It's 1:25 pm...

It's almost one-thirty and I'm just pulling myself together.

Actually that's not quite right. I mean, I've read the paper, abluted, gotten dressed, chopped up some apricots for my cereal, etc., But I am a bit late getting out the door and down the hill to the studio.

Much of last night was spent in a bar called the Lucky 13 Saloon. It was nice to see a jukebox that wasn't connected to the internet. Bands featured include:

A Perfect Circle
Alice in Chains
Black Flag
Bad Brains
Babes in Toyland
Bauhaus
Buzzcocks
Coil
The Clash
Clutch
The Cramps
The Cure
The Damned
Dead Kennedy's
Deftones
Dropkick Murphy's
Exploited
Fear
Fear Factory
GBH
Guns N Roses
Nina Hagen
Hatebreed
Hole
Iron Maiden
Jane's Addiction
Jesus and Mary Chain
Joy Division
Judas Priest
Killing Joke
L7
Lamb of God
Life of Agony
Megadeth
Ministry
The Misfits
Minor Threat
Motley Crue
Motorhead
Nine Inch Nails
Nirvana
Otep
Pantera
The Pixies
Pogues
Primus
Probot
Ramones
Reverend Horton Heat
Sepultura
The Sex Pistols
Sheer Terror
Sick of it All
Skinny Puppy
Sleater-Kinney
Slipknot
Social Distortion
Sonic Youth
System of a Down
Suicidal Tendencies
Tool
Type O Negative
Venom

Honestly, how many of these bad boys, I would ask you, do you own at home? I must admit to some passing interest in the Dropkick Murphy's, but my friend wouldn't play even one of them. One, in retrospect, wouldn't have killed her.

Do you like any of those bands?
I do now. I like all of them.

Anyway, I will say this. I was literally the only man in the place (and it was packed) who wasn't wearing a black t-shirt with something like Black Sabbath or Motorhead written across the front. I use the word "literally" here in the most literal sense. Everybody, except me [white polo shirt--they must have thought I was Christ] was wearing a black t-shirt. Literally everybody. Not a single exception.

Really--everybody. Literally.

It's the kind of bar where you pull up on your Harley, step in, order a can of Pabst ($1.00 before 9 pm), and are having a pretty good time until somebody realizes that the Harley you're riding is a V-Rod, not a classic hog. Then a bunch of guys grab you by the scruff of the neck, take you outside and kick your ass. And while they're beating you into a near-death condition you can't help but savor the irony of the fact that the guy doing all the punching is wearing a Joy Division t-shirt. Black, of course.

Nonetheless, really, I can't urge you enough to drop everything and get down there, ASAP. I had the best time you could imagine.

Me, right now? I'm playing "Girls, Girls, Girls" (Motley Crue) at full volume, trying to get fired up for the studio.