foomart foomart

 Sunday, February 17

So Agent 99 had a gig in Brooklyn, at the Blowhole Theater Marathon. They told us ten minutes or three songs, max. They told us we'd be going on around 10:15. So we got there at 9:30 or so, hoping to be able to warm up our instruments and, y'know, tune them and stuff. Turned out the place was claustrophobically packed and oh by the way we go on in ten minutes oh wait did I say ten minutes I meant NOW. So we kind of had to hit the ground strumming. We crammed onto the stage—which was about the size of my dining room table—negotiated our positions around the limited microphones, and I'm pretty sure we played a quick set. It all went by in a blur. I kind of woke up about halfway into the second song. I know we did an encore, not one I expected but fortunately one I knew. From Jersey to Brooklyn for four songs! We finished up and got out quickly; the place was slamfucked and Joe had the perfect excuse since he's got a midterm coming up.

So back on the G train, which was "acting like an F train" while they work on the tracks. A stop or two later some girls got on, and one of them was carrying a pumpkin-orange Mahalo uke. I dug a lei out of my bag (What? I was using it to keep my fez from getting squished.) and put it on her without a word. She was pleased, but clearly not used to the power of the uke...that sort of thing happens all the time once you start carrying a uke around. We talked a little, next thing you know Greg and I have ours out and it's a quick round of Five Foot Two and then we had to pack up and get off the train, giving the bewildered uke girl all the stickers and buttons we could scrounge up after the gig.

Switched trains, got to Manhattan, and we went our separate ways, the boys heading crosstown and uptown and me jumping on the bus which got me home in 10 minutes to be yelled at by Emma, who is still pissed off at us for going away last week and panics a little every time we walk out the door, poor thing.

12:28 AM

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