let's start this off right. if you were not present at bowery ballroom on wednesday april 5th 2006, then you missed the show of the fucking season. Went to get rocked by Art Brut, and got suckerpunched by Gil Mantera's Party Dream, who just threw down such a quality show, even with two technical difficulties intermissions where gil just ad libbed some hilarious stand up. and then art brut, unbelievably, took it to the next level, just playing so tight and with such disaffected british style.

but not so fast. cause on thursday april 6th, sondra lerche (pronounced lerk to my surprise) jammed out for over 2 hours. they started with some old stuff, then played their entire new album, which they are about to record, then encored five songs, including an impromtu norwegian children's song about hawaii. what a fucking show. what a fucking double nighter. i heart ny, bitches. you don't get that kind of action anywhere else.

anyways, i had a post in mind.

i'm psychic. well, okay not psychic, but just... highly intuitive. don't get it? let me break it down, and in so doing, i also tie into some of the themes of previous posts.

it all comes back to chess, and i will illuminate it with remembrances from my past that help me remember (see prev. posts). Jenna was going to jersey the next day. we were at my place, and after a terrific diner, as we laid post coitaly lounging on my comfy bed, she randomly asked if the 1 9 stopped at 23rd. Do you see it? I answered, to her amazement, yeah, but you can just take the express to fourteenth and catch the path train there.

and now, for the real memeory that spurred this post, think of yourself in a large college class. one of those 150 person literature surveys in a tiered classroom. not usually allot of discussion, Prof. Pfister liked to lecture. but sometimes he threw in a question or two to put us on our toes. we were discussing some 1800's ground breaking woman writer who is now forgotten (by academia on the most part, and by me right now), when he disgustingly said, "and some critic said that she reminded him of zola. now why is that funny?" 150 supposedly highly selected college students sat stunned, silent. i trepidaciously spoke up, "when did zola come out." Pfister, a cherub smile on his foppy face let out, "exactly, dustin! exactly. when did zola come out? after ______ (whatever her name was) died." these moments, ah, these moments. this is what i live for. to speak intelligently in front of a crowd, why does it feel so good? if a comedian brings down the forest with some killer jokes, but no human hears him, was he funny? its so warm, feeling the recognition in the air, no one says anything, but they all feel you a bit differently now. the same thing happens when i say something witty. the beauty of the well turned word. with a receptive audience to polish it off.

but back to business. how do i figure things out like that? as i said, chess. you make a move, then your opponent does. then you do, then she does. you have an aim, you're trying to pull something off. but at the same time, you have to check out what she's doing to make sure you protect yourself. so every move is key, evey move is a hint towards their intention. so, you analyze, realize, and retaliate accoringly. just make sure you are attentive to all the information, and then let the intention show itself.

why would jenna ask about the 23rd street station? oh, wait, she's going to jersey... of course, the path trains.

why would Pfister be disgusted by this critic? what would really be funny about this? if it were totally wrong... so what would make him obviously wrong? aha. if zola came out after.

when i pull it off, and add the equation, there's nothing like it. one day i'll do it in front of you, and you'll see. you'll see.