Day four? Day fucking four? Is that right? We think that's right. But we're too tired to really know—the ringing hasn't stopped when we hit Mississippi Studios for donuts and Bloody Marys, nor when we bounce on the Crystal Ballroom's bouncy floors or pack into a crowded-as-shit Dante's. This is MFNW. And every second we spend writing this intro is a second we're not in a club. So here ya go...
Bed, 11 am.
Mmmm, more sleep or more rock? Rock ‘n' roll, as always, wins out and I drag my sorry ass down to Mississippi Studios to see And And And, Monarques and the Thermals, and eat free donuts, courtesy of OPB. Is it fair to blog about this, ‘cause y'all, presumably, weren't invited? Ah well. Scenester types all enjoyed free Bloody Marys, Voodoo Doughnuts and Thermals and you didn't, so nya. (RB)
Mississippi Studios, 1:14 pm.
Monarques are playing on Mississippi Studio's outdoor patio for OPB's day party shindig. Most people here, present company included, look thoroughly haggard and hungover from last night's adventures. But everyone is getting perked up by Monarques' happy-fun-times-shiny-sunlight-1950s retro-rock. (WH)
Mississippi Studios, 2:20 pm
Typhoon is playing a quieter version of their generally epic, thrashing set. And it's amazing! Frontman Kyle Morton's voice has brought the packed crowd to a silent hush. I've seen Typhoon play tracks from their new album upwards of 20 times over the last year, so I can't help but feel like I have blue balls every time the band substitutes a delicate acoustic snippet for their usually thunderous 14-piece arrangement. But let me tell you, these are the best blue balls I've ever had. (Note: I don't have balls, so this is a guesstimate.) Also, the acoustics in this outdoor space are mighty fine. (WH)
Mississippi Studios, 2:53 pm
The Thermals are grinding out tracks from their new album, Personal Life, which dropped this week on Kill Rock Stars. The crowd is less rowdy than the sweaty mob of teens who moshed to their set at the Crystal on Thursday, but people start getting more into it when the trio plays hits from The Body, The Blood, The Machine and “No Culture Icons” off More Parts Per Million. (WH)
Mississippi Studios, 2:40 pm.
Westin from the Thermals is wearing the same shirt today as he was at the band's show on Friday! Caught! (CJ)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 6:10 pm.
There's kind of a “Farmer's Market” vibe to the Courthouse Square, despite all odds. Laura Veirs's music allows for occasional side conversations. Chris Funk comes out to play pedal steel on a couple songs. There's a Levi's ad on the North side of the enclosure that says, “We Are All Workers,” which I'm pretty sure they lifted wholesale from a 1950s Soviet propaganda poster. (SD)
Backspace, 7:10 pm.
I'm not taking the chance of missing any of tonight's show--Titus Andronicus has moved on to playing much bigger venues than this one, and And And And is the best local band going right now--so we've arrived super early because my boyfriend doesn't have a wristband. I guess we'll sit in the back with the 15 other teenagers who are milling about and read each other Trivial Pursuit questions. Did you know that when you order squab in a restaurant you're eating baby pigeon? Gross. (RR)
B-Side Tavern, 7:30 pm.
B-Side is not an official MFNW venue, but this is where I've decided to tailgate, and anything that contributes to tomorrow's skull-burning hangover is blog-worthy in my book. These pre-drinking drinks are probably a hideously bad idea--like pouring dry concrete down your throat before a Passover Seder--but if I am going to dance at Big Freedia tonight, I will need to be able to forget I ever did so. (CS)
The Decemberists (Inger Klekacz)
Mary's Club, 7:34 pm.
Sorry, Decemberists: Your brainy indie folk rock lost out to tits. (MPS)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 7:37 pm.
Watching the Decemberists next to Shelly's Honkin' Huge Burritos' honkin' huge bins. I'm finding it really difficult to pay attention in such a big, open space and the bass sounds like ass. (RB)
Backspace, 7:58 pm
And And And have taken the stage to such an excited response you'd think they were the headliners, not the first band of a four-group bill. They kick things off with a brand new song. We note that there is a very specific look to tonight's show-goers; any man here without very woolly facial here just isn't old enough to grow any. (RR)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 7:52 pm.
