This afternoon I decided to take a different route home, varying my route somewhat to shake things up a bit, traveling eastward along Bleecker Street. Happily ensconced in blasting the most absolutely perfect album ever composed in one ear, I was also talking on the phone in the other ear, planning dinner with my husband, visions of fresh ginger dancing in my head.
After closing down the phone, I was in full Butthole Surfer swing, resisting the urge to sing along in public. Bleecker Street isn't one of the streets I usually walk on, and I was noticing all that was new (how many yogurt stores do we need?), and all that was old (Peculier Pub), taking it in on this very hot, muggy day. When, out of the blue, I came upon this seemingly plain vision built on the rock and roll ruins of NY, complete with a bank by its side:
Yikes. I knew it was there. I have even walked near it. But I hadn't just come up upon the street so suddenly and without warning. Not only is CBGBs gone, but the building in its place is just stupid. Lament lament, I know I'm a few months late, but sometimes things like this hit you when you least expect it.
HOWEVER the thing that was so nutty, and the thing that I couldn't orchestrate if I tried, is that the very moment that I realized I was looking at the deep-core rottenness of the "new" East Village, this song came flooding into my ears, just at the :25 second mark when the puking begins.
(Now once again I can't figure out how to post a damn song so you have to click through and listen to the last song on the list (Clean it Up) for all its vomitous glory.
AND just because I can, AND because they are coming to NY July 29, AND because we already have tickets (something that we seem to generally have trouble accomplishing), herewith is a clip of the most best thing to ever come out of Texas. And possibly the angriest song ever written