Different day, perfect night

Last night proved to be an overall excellent evening. Beginning with an excellent dinner at Machiavelli, K and I then proceeded to Chop Suey to see the more than excellent L'ALtra. I don't have to tell you that no one was there because, well, I didn't see you. K and I stood closest to the stage and enjoyed their 45 minute-or-so set which consisted of songs from their most recent album Different Days. I didn't expect shoegazer-like sonic fields, but was more than pleased to hear it. Songs like Morning Disaster gained new depth in my ear. Lindsay and Joe's harmonies were great, and I didn't even mind Joe not singing on Different Days. Instead, he played a denser guitar part that fuzzed out the melody. While this takes away from some of the call and response aspect of the song, it also made it more emotional. Lindsay's voice was just about perfect--the ethereal high parts from Bring on Happiness sounded just like the album and I didn't even see anyone tweaking knobs to get her voice there--she's just that good. They both seem a little out of place on stage which is endlessly endearing. Lindsay said something to the effect of, "This next song is called Different Days. Its the title track from our newest album called Different Days." Joe noticably cringed, then shrugged as he gave K and I a look. Great, great music. Listening to the album today, I just imagine seeing them with an entire orchestra behind them--their instrumentation is that good. I think one day they could do like Portishead did with the New York Philharmonic and pull it off equally as well. Hopefully there will be more than the handful of people that attended the show last night.

Other good things about last night:

Reggie Watts from Maktub sportin' a do that reminded me of a more heavy metal Living Colour.

The always amiable Marcus (who bought me a beer).

[Pictures below.]

L'Altra @ Chop Suey 6/23 

L'Altra @ Chop Suey 6/23 

L'Altra @ Chop Suey 6/23 

Political and shit

Hey! How 'bout that President of ours? What a douche bag!! He's back to pushing the Anti-Gay Amendment to the Constitution. And even though Americans have never amended the Constitution to deny people rights, I wouldn't put it past all the crazies in the middle and loonies on top to push something of its ilk through.
In the meantime, there is something that I'm sure is irksome to said crazies and loonies. The Uniting American Families Act hopes to give bi-national gay and lesbian couples the same immigration rights as heteros. Sixteen other countries have already enacted similar legislation and, surprisingly, there is bipartisan support for the act. But don't rest on your laurels!! I've already written to Maria Cantwell, Patty Murray, and Jim McDermott regarding the matter.
This is the part where I ask you to do the same. Contact your Senators and Congressperson. All right? Good.

Petty-pants junction

Ok. So you may know the story. You may not.
Here's the run-down.
I met this guy on-line. We hung out a few times. We made out, a few times. We talked on the phone a bunch and e-mailed even more (cuz who doesn't love my repartee). Then, one day, nothing. Yeah, you know douches like him. Think they can exploit the fact that they appeared from the aether, the ones and zeros universe and just as quickly disappear. So, after a few unreturned phone calls, I got the hint.
So about six months later was the big "Summer at the Henry" bash. I went with a group of friends and we meandered from room to room. Drinking the free beer and wine and avoiding the snacks. I hadn't eaten all day, I got a little inebriated, and I lost my friends. On my fifth trip to the bathroom, I run into the guy. At this point, I can't even remember his name. All I can remember is his e-mail address. Anyway, since we met in the bathroom and we're both a little tipsy and we're both gay, we start a hardcore makeout session.
I tell him that I'm just going to walk home, he offers me a ride. During the car ride, along with some heavy petting, he convinces me to go back to his place. Of course, I don't bring up the fact that he's a jerk, I just hate-fuck him for about three hours, then pass out. Then wake up, wonder where I am, remember, stumble to the bathroom. Open his medicine cabinet to discover Propecia [pregnant women should not handle tablet due to a specific type of birth defect] and some aspirin. I take the latter along with a 16 oz. glass of water. It is around this time that I remember that I have actually paid for a trainer at my gym the next morning. I somehow manage to wake up early, but not early enough to go home and change. Luckily, I'm wearing my Rod Laver's so I ask the guy, "Hey, do you have some sweats or gym clothes I could borrow?" He finds some Adidas track pants (that match my shoes amazingly well) and a Tee. I put them on and my cab arrives.
"So, I'll just give you a call and come pick those up," he asks.
"You still have my phone number," I query incredulously.
"Uh, actually, I don't," he says.
"Great," I exclaim, "See ya around."
And since that day, I have had his pants.
But! Last week, as I'm leaving the gym, who do I see? You guessed it.
So I've decided that I must wear those workout pants just to prove that I won. Who gives a shit if I'm totally immature, right?