Out, damned spot

One thing about having eerily pale skin is that it sucks up ink like nobody's business. So every time I go to a club and get stamped, it's like I've been tattooed. That shit is there for the indefinite future. As if it wasn't painfully obvious when I come staggering late into work, all dark circles and bleary eyes, I have this club stamp marking me like a scarlet letter.

But it was still worth it. We went to the 9:30 club last night to see Le Tigre. We missed the first opening band but caught the second (Willpower. High marks indeed - I'd go see them play solo). Of course, though, the crowning glory was Le Tigre. They put on such a fun show and have a rabid fan base that adds to the excitement. And I never expected to see such extensive choreography. Two of the members were constantly doing little shoo-bop moves while the third sang. It was funny because, to be blunt, they looked like you do when you're little and you and your friends make up interpretive dance routines to songs off the radio. High fives all around.