I'm gonna roll with the punches 'til it gets old.

Every time I wear my red plaid shirt people call me a free spirit. Every time I hear that I laugh out loud, A LOT. It's not that I don't mind being called that, it's just that never in a million years did I ever think that that term could ever be applied to me. Back in high school I used to be such a tight-ass (insert one of Warren's inappropriate sexual jokes). I seriously used to be such an elitist and judgmental BITCH that it's amazing that I had any friends at all. Of course I did come from a small, elitist New England town where many of the townspeople had sticks so far up their behinds it's amazing they were able to move at all without toppling over.

Growing up my house was not at all elitist or uptight. Maybe a little judgmental from all the Catholic guilt my mother carried around and forced upon us whenever she had the chance. And to be fair I think she was pressured into some of it by her church friends. It was like a competition between them, who can be more holy and to prove what good church goers they were they used to compete at getting to church the earliest and how many church related activities they could force their children in. My mother got sucked into it all and forgot her beach bum/ski bum roots in an effort to roll with the holy crowd. Now that I'm older, most of the overbearing church ladies have moved away and my mother is left with the genuine ones who aren't so preoccupied with being crazy and more with being good and kind people.

Lance was always chill though, a little crazy once I hit sixteen, but always chill and honest about life. He had no pretensions about anything or anyone. Of course it's his upbringing and he's disdain for totally stupid people that's made him the way he is, but he never let the crazy parts of Stowe get to him and turn him into the ugliness that a lot of his 1980s fellow ski bums have become. He's even done his best to reign in my mother's crazy bits and keep the household relatively sane. It hasn't been the easiest time for him with all the estrogen floating in the air. There's really only so much you can do with a religious zealot, a moody uptight teenager, and a naive sheep. He did his best though and eventually it's started to rub off.

I tell people that I'm going through my "Lance phase" in life right now. I've given up caring about the nit picky stuff, I do what I want without hurting too many people, I try not to be a burden on society, I only hang out in quiet/dive bars, I drink gin like it's my job, and I indulge in the greener things in life every now and again (not as much as the family men, but I'm catching up at my own pace). I was essentially raised by my dad so it's fair to say that at some point I would just want to pick everything up and Chris McCandless it across the country or jump off a cliff without a parachute. Of course I don't think I want to marry before I'm thirty or drive a van with shag carpeting.

I'm not sure when the move from "uptight" to "free spirit" happened or why I'm always wearing the same shirt when it happens, but it's been going on for a couple of years now and I'm starting to grow into it and like it more and more. I've become more spontaneous, dropping things to drive to ocean, take of into the night with friends, play baseball in the early morning hours on a basketball court, or hop museum fences. I used to think that I would have cookie cutter life, living on the East coast with a middle class cookie cutter husband with our two kids and dog (not cats). We would be clean, religious, and sterile. Now the thought of that makes me want to vomit. I'm ready to pack as much as I can into the Subaru and drive as far away from those ideas as I can get. I want to take off and live on a whim like Lance or even my mom (it's easy to forget that she was once cool too). I want to have Merrie tow me on a skate board down City Ave as fast I can go, skinned knees and broken arms be damned.

I also want to release these squirrels too. 

Dear Chase,

Dear Chase, 


I feel like I can call you Chase because you and me are so much alike. I would love to meet you someday. It would be great to have a catch. I know I can’t throw as fast as you, but I think you would be impressed by my speed. I love you hair. You run fast. Did you have a good relationship with your father? Me neither. These are all things we can talk about. And more. I know you have not been getting my letters because I know you would write back if you did. And I hope you write back this time and we get to be good friends. I’m sure our relationship would be a real home run.

Mac

I have been seeing posters all over campus with the Chase Utley letter on them advertising the Always Sunny marathon in the Perch and every time I see them I become ridiculously happy because the Chase Utley letter episode happens to be one of my all time favorite Always Sunny episodes and the scene where Dee reads the letter out loud is the funniest moment in the history of the show. Since I have been so extremely tired today I found the sign extra funny and have been laughing hysterically every time I read it. People are beginning to think I'm losing my mind (maybe I am). 

