The City Veins

This is not a shameless plug for our Saturday concert in NYC at Arlene’s Grocery (we go on at 1 am). No, this is the God’s honest truth. The last time I saw Spencer he was curled in between cushions on our L-shaped “living room” couch in a position last seen in the Kama Sutra. He made a bowl of soup that required the use of a ladle, and we don’t actually live next to the Arlington Homeless Relief Shelter. The logic, I believe, is that if something is good for you, a lot of it is even better. This is the logic of Wino’s. A glass of red wine prevents cancer? Then a bottle must cure the cancer of nations. Chicken soup will aid my ailing stomach? Then I shall dance in chicken soup. It shall rain chicken soup from our 3rd floor loft, down the stairs and over my fucking face.

With Spencer as sick as he is, and given the fact that we chose to take the same day off work—he for illness, I because of a court appearance—it is hard to imagine that I will not also fall to this great plague. Spencer suggested Lysol—a remedy I had not heard of. My assumption is that he meant for me to apply the Lysol to anything he had touched, but given the fact that breathing is the primary perpetrator, the only use that would yield true benefit is if I stick the Lysol in my nasal cavity. This I am not willing to do, not without having heard first of evidence related to its efficacy from a more reliable source than Spencer.

So come to our gig on Saturday to see if it is the Spencer Vliet memorial show. We’ll play it without Spencer; I have a friend who is traveling with us, and though he has never played drums before he sort of looks like Animal from the Muppets. Besides, if Spencer is good at the drums, how hard can they really be?

Photo by Flickr user melyviz.