Don't let that jerkoff dog get the last laugh
We’re playing this on Saturday. It starts at noon and goes until at least 11 p.m.
There will be some great bands there, like our friends in Swimclub.
There will also be some bands there names so good that I wish I was in them, like Hours of Cats Arms.
While in NYC, I’m going to buy some of this.
We’re going to play everything on our soon-to-be-released EP, as well as some other songs. Covers will happen.
Everything is going to AIDS research in Williamsburg, so you should come out and be easy with money.
Ok, so once again, I’m in this NJ coffee shop. Something beautiful is happening.
There is this stigma about coffee shops that paints them as one half beatnik hipster jazz dork hangout and one half shoeless, unwashed hippy headquarters. One tenant of this perception is the “guy quietly strumming his guitar,” a would-be fixture in every aloof coffee barn in town.
Now, I’ve been in a shit-load of coffee shops and in none of them have I encountered a dude strumming guitar. Sure, I’ve been to some open mic nights, but that is different. However, today, at this very coffee shop, not 10 feet away from me is a floppy-haired, checkered shirt wearing hipster dude with a banged up acoustic guitar and he is strumming it softly! Oh my God!
And, even better, he totally sucks! He isn’t even playing a song! He reminds me of one of my little cousins, just banging willfully away at the family piano, making sounds for the hell of it. He’s like that, except he’s doing it to a guitar and he is probably into Fleet Foxes. This is awesome.
I mean, who the fuck plays acoustic, anyway?