It's been a particularly exhausting weekend for me for some reason. Maybe the thousand hours of hockey and work and nearly no sleep is what's doing me in, oh let's face it I'm a fucking machine and a lack of sleep will not defeat me (even if I end up looking like a ghost). However if one more person comes up to me and tells me how tired I looking I will fucking lose it and punch them in the face. 

Tiredness aside, it's been a monumental weekend for SJU women's hockey. We had our first game as a part of the DVCHC league up in Hackensack against Columbia. We lost spectacularly, 2-10. Both goals were scored by defenders and both were really beautiful. I also sustained my first injury of the season: a bruise the shape of the velcro part of my elbow pad. Some girl rammed me hard enough that I now have a bruise from where a piece of my protective gear was pushed deep enough into my skin that it left a mark. It's not terrible and certainly not the worst I've had, but it's nice to start the season off with something small yet respectable. Some of my teammates need to start learning to take hit otherwise they are going to be in a world of hurt as the season progresses. I've certainly decided to use this to my advantage and work out my anger and frustration on the ice, mostly in my skating, but eventually it's going to be a challenge. W. mentioned that sometimes hockey can be the source of his frustration and I'm deeply afraid that that is what is happening to me. 

It's just frustrating that so many people say that they are committed to the team, but don't both coming to practice or to games. The club is still in its infancy and while we have been able to recruit a few girls each year we still lose people and if we can't be bothered to show up to practice, especially the people that need it the most, then we aren't going to win anything and it will become harder and harder to get girls interested in playing on the team. Clearly women's hockey is not as popular in Philadelphia as it is in other parts of the country and right now this is my only chance to play. I love skating and being on the ice and I am not ready to give it up just yet. I just find it extremely frustrating that I've been willing to sacrifice a lot of things, including my best friend's birthday, for this team and yet very few seem to be willing to do the same. Maybe I'm expecting too much, but I came to play to win and everyone else should be doing the same. 

Moving on, I've decided that maybe I should be carrying around a Moleskin-type notebook. Something small and thin that I can slip into my pocket or bag and whip out whenever I need to jot something down. This weekend I spent a lot of time typing notes into my phone for later writing ideas. I see and hear stuff that makes for amazing material and it's getting harder and harder to remember most of it in my old age. If I had a notebook I wouldn't have to remember it. 

In fact I had to write down everything I wanted to wrote about in this post because it had been so long since I was able to write. There's too much to cover, so I'm going to spread stuff out over the week, but I am going to end this with some music. W. has played Jimkata for me a couple of times now and the more I hear them the more I really love the stuff I hear. They're an electro-rock band out of upstate New York and their sound is mind blowing, a simple concept with amplified technique and power. It's easy to get lost in Jimkata's rhythms and let them take you someplace else. I've been listening to Devils in the Details on repeat since Saturday. You can download their album here >> I did it, you should too. 

Jimkata's Devils in the Details

I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping.

I was going to start off with something else, but then my building caught fire and I figured I should lead off with that in case my mom talks to my dad or something. I'm fine, my building's fine, and there is fire extinguishing chemicals all over my hallway. The fire alarm going off is not an uncommon occurrence as my building is rather old so I rarely pay head to when it goes off. Tonight when more than the usually obligatory number of fire trucks showed up I figured that I should at least go out into the hallway and see if anything was out there. There was. My hallway was filled with a yellow-gray hazy smoke that was absolutely putrid in my mouth and nose. I grabbed my keys and made for the exit before deciding that this could actually turn into something and so I went back in and grabbed my glasses, computer, and fuzzy and made for the fresh air. The stair well was dripping on several of the floors below me, maybe my floor wasn't on fire just yet. I sat in my car eating Honey Nut Cheerios and texted various people to keep busy while I waited an appropriate amount of time to go back inside. Thank God I didn't bring in the box of dry goods yet otherwise I'd probably still be out there searching or food in the woods. Climbing nine floors in a raining staircase in leather shoes is a little daunting, and there was quite a bit of dirty rain coming down on me, but my apartment was safe and almost scent free by the time I got back to it. The fire department is still out there as of right now, but I don't think there's any serious damage to the majority of the building. Plus statistically I've already lived through my large fire, car accident, and weather disaster so who I am to play with statistics?



