It's not a final Sleater-Kinney show until The DCeiver makes a joke about Axe body spray and "All Hands on the Bad One," but it's also not a final Sleater-Kinney show until . . . Sleater-Kinney plays. Which they didn't. Apparently the transformers at the 930 Club overheated (aptly evidenced by the furious black column of smoke pouring forth from the grate just outside the club), so just after the opener, the police canceled the headline.
Well, fuck. It's time to call it: This is easily the hottest summer I've spent in the four years I've lived in the District, and things are getting hairy. It's not pleasant to walk to places with AC (ignoring places without AC, for example, my bedroom), and far less to places whose units explode when you arrive. I was in Baltimore on Sunday watching a thrilling O's comeback victory against the White Sox in the 9th, and not once did the crowd even attempt the Wave. Dire times we're looking at! Human sacrifice, mass hysteria—dogs and cats, living together!
It's time to start pitching for some travel pieces due north (though, for now I'm working on finishing a few novels for reviews (which is a reason I've been out of touch)). In the meantime, if you can read this and not cry even just a few short, chortled tears, maybe it was a mistake to let you read my Web site in the first place.
Posted by Kriston at August 2, 2006 1:46 AMI seriously think that killing even twenty dogs in response to the death of three people is too many.
That is really, really horrible.
Posted by: silvana at August 3, 2006 6:30 AM