On Saturday afternoon, I met up with w-w.net entertainment correspondent Johnny for some outdoor punk rock action at the Right Bank Cafe in Williamsburg. It was a Vic Thrill extravaganza! (Quick confession here: I had never heard of Vic Thrill before, nor may I ever hear of him again, but he managed to put a nice event together, so let's pretend I'm breathless with excitement about him, ok?) I had received a heads-up about the day's activities from Michael of BigBoote, and though I was slightly disappointed, I mostly had a good time.

First off, Johnny and I drank beer in the sunshine. So I'm going to blame myself for that one - we definitely got a little cranky and dehydrated as the day progressed. I felt almost delirious in fact, near the end. If we don't take care of our bodies, then we can't blame the event organizers.

But this was about the rock, right? Rock, film, and a big, fat scene, as it were. There were so many inside jokes flying around from the stage to the audience, and back again, that I felt like I was at a Friar's Club Roast, only without the seventy year old Jewish men, and with a lot more hair dye. Some of it was funny. Some of it, I didn't get.

I was pleased to see the day's activities commence with a gutsy rendition of the "Star Spangled Banner" by Vic Thrill (who, according to his website, is supposed to be about nine months older than I am, but looks to be about forty, leading me to believe that he's been leading the stereotypical life of a rockstar. Nevertheless, he was still sort of cute, if you like that dirty, messy look, which I sometimes do.). The Reverend Vince Anderson followed with an engaging set, including one song about Satan hating everyone and destroying everyone's fun ("Satan doesn't want you to go out dancing/or eating a chicken friend steak"), and a stunning cover of "Dancing Queen." He even confessed his disturbed feelings due to the appearance of the bartender.

"I tell you, I'm having trouble here...the bartender looks like an ex-girlfriend of mine. We've already established she's not, but everytime I look at her, I feel like she's trying to rob my soul."

I enjoyed that line much more than his call and response Jesus song. I don't like chanting Jesus back and forth. I realize it's a joke, but I'm not into Jesus so much. I didn't grow up with Jesus, and I don't really get off on mocking the whole church-going experience. I bet some folks do, but not this Jewish girl. I thought what he said about the bartender was a great start to a song, though.

He was followed by a performance by the ill-named Pearl Harbor, who sucked ass. I bet they'd sound all right recorded, but in person, they were annoying as hell. I thought their true asset could have been the bassist (guitarist? I can't remember.) who looked exactly like a malnourished Natalie Portman. If she had done something - anything - of interest, well then we'd have had a rock show on our hands.

She smiled once. Once. She looked nervous, or like she wasn't having any fun at all. I'll tell you what, all you musicians out there, if you don't like performing in front of a crowd, then don't fucking perform in front of a crowd. Stay in the recording studio, or stand in your garage, or hide in your bedroom, for all I care. But if you're going to try and make it performing in front of others, can you smile a little bit? Or just act a tiny bit animated?

The lead singer was a petite Asian man with fucked up rock and roll hair who was clearly picking up Malnourished Natalie's (now there's a band name) slack by jumping around and howling and such, but I totally couldn't understand anything he was saying at all, and I didn't really like his voice. By the time they were done, I was pretty much ready to take a nap, as was Johnny.

And then BigBoote came on with their typical train wreck performance. Three of the guys were wearing matching salmon-colored shirts, and every song was dedicated, "To the ladies." It was cute. They were cute. Everyone had fun, it seemed, except for this jackass in one of the other bands, who was sitting right in front of us.

Oh, where do I start with him? A: Sideburns. No sideburns. No, no, no. No. You fake rockabilly fuck, with your country western shirt, pin-striped pants, and Raybans, get a trim. Those sideburns are just silly on a head that small. B: Do not talk on your obnoxious yellow cell phone while another band is performing. Would you like it if someone did that to you while you were performing? Is there no honor code left amongst fellow musicians? Maybe he was from Los Angeles. And finally, C: When you yell loudly at the sweetheart members of BigBoote, who only want to entertain and amuse, "Well I guess everyone has to have their schtick, right?" do not be surprised if I send my evil death eye rays in your direction. Rude boy. Tsk, tsk. And his band wasn't even playing on the main stage. Probably just jealous. They are all jealous.

Johnny and I went inside to take a breather, but soon enough, there were more musicians warming up in the smaller space. In the meantime, Metascene showed up to have some drinks. Metascene is nutty. I like him. He brought me two miniature plastic horses. I will always accept any toys offered to me, and return it with undying affection. I'm easy like that.

And then, suddenly, there was no escape from the noise. A man wearing a fetish outfit, a red bikini over his crotch, a set of three plastic tits, and nothing over his ass, insisted on growling into the mike for a while. Everywhere you went you saw this guy all day. I'm just not sure how much I'm interested in seeing a stranger's ass these days. I'm a little sensitive, to be sure, but he was dressed a good two hours before his performance. I think it would have had much more impact had he saved his inciendary wardrobe solely for his performance.

So we went upstairs, and there were indie films playing loudly. If we went outside, there was another band playing, and if there wasn't a band playing, there was the same GBV cd, that played over and over again for as long as I was there, which, love GBV, but enough already. There was no where to run baby, no where to hide. Accordingly, Johnny and I took off, leaving Metascene to his own more than able devices. We walked to Kath and Cinde's house, where he left me to entertain them.

By then, I was a little whacked out, and my friends took me to dinner to help me straighten myself out. We gossiped, and I talked shit to make them laugh, and, in general, I felt as safe as a kitten. Afterwards, we headed to the Charleston for one last margarita. Tammy showed up, and she and Cinde and I went into the city. They dragged me to NW3 and tried to get me into Liquids, but I'd had enough. I had earned my Party Girl Scout badge for the day.

I stopped off briefly at Mona's to meet the tall Canadian and his Canadian visitor, who seemed lovely, though I had no brain left. I'm not too good at being charming when I'm tired, though I tried my darndest. The tall Canadian tried to get me to drink some more, but I've learned my lesson around him, and will never drink with him again if I can help it.

They kindly walked me home, and while I felt bad that I didn't hang out with them more, when I realized it was well after midnight and I'd been on the run since 11AM, I felt like I deserved to rest my head. In fact, I fell asleep while still wearing my clothes. My cheeks were pink with sun, and my ears were still ringing. Stick a fork in me. I was done.

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