Gogol Bordello,

Band or myth? ...Band.
If you don't know about Gogol Bordello:
"I don't read the bible / I don't trust disciple"

"No can do this! / No can do that! / What da hell can you do, my friend? / In this place that you call your town"

"Have you ever been to American wedding? / Where is the vodka, where's marinated herring?"

...That sums them up for me after my friend Jen gifted me bigga time with a copy of their last album "Super Taranta". Played the thing nonstop for a age-long week of soul-searching, job-searching, and travel-memories searching.

Did that Google thing some of you may know about last Friday and found out about a show in DC on the 3rd.
'A sold-out, 212 miles away from Brick, NJ show at a club... tomorrow? Ya, why not'

You might not understand, but at the time, Eugene of Gogol placed my hidden thoughts into gypsy punk lyrics, at a time when I've been reading up on Russian and Eastern European studies. Nobody could argue with me.

Slept until 9 that Saturday, the 3rd; got my ass out of bed; took a warm shower without the fan so the warm mist would linger as my bare ass wiggled in the towel to dry; got dressed; packed a notebook, cash, cards, and a voice recorder; kissed mom and dad; and set off.

4 hours of tolls and dead trees later, I reached Jamie's house, a friend of mine who was living in the area, luckily for me. After peering at his recently exploded water heater, I got a tour and loads of useful information amongst our catch up talk. Met roommates and split to Shady Grove train station.

Damn it was cold, but I was determined to get that Barack portrait on the back of the new metro tickets. A relaxing 20 minute ride in the modern caverns of DC led me to the Woodley Park stop. Indian food, Thai food, Asian Cuisine. All the signs begged as I kept my eye on Jamie's pearl, "Chipotle Mexican Grill". A a Mexican burrito I got, or at least it was absolutely filling. In a good way.

Smiles, tips and wandering after my tasty venture led me to "Idle Times Books" on 18th street where vast volumes of used books, 2 lovely customers, and a kind aura'd cashier greeted mine eyes. It didn't take me long to get sucked in to the Russian section (for the Polish comprised of two dry books), and for 1.5 hours I was reading, perusing, and rechecking for the perfect book to leave with that day.

By 9, I had bid my farewell the the extremely helpful Jerseyan cashier, following her suggestion into "The Diner" a stride down the street for some coffee and reading time. I totaled at five cups, no sugar/some milk, to which I drank down at the pleasure of 50 pages and a bit of honest eaves-dropping.

Knowing it was far too late to buy a ticket, I took my time, only paying when the lovely waitress hinted at the check's availability. Book in pocket along with as much of my arm as possible, I headed to the nearest "Newstand" offering black American Spirit and proceeded to ninth relearning how to roll a cancer stick.

2 reasons for the smokes: 1) the Russian journalist in my Afghan War novel smoked a lot; 2) I was planning to listen to Gogol outside the club and chit chat from the smokers taking drags outside, my own free concert if you will.

And it worked. I met Dan, who informed me of his 4 opportunities to see the gypsy folk in question and how the first was special: drinking a glass of vodka, getting kicked to the curb, and marking the event with bile on their brick wall.

I met Kate, beautiful Maryland native wearing a Bad Brains shirt which thrilled me enough to beat down that pretty-girl shyness thing.

Spoke to some old dude who reminded me of Tom Waits (love him) and another early-thirties women who gave me historic knowledge up the wazzu on politics, media, news, Nader, Larry Flynt, and the DC area. Though I could barely hear them, we had very interesting chitchats about gentrification and what was happening with the local U street area (exactly that).

Met Dan again for the second time, noticeably drunker, slurrier, and sweatier. Apparently it had been getting more rhiley in there. Enough so that Kate came out again rubbing her head.

"Crowd surfer..."

We talked a bit more about the concert and how I actually really didn't have a ticket. Inspired by each other's solitude that evening, we ventured together to meet up with her visiting English friend Mike at a bar in Chinatown. By that time, the cancer smoke and our chatter had clouded my vision so I didn't know what any sign said and thus have no clue of the title of said bar.

But alas, after convincing the doorman to let me in, ID MIA, we made it to the bar where I de-coated and she got a Guiness. A short search later, I had met the delightful bunch that was Mike, Mike's very English girlfriend Beth, and Ben.

Music-talk, job-talk, college-talk, beer-talk, travel-talk, sky-diving, and whiny engineers. All of it fun jibber jabber but my pumpkin carriage was calling me back as a family birthday party lingered nearer. I gave my goodbyes, swapped numbers, shook hands, kissed a cheek and parted the lovable lot.

All good things must be bested as the cyclical ups and downs see fit. 4 hours, 3 Mcdoubles, and some swerving later, I was home. 7.08 am it was when I gave my father the goodnight kiss and hug and set for bed.

Thus was my venture on January 3rd of the Anno Domini year 2009 in the Milky Way Galaxy.