and waving goodbye to my stunned face as I raked my brain for ways to make them stay. By 'a little upset', I mean I said, “FUCKING GOD DAMN IT!” lots and lots of times, quickly.
I smoked just the right amount of weed in the beer garden, and then had a hilarious run-in with a girl whose name I didn't even catch: she told me to come inside and play table tennis with her, and was getting right up in my face about it, so rather than sit there and become a receptacle for her abuse, I licked my index finger, and shoved it up her nose. She lost her mind and was angry, but she stayed though didn't she? Yes she fucking did. And I laughed harder than I've laughed in a long time. She spent the rest of the night trying to get back at me but it was clear to everyone involved that the winner had already been decided.
We played pool.
After the Rochester closed we dropped Blake home – that in itself involves almost an hour round trip – and then afterwards Luka, Micaela and I sat in Luka's car and talked shit 'til sunrise, being interrupted once by police, and once by a stray cat. We also had a half-hour or so phone call with Phil on loudspeaker in the car, and I don't know, probably heaps of other shit I can't remember that will trickle through my brain over the next few weeks as I repeat the stories of last night to everyone I meet. Just me sticking my finger in that chick's nose by itself was probably in my highlights reel for 2013, everything else was just icing on that cake.
So happy Amateur Pilot Day everyone, September 11, 2013. I hope you're all doing well, I'm doing absolutely treacle right now. Have fun, and don't yourselves.
Peace, Taco.
No comments:
Post a Comment