Mange Tout

My ears have still not recovered from the night before and, therefore, still sound, and feel, like they've been penetrated by mini-walls of hiss. Needless to say, last night's much anticipated gig was, well, worth anticipating, although being monumentally creeped out by the stares of the Fight Like Apes keyboardist "Pockets" left me feeling somewhat uneasy to the point that I had to avert my gaze to the nondescript drummer at the very back of the stage. Altogether, the evening panned out rather enjoyably for all twenty-one people who seemed to have showed up to the gig, especially for the big guy behind me who, stereotypically, seems like the kind of person who spends his days on World of Warcraft for 23 hours of the day, all the while surrounded by empty pizza boxes and pint glasses full of warm urine. Said guy was so enthusiastic I ended up with several beer-showers, and even to this point my clothes still smell fresh from a visit to Carlsberg factory.

Forgive me for being reluctant to talk about the gig in all its finest details but my brain is still mangled from the infectious jingle of support act Man Get Out, local band trying to get the word out. Unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be), running all three words together for the purposes of web addressery means that they fall under the name "mangetout", mistakenly looked at through my intellectually scattered eyes as Mange Tout. For the unFrenchified or those who don't understand Paris speak, mange tout is a vegetable consisting of peas trapped in a vacuum-packed green bed. The upside of this, of course, is that should any foodie or aspiring chef ever come to Google mange tout but accidentally leave out the space, they'll be redirected to the musical stylings of this Liverpudlian lot. Not the ideal way to get famous but if it works, it works.

I'm keeping this one short now, mostly because last night's gig was, in my view, such an amazing feat to behold I can't find the right words to describe it (which is just as well considering the amount of words I'd use to describe something as simple as a pencil sharpener), but also because I'm currently using the computer of my newest residential dwelling (my home away from home away from my first home, really) and am about to be interrupted by a hyperactive almost two-year-old, who gets so fascinated by things that grown-ups use (cupboard doors and salt shakers, for example), that if I leave this laptop remotely exposed and within his reach, the rest of this post might end up looking something like thisghwfkjufhgaduwejegjdhjn jhlvjlkjhhojjkjkkjkkolkklkpjhujyhgoiu;yutygf