On a less exciting, but more interesting note I had three people in class today tell me to see the new George Harrison documentary. Believe me people I would like to, but I don't have HBO so I must find another way. I live for Harrison, he was hands down the best Beatle ever. Everyone likes to go on and on about John or Paul, but John really wasn't that awesome and Paul already has enough fans. In fact I can't stand John Lennon in the least and tend to ignore the people who can't stop talking about him. As a whole, John contributed greatly to the music of The Beatles, but that's the end of it. I'm going to get a lot of hate mail from the Lennon Lovers for saying that. Anyways since I wasn't one of the ones watching the documentary over and over during fall break I watched Concert for George on PBS. Concert for George was a concert put on by several musicians including Paul, Ringo, Eric Clapton and George's son Dhani as a memorial of the late musician a year after his death. It was held back in 2002 and I remember watching it for the first time with my dad while I was still in middle school. Since then I have seen in numerous times and have learned quite a bit about Mr. Harrison. My favorite part is still the group performance of While My Guitar Gentle Weeps. That song is one of my all time favorites and Clapton on lead guitar is phenomenal.

I used to have the biggest crush on Dhani.

Today we also took pictures for our upcoming hockey game. We needed to load our roster for the DVCHC so we did picture day in Jay's office. I put a piece of take on my glasses as a Slap Shot homage and of course Jay picked the worst one in the bunch of me. But it doesn't really matter because now it's official. We have a team and our first game is Saturday against Columbia. 

Truck Bear and Andy are still alive.

I Lovermont and all that jazz, but the one thing that I really can't stand is that everyone seems to want to outdo each other in how long they can go without turning on the heat in their homes. I know the price of heating fuel is nothing to scoff at, but if you don't have a fireplace or a wood stove in your home to help supplement the freezing damp air that can settle into the old floorboards and stone foundations and make it feel like you're living in a damp, cold cloud then maybe you should turn the heat up soon than later. Right now I have on three shirts, a wool sweater, and wool socks that I pilfered from my mom's sock drawer and I'm still nippy. I spent the morning walking around with my fuzzy over my shoulder, making me look like half a yeti and no friend of PETA and am was seconds away from stick my hands in boiling water just to feel something. I wish I had purchased the wool and fleece mittens from Caplan's (Morrisville's answer to a Cabela's but with all of the hunting equipment already sold out for the season). In fact when I head back up to Morrisville to pick up my car I think I will stop and pick up a pair. Now do I want full mittens or the ones that flip over and become fingerling gloves?

It was a nice morning in Lamoille County despite the fact that poor Twilla has to have to body work done to pass inspection. I dropped her off and walked into the village to get my skates sharpened and purchase tape and some new laces. I went with the butter yellow ones that were popular in high school. The store was almost completely unchanged form my childhood. The summer items were still in stock so most of the hockey and ski equipment were still in back. The same guy who sharpened my figure skate was still running the shop and the only other customer was a James Franco look-a-like trying on ski boots. In the back half of the shop is the work area where a tired fluffy dog was laying in a pile of saw dust taking a nap. After I made my purchase I wandered next door to Caplan's and perused their winter apparel. I would liked to have gotten a few flannel shirts, but they were all in larger lady sizes. I'll have to hit up the Carhartt website for those. When I grew tired of browsing I went outside and sat on the curb and replaced the laces in my skates until Lance arrived to take me back to my car, which I had to leave overnight anyways.

