Monday, May 17, 2004


Washington, D.C., in a nutshell.

Friday, May 14, 2004

It's pronounced "Dumas"

Yesterday I got an e-mail from the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee (DSCC), a message from Sen. John Edwards, with the subject line “The Two America Challange [sic].” Still not as dumbass as Bush, but let's keep this to a minimum.

Thursday, May 13, 2004

Asthmatic Kitty

I bought Sufjan Stevens' Greetings from Michigan album this past weekend in Philly, and stupidly left the case on the train back to D.C. I'm a little anal about my CD collection—it's alphabetized, yeah—and it was killing me that I didn't have the liner notes or the case. So I have to give it up for the record label, Asthmatic Kitty. I wrote them, explained myself, told them I'd give them a few bucks for a new case, and they got back to me, saying they could give me the inserts, free of charge. So rock on, Asthmatic Kitty. You're much cooler than Wilco ticket scalpers.

I Am Trying To Break Your Heart

I grew up outside of Philly, and I've never seen any of the four teams win a championship. If I'd grown up in Miami I'd have seen two. Both by the Marlins. The goddamn Marlins. They have won more championships in the past 10 years than the Phillies in 100-some years.

Deep down in a Philly heart, you think, goddamn, I am going to get screwed mightily somehow. Our hearts are always ready for the breaking. It could be the fourth game of the Stanley Cup, Flyers up three games to none; the Flyers could have had every player be an all-star; the Flyers' goalie could be throwing a shut-out for the whole playoffs; the other team could be comprised of sleeping babies; the opposing coach could be a donkey swishing at flies with its tail; the other goalie could be a one-foot-high pile of loose sand; and we would be rooting, and cheering, and threatening the other's team's fans; and our mayor would bet the mayor from the other team's city a dumptruck of gold-plated cheesesteaks and pretzels plus they'd send him a busload of their angriest homeless people if they win; and still... still... deep down in our hearts, every one of us would be thinking... "Shit, that pile of sand is absolutely due for a huge game. This is a dangerous game tonight."

So, Go Flyers! Right?

Thursday, May 06, 2004

A Ghost is Pissed

Dear Sting,

What's going on? That's good, that's good. Me? Well, shit, I couldn't get tickets for Wilco. I sat in front of my computer, waiting for that 10 a.m. bell, ready to get tickets to the show. I knew about it for a while, but the 9:30 Club, the club they're playing here in D.C., didn't release any info about it until the other day. So at 10:01, on the website, I keep getting this message as I'm trying to buy two, then one, ticket.

Tickets are not available together in the quantity you requested in this section at this time. Please try a different section, or fewer tickets.

I hate the 9:30 Club. Never been there, but I hate it. I also hate Yeah, I'm looking right at you. I hate D.C. but that's just a catch-all for my anger at any given point. So Wilco sells out in less than, oh, a minute. There was some presale, but why would they announce that? And the message I get from both the 9:30 and website, printed above, I have two problems with it:

1) It's general admission, so when it refers to the section, it's referring to the whole fucking club. A different section? You mean like the Black Cat? Outside the club on 9th Street? What section do you suggest I try? In front of my cheap stereo, crying along to Summerteeth?
2) Fewer tickets? You mean zero? What's the service charge on that?

Just tell me it's sold out. I can take it. I'm a man. Stop it with the message, I get it. Well, I got it after retrying 20 times.

An hour later I check eBay and there are two people with three auctions going on for pairs of tickets. One of the bastards is obviously not new to doing this, because he had past ticket auctions involving Morrissey in NYC and the Darkness in DC. These guys can eat a heaping plate of cock with a side dish of balls.

Listen, I know capitalism isn't fair, and these guys have a "right" to make some money, but you know what? Fuck them. They're taking tickets out of the hands of the fans and reselling them for hundreds of dollars. I love Wilco, but I can't afford that kind of money. That's an XBox. That's a plane ticket. The music industry gets up in arms about file sharing and bullshit like that but what about scalping? Well, they've made their money, or they weren't going to see any money in the first place, so whatever, right?

I'm just pissed off, Sting. That's all. I want to see Wilco. I remember when I was a young 'un, and I would go into Philly to see a show at the Troc. If the show was sold out, you'd walk down the line out front and just ask if anyone had tickets. And you'd get them, no matter what. And you'd give the person a few bucks, never more than face value. I remember the first time the Foo Fighters came around, and they were playing with Shudder to Think (good show - Craig from STT was throwing roses into the audience, Nathan was doing these rock star poses; what a bunch of dandy fops, but I do miss them). Lots of hype. Tickets were impossible to get. But I waited outside and wrangled five tickets, two from some guys in a Honda blasting rap who got the tickets for free, but still just sold them at face value. Goddamn I love that. I mean, isn't that what music's supposed to be? I know, there are far worse people in this world making money off of people (ahem, Halliburton), but I'll leave that commentary to the fake experts in this town. This is about the music. This is about assholes with spaghetti stains on their cheap shirt in their dingy Silver Spring apartment getting tickets to shows so they can sell them. Profiteers. Assholes. I know music's littered with these people, but don't you deserve some reward for following the band, buying the singles, learning their lyrics? I saw Wilco in Northampton, MA, when I was in college, and I stood at the foot of the stage and sang along to every word, and Jeff Tweedy stared at me. A lot. Made me real uncomfortable. Where's my ticket?

Anyway, I've gone on way too long. I'm just disappointed.

The Ghost of Gordon Sumner

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?