As you can hear, there were a lot of people just mindlessly carrying on conversations around me. It got so bad, Palmer herself even asked them to be quiet, at least for the performance of the song "Boston." And of course, practically no-one complied, despite repeated, vigorous shushing by a number of people. When you're competing with a loud, live band to hold trivial conversations, you're obviously doing it out of some shallow existential fear about feeling smaller than the performers, and so the lead singer politely asking you to stop probably isn't going to work.
There are a few other videos online better than mine, like this one of the opening song, a cover of "Cosmic Dancer" by T.Rex. I'd actually always thought it was a Morrissey song until my sister corrected me. So I was taken down from my initial excitement of hearing the Dolls perform a Morrissey cover. Though Palmer did omit the "I was dancing when I was eight," part the same as Morrissey did.
It was a great show, the two have a lot of infectious fun onstage, and I found The House of Blues to be an agreeable venue, as I was able to get a good view from the bar in the back while I sipped Jameson.
I've started to feel a bit stir crazy without a comic or something to work on. I went through a couple ideas a few days ago that I might be able to pull off quickly with little research, but I feel like they wouldn't come out very well. I was getting antsy enough to try one, but fortunately yesterday one of the books I ordered from Amazon for research on the project I'm planning to try to sell arrived, so I think I'll celebrate New Years with some reading.
Twitter Sonnet #218
Rubber straight razors show up in the shop.
Laughing barbers slap the stubble silly.
Fun stops at appearance of Robocop.
So long to macadam Piccadilly.
Twister dots spill across the cobblestone.
Paper flecks infect two hour old wine.
Chill whistles through a ferris wheel of bone.
Lofty breezes smell oddly of fake pine.
Boughs rock subtly in blue and pink starlight.
Sticky bracelet marks the older visit.
Voices across plastic cups start to fight.
Sweat runs out the muscular white faucet.
Numbers age cards quickly in a hedge maze.
Jack Torrance soon learned the Queen goes all ways.