Even after my trip to Morrisville the house was still freezing and somewhat damp so I wandered across the field to my godparent's house where I knew they had a wood stove. Total jackpot with that idea. I ended up spending several hours catching up with everyone over there over a nice Long Trail and a cup of tea. I only ended up leaving because my mother called over and said that it was time for dinner with Cathy otherwise I would have enjoyed the pesto macaroni and cheese and acorn squash filled with butter and maple syrup that was roasting in the oven.

Future house, maybe.

Just because I slept with you doesn't mean I'll ski with you.

So true with so many things. 

I'm in Vermont for fall break so you know that only means one thing: broing out with my dad. And of course sushi and mai tais at the Matterhorn where I got the lovely shirt above the last time I was there. It was an atypical day for me, waking up after 9:00am, going to lunch with my mom and some friends and then taking a long nap before heading out around 7:00pm with Lance. It'd been months since I could really sleep in and I only got up then because he was catering and I wanted to eat some of the scraps for breakfast. I'm not used to having so much food in one place, last night I was hunting around for a snack and got so overwhelmed by the choices that I just went for Saltines and grape jelly while I caught up on episodes of Always Sunny and The League. 

The last child that lived here moved out two years ago.

The Matterhorn was crowded, a good sign and the last of the leaf peepers bring income into town. It's a cool little bar at the foot of The Mountain with a sushi bar along the river and an enclosed smoking deck where the ski patrol forces newbies to do shots of Jager until they drop while everyone sings the cheer that's supposed to accompany the drinking. Tonight we sat at a quiet table on the sushi side and I watched the tail end of the Auburn game. I had two Jesse mai tais, two rolls of sushi and beer battered scallops. The mai tais were successful in dulling the senses and we spent a majority of the night in a half stupor once we got home. Someone messed up on a pizza order and I got to take it home for breakfast tomorrow. Sometimes it pays to be a Purnell and other times a Molino. This was one of those times, thank you free pizza. On our way out I was pleasantly pleased to see that the yellow lab and horse were still hanging outside the bar. The dog was very sweet and had a crowd of it's own and the horse was extremely gentle although not impressed with getting it's picture taken by so many people. The owner of course was inside looking like a total douche with his ten gallon hat and spurs. You're in Vermont asshole not Texas and leaving your animals out in the cold while you drink beer does not make you cool. 

A horsie!

Being in Vermont could not have come a better time. It's almost 11pm and I'm in bed watch Ugly Americans and writing this post, something I haven't done on a Saturday night ages. Usually I would be working and then heading out to the bar to spend a percentage of my nightly earnings on beer and blue collar fun. As much as I enjoy doing those things it's nice to get out of the city and away from school and all of the other crap I have going on in my life. Sometimes it just gets a little overwhelming not knowing what it going on that I need to just take a step back and head up into the woods. So that's where I am now: in the woods. I have to write a paper and get my backgrounds blog updated, but I also need to sleep in, eat ridiculous amounts of sugary cereal, go hiking, canoeing, and eat chili tomorrow afternoon. This weekend couldn't have come at a better time. 

I want to be the one to push you off the cliff.

I received the best text message in class today. It was from unfamiliar Vermont number telling me to have chili at the Hob Knob on Sunday after the farmer's market. I had no idea who had sent the text and whether or not it was supposed to be directed at me, but either way I love chili and I love the Hob Knob so I decided that I would be attending no matter what. In fact I got myself so excited about Sunday chili and the Hob Knob that I started rationalizing me crashing a chili party out loud in class to the point that my peers joined in on my personal debate and  gave their own opinions on what I should do. Once I walked out of the room, my phone was hit by a bunch of texts from my dad saying that we were going to the Hob Knob for chili on Sunday. Baller. Turns out the text was from the inn's owner and I just didn't transfer her number over to my newer phone. Silly me, but I provided entertainment for my stressed out class as usual.

