last night you and i were chatting on the phone, you were in Little Brother's, watching Bob Pollard perform Karaoke of songs by The Sun and Southeast Engine to a crowd of five, and as the bouncers kicked his ass out, I paused and asked you what it is you wanted for your birthday.
first, you said you wanted to have the hand of that hot chick in Wussy. I said I can't help you there.
then you said, "i'd really like to have a photo of you, Mr. Joseph."
i shrugged, and you could tell.
then you said, "i don't want just ANY photo of you, Mr. J. I want a photo of you in which you look displeased, pissed off, and the reason you are pissed off is because you're half-lit and feeling like you've just been stood up by someone you're waiting on."
i thought for a moment.
then you said "it's not just anyone you're waiting for. it's your arch-nemesis and your hero, lou barlow."
i thought some more. my mind drew a blank.
then you said, "you're waiting for him with a bunch of non-really-liking Sebadoh fans who think GBV were cool."
again, a mind-blank.
then you said, "in this picture your anger will soon end when you see Lou Barlow come into the bar and then trip himself on his own feet, to which someone at your table who doesn't like Sebadoh at all will say "HA HA HA WHAT A LOSER!" to which he will turn and sadly look."
it seemed somehow familiar.
then you said "and you're sitting in an English pub in downtown Houston"
again, it felt like deja-vu all over again.
then you said, "and you're wearing red suspenders!"
and then my heart LEPT with joy, because I knew I could give you your wish.
oh, and you wanted some weed and a comedy cd, too. i said no to the first and can help you somewhat with the second:
Bedroom ETA
happy birthday, nerf!