It's probably going to be said a few times, but the Square sounds amazing. I am completely blown away by this fact—honestly, I thought it was going to sound like shit. The Decemberists launch into a pair of new songs, and they're lazy country-feeling numbers that excite me more than anything the band has done in years. The combination of place and band is really moving, even if Meloy is hamming it up a bit too much for my taste. You know, if this music thing doesn't work out, he should consider a career in voice acting. (CJ)
Satyricon, 8:05 pm.
The fractured life of a freelance music writer can be summed up like this:
24 hours ago, I was covering the Brad Paisley extravaganza that went down at the huge Sleep Country Amphitheater; tonight, I'm in the dank confines of Satyricon watching Heiress puncture about 45 sets of eardrums with oozing, sludge metal. The crowd response for each couldn't be more different. Paisley's fans were rapturous and frenzied. The Heiress audience stands slack-jawed with their hands in their pockets. (RH)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 8:23 pm.
With the sky now dark, a honkin' huge burrito in my hand and the bass sound rectified, the Decemberists is suddenly much more engaging. There's a lovely family, community atmosphere. I could bring my mom to this. Awww. (RB)
Doug Fir, 9:00 pm.
Cheap Girls' early 90's radio rock revivalism bleeds through the bathroom walls as I pee and check voicemail at the same time. This, I think, must be what time travel feels like. I suddenly want a flying skateboard with pre-applied Replacements and Hüsker Dü stickers. Okay, not "suddenly": I've always wanted a flying skateboard with Replacements and Hüsker Dü stickers. But only now does it seem possible. (CS)
Backspace, 8:10 pm.
I've spotted someone who gives new-meaning to the phrase “all ages show.” She looks to be about eight years old and is watching And And And's set from her mother's shoulders. Man, I wish I grew up in Portland. (RR)
Backspace, 8:28 pm.
Songs have been dedicated to the Oregon Ducks, and one of the And And And-ers is now asking for the game's current score. The girl behind me shouts out, “48-13” and someone onstage yells, “Yes, Oregon is winning.” Um, there's football this weekend? My boyfriend just shrugs. (RR)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 8:30 pm.
I really thought we'd see Peter Buck come out tonight and play with the Decemberists, but no dice just yet. And I got places to be. Peace! (CJ)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 8:43 pm.
The Decemberists finish more than 15 minutes early, making it SO clear it's going to do an encore, no one really bothers to clap for one. We just wait. The band returns for an encore. (RB)
Backspace, 8:55 pm.
Seattle's The Globes hit the stage. This is the first band I'm seeing at MFNW that I'm totally unfamiliar with. So far, it sounds like Eddie Vedder fronting a neo-psychedelic shoegaze band. (Grunge-gaze?) Also, its members are really, really young. Backspace's lineup of bands has, so far, looked like it's clientele: positively fetal. Or maybe I'm just an old lady. (RR)
Roseland Theater, 9:03 pm.
“Four songs, 45 minutes. Here we go.” So said Mike S at the beginning of YOB's epic set. He wasn't lying, either. They play four epic-length jams at spine-straightening volume. Sad to see so few people for their set, but the folks that are here freak the fuck out by the time the first chords of Mike's big wooden guitar slam them in the solar plexus. (RH)
Pioneer Courthouse Square, 8:57 pm.
However many thousand people gathered in the dark singing the line, “Hear all the bombs, they fade away” together. Even a cynic like me can't help but feel a little warm and fuzzy inside. (RB)
Doug Fir, 9:08 pm.
Fortified by pizza, two Mirror Ponds, Hank Stern and Ducks football (I've always hated that Vols inside-of-a-pumpkin puke orange; they some snitches)...
...I make my way to Cheap Girls. I really like their sunny, throwback power pop. But it's an empty room--ironic, as you'd think the name would draw. Am I the only one here? No. Chris Stamm is here. Here we are. (AM)
Doug Fir, 9:12 pm.
I just noticed Aaron Mesh standing next to me taking notes. I did not notice him sooner because I was busy taking notes as well. We are two dudes standing side by side taking notes. We are so not getting any action tonight. (CS)
Slabtown Community Festival, 9:14 pm.
We roll up to the Slabtown Community Festival, which is a giant vacant parking lot with a stage at NW 23rd and Savier, and it's not poppin'. There are roughly 25 people watching local pop-folk outfit Dolorean play. But no matter the crowd, the venue, or the weather -- Al James' silky croon will always melt my heart. His heartfelt lullabies about love and love-lost can make any girl cry. (WH)
Ash St. Saloon, 9:15 pm.
