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I came back to my hotel room to find they had left these tiny items on my pillow. I took the little bottle and left it in front of my neighbor’s door.
But I’m keeping the pig.
Happy New Year, everybody.

Ich Bin Sehr Gl

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So, preparing for my trip to Germany, I’m on this German-language message board that I go to sometimes (when I’m feeling brave enough to make a fool of myself). And I write something to the effect of, I’m flying to Berlin tomorrow, and I’m really excited.
And this very kind netizen of the board types back: “That’s great, man! I’m very happy for you! We in Berlin really love it! However, what you just said is: I’m flying to Berlin tomorrow, and I’m really horny.
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The First Night of Hanukkah, Teaneck, NJ: Fotos by Lou Perseghin.

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The duct tape on the guitar, while attractive, is not a fashion move. When I opened it up at soundcheck, I found a gigantic crack on the underside, almost splitting it in half. A pretty catastrophic injury.
The case wasn’t damaged at all. So apparently Homeland Security opened it up to check it out and fucked it up something awful. That’s my best guess, anyway.
Interested in stinging irony? Read the entry below, “I’m Home Again in Brooklyn…”
Anyway, I taped it up and she played great. Scrap and I knew what we were gonna start and end the show with, but the rest of the gig was requests shouted out from the audience. Fun!
Also: I stole dude from Bloc Party’s jacket to wear. Oh yes.
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Ich mag den dunklen Kaffee.

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I have only a few spare days in New York in December. I’ve had three days between the end of the BNL tour and flying out to Minneapolis to overdub guitars on the new record for a week (I split tomorrow). Then I’m home for the two Jersey gigs, and a few days after that, and then it’s off to Germany.
I managed to get out of my place yesterday and run errands, which is generally hard for me, when I’m drained by a long tour.
I just broke up with my girlfriend, so I’m in that half-tripping extremely sad and grieving but weirdly liberated state. Like you have extremely long hair and you cut it all off and wake up the next morning and you are freaked out suddenly to not feel the weight of your hair, except by “hair” I mean something more like “arm.” I was trudging kind of zombie-like in the Herald Square station changing trains, and coming up the stairs I heard these phenomenal loud drums, and I wondered, is that Mecca Bodega?
Mecca Bodega are these brothers, Mackie and Juba, who I met years ago playing in a band called Wisdom Tooth. They’re very committed to playing in the subway, almost as a spiritual practice. They did the soundtrack, and were recurring faces in, that Rosie Perez HBO show, Subway Stories.
I see them in the trains every couple of years. There they were, and there was a big circle of people around them. I managed to catch Mackie’s eye, and mid-drumming his face lit up at me, like, It’s you! And we smiled at each other, and then I caught Juba’s eye and we were both like, It’s you!
I pointed to an invisible watch on my wrist, and then toward the Q train, like, I have to go, and everybody nodded, smiling. It was a perfect silent reunion in the middle of all the thunderous drumming.
Listened to them echoing up the stairs and through the station as I stood on the Q platform until some guy came and messed up my high by playing “Jingle Bells” on the French horn.
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