Let Yourself Go
Damn. I just spent the last four hours watching the AFC championship game. The Pats were leading the Colts 21-3 in the first half, but bighead Peyton Manning battled back and Indy ended up winning 38-34. They'll go on to the Super Bowl against the Bears. Crap. I hate the friggin' Colts.
My week o' rock shows continued last night when I caught Mission of Burma at the Paradise. It was ridiculously cold out--about 12 degrees, with the wind chill below zero. I met my friend John, who's an absolute Burma freak, at a sushi place down the street and had a few Kirins and some sushi before the show. Picked up my ticket Thursday, but the show was sold out last night. The sound was much better this time around than in July when I saw them, and the band was absolutely kick-ass. They played two sets totalling 90 minutes, debuted a couple of new songs, and seemed to really be locked in and having a good time. We weasled our way up front for the second half of the show. A highlight was during the encore when they brought up Chris Brokaw to play guitar on "Buckets of Flowers, Porno Mags," a song by Burma bassist Clint Conley's side band Consonant. Brokaw plays in Consonant along with Conley; John remarked that it was the first time he'd ever seen Miller playing bass. Very cool. Burma seemed appreciative of the warm reception they got from the fired-up crowd. They're only playing a handful of shows, and I'm glad I caught this one.
It's been cold enough for the last week to finally freeze the local ponds. I'm hoping to play a little pond hockey this week for the first time in a few years.