With no one I particularly want to see, I go to watch Don't on the strength of its write-up alone. The crowd is still a little small, but these guys are tearing it up on stage—three older gents and a far younger front-woman. To paraphrase one Wayne Campbell: this chick can really wail. I realise how long it has been since I've seen a straight-up rock band play—not “indie rock”, “pop rock” or “punk rock.” (RB)
Jimmy Mak's, 9:20 pm
Both members of Seattle hip-hop duo THEESatisfaction are wearing extremely high-waisted mom jeans. They are immediately striking, fashion-wise: Tight sweaters, no bras, cool Afro-(and Egypto-?) centric accessories—but the best accessory is that they ooze confidence. Despite the fact that the venue is a bit treble-y for hip-hop, and that the beats sound like they were ripped into iTunes at about 96 kbps, this is one of the most compelling shows I've seen yet. (CJ)
Doug Fir, 9:28 pm.
Cheap Girls sound like vintage alt-country without the country. The bassist has the kind of long blond ringlets that I associate with those dolls that you can give pretend haircuts. But he can make that guitar howl. In 15 minutes, he will inspire an impassioned conversation about the virtues of Uncle Tupelo. (AM)
Ash St. Saloon, 9:50 pm.
Don't finishes up, sweaty but smiling. Dead Moon/Pierced Arrows' Frank Fred Cole, who has been sitting at the side of the stage on a drum case watching stone-faced shouts, “You guys sounded GREAT tonight!” and Toody Cole gives a big grin and a thumbs up. Like two proud parents. (RB)
BOAT (Since we didn't have any photos, we give you this instead.)
Backspace, 10:02 pm.
BOAT is taking the stage, and playing Jock Jams to get the crowd riled up. It's a fool proof method, and therefore, completely genius. Why don't all bands do this? (WH)
Backspace, 10:02 pm.
BOAT takes the stage to MFNW's best intro. Over Gary Glitter's “Rock And Roll Pt. 2,” someone reads off a litany of famous Portlanders (from “Rowdy” Roddy Piper and Ahmad Rashad to Dallas McKennon, the voice of Gumby) and some of our town's best nicknames. It really riles the crowd up. By the time BOAT's members are actually onstage, the party has already started. (RR)
Doug Fir, 10:10 pm.
Jeff The Brotherhood frontman Jake Orrall has a Johnny Ramone haircut and a scumfuck bus driver 'stache, and he struts with the maddening confidence of a man who knows just how many people want to tongue him tonight. He is the guy in high school who looked weird, played guitar, dropped out, burned out, worked at a gas station and still got all the girls. (CS)
Backspace, 10:10 pm.
It's confetti-throwing time at the BOAT show. The dudes in the front brought their own confetti. When exactly did this band's shows become like The Rocky Horror Picture Show? (RR)
Backspace, 10:12 pm.
The story is that these sorta fratty dudes showed up to a BOAT show once—presumably on accident—and they liked the band so much that they've gone to every show since, bringing homemade confetti and singing along to every word. The band explains that every time they play Portland they feel like they're on the wrong end of an "NPR-style" practical joke (recalling the This American Life episode in which a band was set-up by like a hundred enthusiastic, fake fans). But the truth is that this whole thing just makes sense. Frat boys like sports; BOAT likes sports. Frat boys like fist-pounding; BOAT likes fist-pounding. Still, part of me is always confused that they are dancing wildly instead of beating BOAT up. Especially because the band makes fun of them from the stage. (CJ)
Backspace, 10:15 pm.
Went to Mary's for the first time, and now experiencing my first BOAT show. I still have California plates on my car, but I'm pretty sure this makes me an official Portlander now. (MPS)
Berbati's Pan, 10:12 pm.
Time to vent my spleen a tad. With all due respect to the fine people that play in Dirty Mittens, you need a new singer. (RH)
Backspace, 10:19 pm.
BOAT announces from the stage that it should have a new album out in March “barring an alien situation or something.” So that's something to look forward to. (RR)
Doug Fir, 10:25 pm.
I want to hate Jeff the Brotherhood, on the principle of hating anybody who is having more sex this weekend than me, but they are really good. Guitarist Jake Orrall, playing his three-string and looking distractingly like Randall “Pink” Floyd in Dazed and Confused, is strenuously eye-fucking this room. He asks for the house lights to be turned up; apparently he likes to do it with them on. Then he plays a slow jam about his sexual attraction to our families. (AM)
Backspace, 10:20 pm.
