Sunday, August 14, 2011

I had a great conversation once about how dumb it is to ask if hot girls are going to be at a party.  It wasn’t the conversation, per se, that was so good, but just how true it was that it is a stupid thing to ask.  What if there aren’t hot girls at the party?  Are you not going to go?  Are you just going to stay in for the night and drink warm milk?  And what if there?  And how should I know?  Are you, being the type of person to ask if there are going to be hot girls, going to take the initiative to talk to any of them?

Holland Tunnel heading into NYC

Enter:  New York City.  All of a sudden the worst question in the world somehow feels more relevant than ever.  Mainly because there are hot girls, and they are everywhere.  The question morphs into a fact, and all of a sudden I can’t help but notice that I really do care about the hot girls all around me.

Yesterday, Ms. Williams told me to come back from tour with a wife.  That’s Ms. Williams—the Momma of the office.  Oh, but no children.  Yeah right!  No baby-makin’ in New York City?  My ass.  As if I’m not already so embarrassedly stoked on all the pretty girls my age that permeate this great metropolis.

Guy’s on reddit, posting about tonight’s show with The Suzan.  Clean Girls and The Jean Jackets are playing as well.  I’m on the internet, too, talking, regrettably, to old demons.  Tiff’s sleeping on the floor, and Steph is probably awake, getting ready to visit her grandma in the hospital.  Digging Up Virgins hopes her a swift recovery.

Digging Up Virgins and friends watched Silence of the Lambs last night solely to get to the part where Buffalo Bill asks, “Was she a great big fat person?”  Bobby hyped that part up at the show last night to get us all so stoked.  What I won’t talk about yesterday is the driving.  The driving through Holland Tunnel, the driving for an hour and a half to eat at Kate’s Joint just to not find any parking and go back to the Dude Ranch to eat Thai take-out with Stephen and sit solemnly, talking about the bleak debt deal, the barely escaped parking ticket while unloading in front of a—I’m ashamed to say it, I really am—fire hydrant.  What I will talk about is the cool practice space Digging Up Virgins rented for thirty bucks.  It’s called The Sweatshop, and it’s in Williamsburg (Brooklyn).  There are probably other places like it, but we didn’t know them.  The Sweatshop supplies all the equipment a band needs from amps to drumsticks.  You just roll up and play.  You can bring drinks (I think) as long as you don’t leave them on top of the equipment.  Great business.  Great place to exist where there’s so much music a business like that can thrive.  On tour and need a place to practice for fifteen bucks an hour?  The Sweatshop slays.  Move over Ghent Chipotle—I’ve got a better idea for a business model.

Sweatshop, Brooklyn

Pictures last night come courtesy of Chris Robinson and Rachel Pick.  See the goofy one where I’m holding up two bottles of water and a tuning pedal?  No one thinks it’s a cool picture but me.  It’s taken outside The Sweatshop.

The show itself was great.  Chris (of the opening band, Clean Girls) and I schemed to release a 10” of nothing but Dinosaur Jr. covers.  Digging Up Virgins can do “Freak Scene” and (Come on, Chris, let us have “Fury Little Things”) “Fury Little Things.”  Clean Girls can do Bulbs of Passion and The Lung.  Or something.  Chris and I think it’s a brilliant idea, but it’s also money and time, and that’s running out.  I’ll be student teaching in a semester, and everyone will be graduating at the end of the Spring semester.  Where will we go?  Guy and I agreed that Digging Up Virgins will be a top-three factor in what happens with our professional lives after school.

I want to tak ea moment to thank all our friends who came out to see us play.  That’s a lot of people, and we really appreciate it.  And for those who weren’t there, the crowd who was decided that they should be called the Virgins—that’s to say that that’s what you’re called if you’re a Digging Up Virgins fan.  You’re a Virgin.

Here’s the set list from last night:

Dirty Snow
California Sun (by The Rivieras)
Annelise
Something That We’ve Saved
Morgan
Go Away
Catch the Disease
Up On You
Puppies in Space
Teddy Ruxpin
Tame
Everybody Poops, Especially You
Digging Up Virgins

encore:
Even My Sweet Tooth
Hybrid Moments (by The Misfits)

More DUV tour dairy to come in the coming week….

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