Today I attended a meeting about grad school which was hosted by the English department. I have come to the conclusion that I have no idea what I am doing with my life, but if I do apply I need to apply somewhere out west so that I look geographically appealing to schools that I am interested in. I also found out that I need to suck up my apprehensions about teaching if I want to get into a funded program and not have to sell my soul to Satan just to be able to obtain my MFA. I am positive I will be taking time off before applying because I need to build my portfolio and develop pieces that are more than just Brevity submissions or angsty prose poems. My next assignment for my nonfiction class is to write a longer piece up to twenty pages and I want to create something that I will eventually be able to use as a part of my portfolio. My only problem is that I'm not sure that I have the focus and endurance to write something that long. Until this morning I didn't think I've been doing anything other than breathing for more than ten seconds. It turns out I have been skating for twenty years. As soon as I said that at practice this morning I felt old and I AM NOT old. I was amazed that I was able to admit that I was able to say twenty years about anything so soon in my life. I was still thinking it was a surreal thing for me in my nonfiction class that I started talking about it and that's when my teacher said that that would be something worth writing about. Twenty years of skating, both hockey and figure, has provided me with plenty of experiences and anecdotes for my paper. Now I just need to find my focus and concentration to start writing. Not his weekend though because I will be in Vermont and hopefully I will remember to pick up some new skate laces before mine snap.

Oh my God! You like sneeze glitter.

Someone mentioned nostalgia to me recently and being young still there aren't very many things that I am nostalgic for especially since I've running away from most things in the recent years. This morning on my way to school I was stopped at a light, while I was sitting, waiting for the green, an Amtrak train passed by on it's way to 30th Street Station. I see the trains go by all of the time, hear them at night when my window's open and never think twice about it, but something this morning made me think about all the times I would take the train from Philadelphia to Vermont before I co-purchased Twila. I used to ride twelve hours up the eastern seaboard and into New England to visit my family whenever I had time off from school.

It would be very rare for me to fly to Vermont and when I did it was often from JFK and would cost almost as much as a train ticket home to get to New York just to shave a few hours off of my travel time. After the planes, trains, and automobiles fiasco at Thanksgiving my freshman year of college, I decided to stick to Amtrak. I even enrolled in the Amtrak points program so that I could get free tickets to Lancaster to visit my mother's side of our family. The train ride to Vermont, also called The Vermonter, took a full day to complete, but it allowed me some free time away from school to read, watch a movie, or work on my log book. In my log book there are many a page dedicated to all of my train rides and the weird stories that came with them.

One summer, during the two week gap between summer and fall semesters, I was forced out of student housing to make way for the cleaners and had to go home. It was also a chance to get away form one of the muggiest summers in the city and go water skiing and eat sushi at the Matterhorn. A week before I had to clear out of my tiny dorm room, I had one of my local friends come down and help me pack up all of my belongings and move them over to my aunt's house out in the suburbs. For the rest of the week that I was on campus I lived out of a small backpack and slept under a set of sheets that I planned on throwing out as soon as I left. The night before I was scheduled to depart I had campus security drive me to the R5 and I caught the last train into the city, this was sometime around 12:30am. My train was scheduled to depart some time after 5am. Lance was at a corporate meeting in Albany, NY and would drive through Whitehall around the same time one of the upstate NY trains would be passing through. We previously arranged that I should take a train to Penn Station and then get on the Whitehall train so that I could meet him and have him drive me home instead of wasting a full day on the tracks. The only problem with this was that there is no early morning way to get to 30th Street without taking a cab and was once a very, very poor college student, in fact I still am. So instead of paying a cab, I spent the night in the train station with a crazy lady who wouldn't leave despite security's best attempts. I slept like a dolphin, one eye open to guard my bag and make sure I didn't miss my train. I eventually made it to Whitehall only to spend half an hour sitting at a picnic table waiting for my dad to arrive (Whitehall is an outdoor platform and a picnic place all in one).