I am getting exceedingly drunk and my DROID's battery is dangerously low. I Tweet that Casey Jarman, Michael Mannheimer and I could start a band as good as BOAT. I think it's a good thing my phone is about to die. (MPS)
Backspace, 10:25 pm.
I'm here to see BOAT for the first time. BOAT's fratboy fans are making me hate BOAT. Which is not really fair to BOAT, because the band is excellent and thoroughly entertaining. I've really no idea what about this band's tuneful indie rock has attracted these douchebags. Don't frat boys generally listen to Linkin Park or something? Dear frat boys: if you truly love BOAT, set them free. (RB)
Backspace, 10:27 pm.
The guys in BOAT seem genuinely tickled that they have drawn such a crowd on such a competitive MFNW night. “Smashing Pumpkins is playing right now,” says one of them. “You know it's the same wristband to see them, right?” “Eh, don't worry,” responds another. “It's a different lineup now--they're all teenagers.” (RR)
Backspace, 10:34 pm.
BOAT is covering Guided By Voices' “Tractor Rape Chain,” and I am freaking out! I wish my boyfriend wasn't in the long-ass bathroom line; we would be squealing together like little girls. (RR)
Doug Fir, 10:35 pm.
The cellar is head-banging in time to Jamin Orrall's drum hits on a lyric-free number. Does Jeff the Brotherhood's music make everybody want to have sex, or is it just me? Nope, not just me: Many girls are gyrating on their boyfriends while thinking about two boys who are not their boyfriends. (AM)
Doug Fir, 10:39 pm.
Jake Orrall is shredding in the crowd. Chris Stamm is making magic hands over him. Now Jake is perched on a banister. Is there anywhere he won't play three strings? (AM)
Doug Fir, 10:40 pm.
Jeff the Brotherhood closes with the spectacularly heavy "Mind Ride." The crowd sways, bobs, bends. These Orrall brothers only needed three guitar strings and a three-piece drum set to destroy the place. Best set I've seen this weekend. (CS)
Crystal Ballroom, 10:45 pm.
Surprisingly quiet at the Crystal, perhaps people are having flashbacks to the last time Menomena played a MFNW show here. I remember the five-block-long lines well. How I parked my bike in front of Jake's and hopped right in line. And how I made it a mere block before I decided to bail for drinks at Scooters. “Not this time,” I say (out loud apparently, as the girl next to me asks if I'm talking to her). (MS)
Roseland Theater, 10:56 pm.
I love the fact that Sleep's pre-show music is nothing more but a compilation of Tony Iommi's guitar solos. I also love the fact that I just saw Kathy from The Thermals show up. (RH)
The Dodos (Jared Eberhardt)
Backspace, 11:06 pm.
Titus Andronicus take the stage. When did this raucous, masculine group get a lady-member? (She plays guitar and violin and is awesome, by the way.) (RR)
Roseland Theater, 11:10 pm.
My year of exploring heavy metal feels like it has led me to this point, watching a reunited Sleep turn hundreds of men with creative facial hair and sleeve tattoos into giddy schoolchildren and growling monsters with nothing more than a few notes of a guitar line. The experience is almost as overwhelming as it was watching Major Lazer here two nights previously, as the trio plays to creepy and stunning footage of space shuttle launches and terrifying figures. And the volume...dear God, the volume. No match for the thin bits of cotton in my ears. (RH)
Sleep (Jared Eberhardt)
Backspace, 11:15 pm.
I was really looking forward to Titus Andronicus, but I realize I'm not going to remember much about this show. (MPS)
Backspace, 11:15 pm.
Titus Andronicus frontman Ian Graetzer has the exact right combination of crazy beard, weather-beaten facial features, and gravelly, rant-prone voice to make him look like a wino. (SD)
Backspace, 11:16 pm.
By the time Titus Andronicus get to “Richard III,” a full-on mosh pit has emerged in front of the stage. Is one of the band's guitarists sneaking sips from a 40 of Mickey's? (RR)
Smashing Pumpkins (Jeff Walls)
Wonder Ballroom, 11:23 pm.
