2003-04-15 - 2:36 a.m.

So here�s something weird.

Hold on. So the Roommate and I hit the Daniel Johnston show, and lemme just first say something a bit negative and perhaps undeserved. Yeah, maybe a bit jealous. But, for chrissakes, music is music, and I�m getting a bit tired of seeing little lord fauntleroys flitting about at shows, all dolled up, and you know who you are. Stop it. Seeing a band shouldn�t be like completing some kind of Eagle Scout task.

That Daniel Johnston show, downstairs, Middle East, was half full. And of those present, half were indie-pansies who probably think of Jimmy Fallon and his unsophisticated haircut as corporate for some reason and who have never heard of Television, nevermind Bongwater.

The other half was at the front, or hanging out in back and relaxing. Or by the bar. Or whatever. Wherever. They were there, and listening to good bands.

I was very unimpressed, no, actually disappointed--there were two awesome opening bands, and here�s all these indie-Kens flitting about, partying.

So not there for the music. In fact, talking over it. Screw you. Build your own Middle East and have the White Stripes play there every day. I�ll inherit my Middle East the right way, thank you very much.

Sorry. I mean, grow. Feel good. Do what you gotta do. I got love in my heart for you. Seriously. Except when your moussed, coifed hair gets in the way of my view and I know you�re just standing in front so you could say you did.

Anyway, Kimya Dawson ruled the friggin� planet. I mean, she was just so good, and I kept looking over at the Roommate the way I look at her when we watch the Simpsons together and there�s a particularly good joke, and I just want to share that moment, as well as make sure that it happened.

Best opening act in forever.

Funny, she was manning her own merch table before Daniel Johnston played--I didn�t know it was her, but I had a feeling. And we all kinda talked for awhile, and it was nice. When she got on, I felt like I was watching a friend of mine play.

My only regret was that I only bought one of her CDs when I could have had both--I had never heard her before, but I got a good feeling. The plan was to buy one just in case they got sold out, and then to buy the other in case she was good. Although I wasn�t an idiot for hedging, I can blame myself for not knowing better.

Anyway, everyone, go out and buy a Kimya Dawson (of the Moldy Peaches) CD. She�s really cool. Oh yeah, and, and this is the weird part from before that I never got to--she has her own Diaryland site. And she filled out one of the great Rotini�s surveys, a brush with greatness for her. Seriously, though, I didn�t have to dig deep to figure that out, please don�t slap me with the stalker tag. I don�t even own night vision goggles.

OK, I lied--they just don�t work--those batteries are surprisingly expensive to replace. But that still exonerates me.

As for Daniel Johnston, I can�t say I was expecting much. I was hoping for tons, though. He�s been one of my favorite musicians for ever and ever, and I�ve logged at least 100 hours listening to his albums (the minimum to qualify). I�ve wept over his songs, and more than once (another qualifier).

And, obviously, I knew he wasn�t going to run a marathon onstage. Still, though, I was hoping for more than five or six songs. You wanna be a rockstar, you draw a decent crowd to the Middle East downstairs, you run away, and after ten minutes of very strong applause don�t do an encore, I mean, I forgive you �cause I love you, but still, I left unhappy.

It�s like, with everyone in the room, including scary uncles, refusing to blow out the candles on your thirteenth birthday cake for some reason you just can�t explain to anybody.

Now I know what it�s like to be a scary uncle. I even have a beard. And I drink.

Sorry--I hate saying it, and I know I�m uglier for saying it, but that�s how I feel.