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Thursday, Aug. 28, 2002 | link Last Saturday, Jill, Liz, and I hit The Great American Music Hall, another one of the city's cuter venues -- Liz did an amazing triple twisting inward to get us a parking spot a block away, something that involved flipping a tit, pulling halfway into an intersection, then backing up a one-way street. About two minutes after we walked in, Camper Van Beethoven launched into the first of two hour-long sets. The show was super fun, and the crowd was way into it, particularly the eight-thousand foot guy that stood in front of us and yelled random freaky things at individual members of the band, all the while doing his puppet-master dance: one hand held up high and in front, swaying back and forth as though he were commanding the movements of everyone on stage. And then afterwards, the three of us went back stage! Before you go thinking that I'm well-connected, stop! I'm merely, happily connected to well-connected people -- "well-connected, once removed" maybe. So yeah, it was all Liz and Jill, who are both old friends with some of the CVB boys (Liz from way back the "Santa Cruz days," even). Anyway, BACKSTAGE! After going down some steep, steep (like maybe not up to regulation?) stairs and catacombing back under the stage, we found ourselves in a surprisingly chilly, surprisingly quiet little room filled with clumps of people hanging around and chatting. And free beer! And booze! I wasn't particularly in the mood for a drink, so I pretty much just sat there on an old vinyl couch, sucking down some vinegar chips and enjoying the people-peeping. Every once in awhile, I'd think, wait! Free beer! But then I went and had myself a very adult thought (one of three, to date): Just because it's free, doesn't mean I have to drink it. I make enough money now to buy the fluids I want, when I want them. So yes, the beer was free. And now, so am I.
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