The walls at the Wonder are sweating; the generation-spanning crowd packed tight in a humid space that's nearing Southeast Asian temperatures to hear Billy Corgan wail through his Smashing Pumpkins catalogue with a new band that includes Beaverton's finest, 20 year old Mike Byrne. “It's always a pleasure playing on the surface of the sun,” Corgan quips. “It's okay. Nobody likes an overweight rock star.” The crowd is loving the bald, sweating, surprisingly humble, mustachioed frontman, but their hearts belong to Byrne, who garners the loudest cheer of the night with a drum solo that ends with a series of chest-rumbling gong hits. “You didn't know it. But you weren't in the band yet,” Corgan laughs, after giving a shout out to Byrne's parents sitting in the Wonder's balcony. “But tonight, I think you're hired.” (KC)
Crystal Ballroom, 11:25 pm.
I was divided between seeing Menomena, Titus Andronicus and Pierced Arrows. With all due respect to the other two acts, I can't believe I even entertained the idea of seeing anyone else. Menomena is absolutely phenomenal. Pheno-menomena-al. That sounded funnier in my head after a few beers. (RB)
Crystal Ballroom, 11:31 pm
Menomena is finally on and playing a mix of hits off their new album, Mines, and its previous release, Friend and Foe. I feel a little tense after reading Michael's cover story chronicling the band's inner turmoil. They need to have a group hug on stage. But the Crystal is packed to capacity so the nothing can beat this feeling. (WH)
Holocene, 11:33 pm.
DJ Beyonda soundtracks a dry-hump orgy and I watch and wish and then don't wish I was down on the dance floor humping or getting humped. Watching people dance is more depressing than watching people have sex, because I'm pretty sure there is at least one person in this world who wants to have sex with me, but I'm almost positive there is no one who wants to dance with me. (CS)
Crystal Ballroom, 11:35 pm.
Menomena is firing on all cylinders. They're crisp and they're sharing the reigns of the chariot. A girl with a twisted ankle managed to find a chair to sit on in front of me but she's positioned in such a way that she can only see the black curtain in front of her. I think about hoisting her up but her brawny boyfriend robs me of any action. At least it still sounds good from down there. (MS)
Backspace, 11:36 pm.
Titus Andronicus frontman Patrick Stickles, who is sporting a magnificently bushy beard these days, announces that he's not feeling great. “I ate at Rocco's Pizza,” he says. “And it's really sitting in my stomach. Too late now.” Jersey boys should know better than to eat Portland pizza, shouldn't they? (RR)
Backspace, 11:39 pm.
He might not like our pizza, but Titus' Stickles has learned that we make some good music here in PDX. He thanks all the opening bands, but reserves his real enthusiasm for And And And. “Let's give an extra big shout-out to the best band of the night, And And And,” he says. “That was fucking sick. Also their van says ‘Van Van Van' on it. That's pretty funny.” Cue And And And's 2011 Best New Band win. (RR)
Holocene, 11:42 pm.
Made it down to the dance floor. I am in a flesh sandwich, but I am the lettuce no one wants. I am emo lettuce. Idea: DJ Emo Lettuce. Yes. They will want to hump me when I am DJ Emo Lettuce. (CS)
Berbati's Pan, 11:45 pm.
On the very last song of Suckers' set someone climbs up onstage. I can't tell if he's been invited there or if he's just incredibly plastered, but he starts a trend. Suckers end out their set with half the audience jumping around, shoulder to shoulder onstage with them. (SD)
Portland Cello Project (Ro Tam)
Mississippi Studios, 11:47 pm.
The Portland Cello Project invites Seattle's Christopher Francis up to the stage; he is dressed in a natty gray three-piece suit and croons a suave cover of Missy Elliot's “Get Ur Freak On.” If Vincent Price rapped, it would sound like this. (AM)
Mississippi Studios, 11:53 pm.
Now this Francis fellow is doing a very baroque “Nikki” by the Game. “This is the weirdest thing I've seen all day,” somebody notes. (AM)
Crystal Ballroom, 11:58 pm
I can't stop watching Danny Seim punish this drum set. It's entrancing. (WH)
Backspace, 12:01 pm.
Despite the fact that it's after Backspace's curfew, Titus Andronicus returns to the stage after loud audience chants for “one more song!” (This might be one of the first times I've actually seen a band really earn its encore and not just leave the stage and then return because it's what is expected.) Is the band really playing a down-and-dirty version of the Misfits' “Where Eagles Dare”? This is awesome! But what is with bands from Jersey and Misfits covers this weekend? (See also: Ted Leo.) (RR)
Crystal Ballroom, 12:05 am.