One of the stations I pass through on my way into Waterbury.

This weather we've been having as also been something that has made me feel comfortable and miss Vermont, just a little bit. Up north foliage is coming to an end and the winter rains are coming in and stripping the trees of their leaves and preparing everyone for the snow that will begin to arrive at the end of the month. The weather is mostly a cold dampness and overcast. It is the time where wool sweaters are brought out of storage and extra blankets cover the sofa (God forbid and turns up the heat in their house). The mountain begins to start blowing snow on a trail or two to get a jump start on the season and the rink posts the upcoming public skating times. On Sundays I can convince my mother to make pot roast (with Lance's supervision) and I will put on the rain boots I bought in 7th grade and walk around in the last of the wet brown leaves that cover the backyard. For the next week or so the road in front of my house will be coated in hay from the hayrides her church hosts and I will have tried every apple recipe I can get my hands on. It's the brief few weeks that signify the end of a bright, tourist filled fall and before the advent of a white, tourist filled winter that I love the most and wish that I could experience something like it down in the city. 

She might be a really nice HO!

New favorite thing of the moment: Of Monsters and Men's Little Talks. Of Monsters and Men is a band fresh out of Iceland with an all-around folk/indie inspired sound. However the music is more than just a few acoustic guitars, OMaM mixes in accordions, bass, piano, and drums to create a large than life yet simple and pleasant sound. Throw in a pair of rough and harmonic vocals and it's become something akin to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes or Beirut. Still in their infant beginnings, Of Monsters and Men already has a strong cult-like following in Philadelphia and I am closely and patiently awaiting their arrival on American soil (unless I can somehow make it to Iceland in the very near future).

A live recording of Little Talks. I think my grandmother had a couch like that.

Even more exciting than some cool music is the release of Jeffrey Eugenides new book, The Marriage Plot. I've been a huge fan of Eugenides work since I read The Virgin Suicides one afternoon while busing around France. The was something so invoking and relatable to me about oppressive mothers and five sisters who strangely committed suicide within the course of a year. While I don't have five sisters and my days of an oppressive mother are long gone I still find something curious and intriguing about the style and the unsatisfying ending. Eugenides sophomore novel Middlesex was also a story that I strongly enjoyed. It took me a little more than a month to read the book during my hour break at Borders a few times a week, but in the end I did and even though I am bothered by Oprah's need to put her sticker on books I can appreciate why she did it with this one. A journey through time, the story tells the experiences of a young girl from a Greek family growing up in Michigan. Unknown to her, she carries a mutated gene from generations of inbreeding that makes her a biological hermaphrodite and in the end forces her to decide upon which sex she truly identifies with. It is a beautiful story about the challenges of growing up in an immigrant family and assimilating with American culture during some of the most trying times in American history.

The Marriage Plot looks to be as exciting and engaging as The Virgin Suicides and Middlesex and I am hoping to get my hands on a copy of it sometime this weekend while I'm in Vermont. I also need to get my own copy of Middlesex and replace the one I had of The Virgin Suicides. So much to do this weekend. 

You smell funny, you smell like conniving.

I've been bad. I haven't written in ages and when I have they haven't been very intelligent or enlightening (though that last one was pretty good, I need to listen to more music). It's been hard to want to write when I've been so busy and tired from everything else that I have going on. I've been doing a lot of required reading and writing and it's taken all of the fun out of doing what I do on here. I had forgotten that I actually like writing until the other day when we had a visitor in my nonfiction class. Jennifer Cognard-Black came to speak with us on writing and she actually led our class in writing exercises. We spent a great deal of time working with imagery and how to use imagery in our writing, something I sometimes struggle with. Later in the evening I attended a reading of her short story, Burn. It was an excellent piece about a fictionalized story in Edith Wharton's life and I commend her use of "douche" in front of the department chair. Apparently the reading was quite the turn of the century little piece of hotness for one the women sitting in the front row because she seemed very flustered and turned on by what she was hearing. More than once I saw her fanning herself and making "that face." Despite the hotness, the piece was beautifully written with flowing imagery and bountiful analogies. That was another thing I need to work on in my writing, analogies. Unfortunately the only ones I'm good at are inappropriate for even this blog. Professor Cognard-Black's visit has renewed an interest in writing for me, at least on here.

