we all almost died this weekend.
i mean we all almost die every weekend, but expecially this weekend. we set out on saturday at about five to perform at the bulgarian bar in manhattan, one of those places, maybe the main place, that we feel really at home at. we took like four cars. mine was the only one that made it.
snow was the problem. which sounds lame, because you’d think we’re a band of such caliber that we could overcome puny old mother nature. well, we did, in a way. kind of. i mean, i don’t usually think of snow as a big hindrance, drivingwise, except that people fear it so much. back when i was way too young to even reach the pedals, my dad would take me out in his buick every time it snowed and make me sit on his lap and steer around. he would go really, really fast, though. i have memories of flying down empty two-lane stretches of road and looking down to see the speedometer reading 45, which is a lot if you’re five and sitting on your dad’s lap and it just snowed a foot. come to think of it, we would have both been hell of arrested if anyone saw us doing that. anyway, the point is i’m comfortable driving in the snow. so it was me and mark in one car, and we were on 91 south it was snowing like hell and right away i got mad that everyone was going twenty-five on the interstate, so i was speeding by the other cars. within five minutes it all went wrong and mark and i were sliding sideways down the highway at fifty miles an hour. we did this awesome high-speed 360 across three lanes and if there were cars around us we would have been crushed into bloody pulps. but bartok go, as they say.
as it turns out, the other three cars were doing much the same thing at various points across the state. within the hour, klaiber deemed his “safety” more important than playing “some show in new york,” and turned back. tunk did the same (and oh how hard it is to make people dance without bass). the jesse-amory-asher car was phased but not defeated as they passed thirteen  car wrecks, one of which was a cop car (these cops are fallible after all, it seems).
mark and i, though, are not as easily thwarted, and so we rolled up hell of spliffs and put on ill communication and continued at full speed. consequently we were the only ones to arrive on time. everyone else’s phone was dead because we are idiots, and so, unsure when or whether the rest would arrive, mark and i loaded in what little equipment we had (drums and a guitar, no cords or mics) and proceeded to play as 2/7ths of bella’s bartok. lightning bolt style. we called ourselves “the danger factory”. i think it actually went really well. which is to say everyone danced and drank lots of sangria. oh yeah and at one point i said i would give anyone fifty dollars who could dance in rhythm to the end of the song “asher,” and i thought i was just joking but there was some girl who must have known music theory or just had the groove in her, so wherever you are, girl, i owe you fifty dollars.
right when we finished playing, the rest of the band (which is to say jesse, amory, and asher (we kicked out klaiber and tunk for putting their safety ahead of partying)) arrived. we then had a bunch of fun in and around the greater manhattan area. rusty belle was there. we told them we were going to come to their show (kate came to ours!), it was even free, but we got distracted, and so here we officially apologize (also while we’re at it, sorry we broke your floor with dancing the other night).
we ended up in brooklyn at alice’s house, and in retrospect she probably wouldn’t have preferred to have horrible young men in every corner of her house, but it totally happened anyway. we had this plan to cook her breakfast as a sort of a way of thanking her, so we got up in the morning and bought eggs and bread and cheese and avocados and stuff, but it all backfired because it turns out alice is like a world-class chef, so she just ended up cooking for the five of us instead. uhh sorry but thank you.
in short, we are still alive, so come tomorrow to the dreamaway lodge for new years’.
– Fancy Kerrigan