So good to finally witness one of Portland's most allusive acts. Guitarist Justin is rocking an academic ponytail and Danny is pillaging his drum set. I can actually hear it crying, but it's rhythmic so it blends right in. The new guy's not so bad either, playing in the trio's shadows but adding yet another layer to Menomena's ten-story-high tower of sound. (MS)
Dante's, 12:15 pm.
Need a inspiring reminder of how to not going gently into that good night? Go see NoMeansNo in concert sometime. The dudes are in their early-to-mid 50s, but are tearing through a set of art punk like they just emerged from the parent's basement after school. Drummer John Wright is especially a sight to behold, using jazz chops, quick rolls, and pure rumble. The crowd of 30+ year olds like me start an old school mosh pit. Sweat and beer are flying everywhere. Can't think of a better way to end my MFNW weekend. (RH)
Jimmy Mak's, 12:20 am.
In theory, I'm watching Shabazz Palaces' set of avant hip-hop. In practice, I'm kicking a chair, apparently. (MPS) [Edit: Yes, there was a lot of chair kicking]
Holocene, 12:25 am.
Oh lord, what is happening? I am dancing. Alone. While I write this. I look like a maniac, I'm sure. Also, I just realized I could fart in here and no one would know it was me. (CS)
Crooked Fingers (Ro Tam)
Mississippi Studios, 12:39 am.
Against the grain of the night, Crooked Fingers is not playing covers. Instead, Eric Bachmann is sampling the early stuff. And he is just breaking my heart. I want to live in a hole. (AM)
Mississippi Studios, 12:47 am.
Bachmann has been listening to outlaw country. His new songs sound like the last honkytonk after the end of the world. Also like Steve Earle. El Corazon Steve Earle. I can't wait till he lays this down in October. (AM)
Ash St. Saloon, 12:48 pm.
Race down to catch the end of the Zeros set, and the band is literally playing its last note. There is no encore. A 50 minute set? Damn, I bet it was awesome. (RB)
Dante's, 1 am.
As much as Menomena would have been a high point on which to end the evening, I'm still jonesin' for some pure, unadulterated rock ‘n roll after seeing Don't earlier and missing out on the Zeroes. I can hear Dante's rocking the fuck out from two blocks away, and its siren song pulls me in. Out the front, a huge, beat-up punk is icing his (presumably) broken nose. Inside, the three members of Nomeansno look old enough to be my grandfathers—in fact, a quick look at Wikipedia tells me the front-man is 56—and they are absolutely shit hot. Five minutes later, the broken-nose punk is back, thrashing around with tissues shoved up his nostrils. Check it: (RB)
Mississippi Studios, 1:09 am.
Otis the three-legged dog from Liberty Glass is lying outside Bar Bar in his red wagon, his preferred mode of transport for medium distances. Like me, he looks pathetic and bedraggled. Unlike me, he instantly attracts ladies who want to stroke him. (AM)
Beauty Bar, 2:09 am.
How did my night go from watching foul-mouthed old Canadian punk rockers to watching wussy hipsters flop around to the Smiths? Quit while you're ahead, Ruth. Quit while you're ahead. (RB)
Beauty Bar, 2:12 am.
I missed Champagne Champagne earlier because I heard I could see them at Beauty Bar right about now. Somewhere somebody dropped the ball. The dudes from Champ Champ are wandering around looking confused, and the DJ is not going to stop while he's got a couple dozen "wussy hipsters" (Ruth Brown terminology, here—I don't have much room to talk) bouncing around. Oh well, at least I get to sit down! (CJ)
Portland, 2:25 am.
The many poles and pipes of the city are finally freed of parked bikes and drink cyclists wonder how the festival is almost over already. On one side of Burnside, tired festival-goers exchanging commentary. On the other, jet-lagged clubsters wondering if it's too late for fourth meal. (MS)
Yellow Burrito Truck, 3:35 am.
We stood outside of Beauty Bar for like an hour after closing time, shooting the shit with some kids from Santa Cruz who thought that turning 30 sounded like the scariest shit in the world (which, I guess, it kinda is). One of my friends stumbled away towards to a hotel room bachelor party and another one took some ecstasy and wandered off. I order a steak taco and my ride—randomly, I have a ride!—pulls up mere seconds after the food arrives. Haven't had a night end quite like this in a long time. Thanks, MFNW! (CJ)