In other news The League is back! I know you'd think I'd have more exciting news than an FX show, but I really like, even more than Always Sunny. This is what happens when you spend free period in the lab with a bunch of boys. Seriously though, I live for Nick Kroll. Yes he rocks facial hair and glasses, but there's more to him that makes even better than Taco. Kroll's charcater Ruxin is a sarcastic and snarky person who always tries manipulate situatuions to his advantage in his fantasy football league. He's kind of like the male version of the me that I wish I could some days be. I alway wish that I was as cool as Jenny, Kevin's football loving wife who also happens to be a Shiva Bowl winner. The next time you're flipping through your television provider's channel list on a Thursday night make sure to land on FX and watch The League. You won't be disappointed and hopefully not too offended.

The one with the glasses is Kroll. He's cool. 

I also recently discovered that my sister finally understands me (and by recently I mean a few hours ago). It's only taken her nineteen years to figure out what a dorky nerd I can be and that my glasses really do fit my face. I haven't seen Samantha since August (I think) and I haven't spoken to since maybe before that (something that demonstrates the current nature of our relationship, but somehow she must have known that I had a "lame" weekend and for the first time ever posted something other than the obligatory "Happy Birthday" on my facebook wall. Below is a collection of nerdy pick up lines that I am sure have been used by more than just the author. The pictures are also pretty cute too.

More here.

Please put your shirt back on, please don't make me laugh at you.

The other day I had the opportunity to go see Rubblebucket down in the city with some very cool people. I was supposed to have a late night sports practice, which ended up not happening and so I drove down to 38th and Chestnut, and after a few directionally challenged moments, I ended up at The Blockley. The Blockley is a small venue engulfed by University City and host to a lot a musical acts that I have never heard of (though honestly my musical taste is still mostly mainstream and it takes a while for me to hear about stuff that is off my radar). Don't judge me on that last sentence though.

Despite my musical naivete, Rubblebucket was amazing and a small shout out to Greg who apparently set the motion for me eventually coming to see them. The bar was packed with hipsters, students, and general music goers mixed in. The energy the entire time I was there was at the absolute maximum and movement remained fluid, energetic, and nonstop. I appreciated the ironic dance moves of the hipsters, they helped make my atrocious white girl dancing less obvious, especially since I was with people who have clearly spent most of their life dancing to the sweet tunes of Rubblebucket.

The band themselves were also an amazing troupe of indie-dance musicians. Lately I've gotten into anything group that incorporates a brass section into what their doing and that the front girl also played baritone saxophone was just the icing on the cake. For it was the trombone and trumpet players that really made the show. A ginger trombonist and a trumpet player with an ironic mustache that broke into simultaneous tribal inspired two-steps whenever they had the chance really gave the group character. The keyboardist with the Mountain Dew t-shirt, you're pretty cool too and when we made eye contact and smiled at each other it really made me forget the fact that I hate Mountain Dew. The real star of the show was the group's bassist. The poor guy looked like he was in trouble most of the time and had to count each beat aloud as he went along. It was so awkward and stiff to see him up there.

Their music was amazing and as soon as I got home I YouTubed several of videos of their music before passing out in comfort and musical bliss. I would definitely see this Brooklyn based band by way of Vermont (that's right there's another cool thing from Vermont besides Matt from Matt & Kim) and any band that's willing to hang around and play a benefit for victims of Irene is pretty cool too.

That's right Burlington I can see you in the background.