July 28

  H'okay, so I'm going to finally make an entry about my Friday and Saturday in the city, which for some reason I have been able to put off on account of my busy schedule of xeroxing and pancake-making.

  After my morning at the LES Tenement Museum, I started thinking about how little time I had left in the city and planned an ill-timed trip to Coney Island that afternoon. I was scared I wouldn't get to go to the beach / site of most of WG's songwriting in the late '40s and '50s, so I packed my swimsuit and took the subway (which after awhile, actually emerged above ground) about an hour out to the island. It was cloudy and cool when I got there, and the boardwalk was almost deserted. The beach and amusement park were practically ghost towns, and it quickly became apparent why: it was raining. Oh well. I came here to see a beach and I was going to see a beach. Despite the weather, I went down to the ocean to wade and hunt for shells. I found Mermaid Avenue but couldn't find 3520, unfortunately.

  After my beach adventure I hurried back to get ready to see Tragedy. Allegedly the show was starting at 8 at the Brooklyn Bowl (a bar/concert venue/restaurant/bowling alley... really), but it's free if you roll up before 6. I figured I could kill two hours to save some cash. I ended up sitting on a bench in front of the stage for very cold and boring wait. Bought a Tragedy t-shirt, bypassed the Tragedy thongs for sale, and settled back into my corner as the opening bands start playing some redonk music. The audience started to fill up and some people were sharing my table. Eventually the skinny guy across from me leans in and shouts in my ear, "So why are you here alone? I think it's absolutely ridiculous that we're both here alone and sitting in silence." We chat for a little while, but it becomes clear that nothing exciting is going to happen as soon as he realizes I'm a Tragedy groupie and I realize he's gay. Oh well.

  The show was hysterical and awesome, as expected, although not as long as the one in York and Jake didn't end up in any compromising bondage gear. They played almost all the songs from the first album and a few new ones, including a metal version of the terrible Olivia Newton John tune "Xanadu" as their alter-ego band, The Xanadudes. There was glitter, profanity, and a huge, lyric-singing crowd mobbing the stage that I weaseled my way to the front of. For the last song, they pulled all the girls up on stage and despite my best efforts (ducking behind dudes while "Mo'Royce Peterson" and "Andy Gibbous Waning" beckoned from the stage), I ended up there as well. It was a definite "WTF am I doing?" moment, but I just went with it.

  When the show was over, the band announced that the crowd was invited to their party bus parked outside to continue the debauchery. This invite was quickly restricted to "only the ladies". They left the stage around midnight so some other band could come on, and I went back to my seat to check in with my new-found lonely friend.

 NFLF: "So are you gonna go out to the bus?"
 me: "I don't know... is that sketchy? Would it be fun?"
 NFLF: "Well, I'm sure if you like blowjobs and cocaine, you'll have a great time."

  I'm pretty sure I don't like either of those things, but I was really curious about how far the night was going to go. I exited the club and wandered past the bus like I was walking home that way so I could peek in the windows and make an assessment. As I walked by, someone inside shouted "Come on the bus!". So, that was pretty convincing.

  I stepped onto the bus and it was one member of Tragedy (conveniently, the one I stalk) and a few... dudes. Despite the call for "ladies only" on the bus, everyone that actually got on was a dude. The girls were probably motivated to decline based on the same concerns expressed by NFLF above.  But never one to turn down an opportunity to have an awkward interaction with multiple 30-something year old men, I got on the bus. There were pitchers of beer near the front and someone poured me one. I took baby sips to look normal, but it was terrible. I loitered in the background and make small talk with  whatever dudes came on the bus. Eventually Jake walked by and noticed a new face and started talking to me. I held his attention (not) with some super exciting stories of how I was from Nash but cat-sitting in Manhattan and I realized yet again why I should just not talk to strangers. He drifted away but would periodically see me standing by myself in the corner and extend his hand for me to... high five? Shake? What was I supposed to do here? I clearly missed the memo and ended up just awkwardly holding his hand in a horizontal position for a few seconds. Smooth.

  I talked to the bus driver and the band's assistant and some Israeli dude named Avi before figuring I should try to get out of Brooklyn before daylight. I slapped Jake on the back as I walked by but he didn't turn around. Alas -- rejected by a man wearing a bedazzled spandex jumpsuit!

  Got home, collapsed, slept til noon, woke up and went to Coney Island again, this time on a sunny day. The beach was packed, I got burned, Eastern Europeans everywhere, some dude was laying in the surf with a snake... glorious. Boss texted me they were coming home early, so I beat it back to the apartment and cleaned up. Came home Sunday morning.

  So finally that's the entire NYC week. Haven't been back since, but going tomorrow since I'm off work and it's the last Tragedy show. Stay tuned.

  In non-NY news, radio stalker asked me to go for a drink when I'm back in Nash and ALC keeps asking when I'm coming back. I'm ducking both of them. I'm asking about the note tonight...

   ... just as soon as I get some more ice cream.