While in the depths of my obligatory 8 month rut, I've decided to try something new. Yes, I'm going to start taking photos - well, to be honest I'll probably have folks take photos for me. I want and need to become more familiar with Flickr so I've started my own account. Right now it is a bunch of random shots that were living on my memory card and a few come courtesy of Shananana from the period of time where she seized the technology and created an embargo on all free flow of goods. Luckily that's exactly what I'm looking to do. If you see me out, take my camera and snap some pictures for me. I'd hate to be the douche bag with the camera.

Speaking of douche bags, has anyone seen roommate Kyle, (pictured above)? On Sunday I hid on the couch for a solid portion of the day and at some point he busted in followed by Tropical Storm. They came in to the apartment, used the restroom, grabbed some pot and a pile of money before telling me they were off to Atlantic City. This was 48 hours ago. Are they alive? Did they become millionaires? Does anyone have credible information? If so, please fill me in.

Last night I felt severely beat down, but somewhere around 9pm I picked my Mama's filled belly (which is getting larger by the day) off the couch and walked to CBGB's. After some quick hellos outside the club, I ducked in and caught a stellar performance by Sam Champion. Now I don't know if there were a couple covers peppered in there - Noah's choice of covers always solidified our different taste - but there were a couple songs that I didn't recognize. They played newish jams like "So Good To Me", "B Minor" and "Heavenly Stomp", but they also brought out the old school with "TV Fever" and "Company Dance". I was lazy and asked Emma to shoot some photos for me while Yaps and I sung-a-long from the back of the room, but I fucked up those photos last night. Hopefully I can salvage something and post them on Flickr.

Following the show I hustled down to Bowery to catch the Dirty Pretty Things first New York performance. It felt awfully strange seeing Carl at the Bowery after a show at CB's which played host to my first Libertine's experience. After a ridiculous wait, the band emerged as a five-piece because Carl was still in a sling following a nasty shoulder separation. They certainly looked the part of reincarnated Libertines and with Carl and Gary taking their rightful places behind a microphone and massive drum riser respectively. The band was helped by the guitarist of The Paddingtons, and the brassy hooligan fit right into the dirty (no pun intended) mix. Carl's arm was rightfully draped in a sling made out of good old Union Jack. A storm of flashes signified the presence of the blogsphere and I'm sure you'll see more reports later. I was to busy standing in the back trying to fight the girl school giggles induced by watching David Fricke rock out in a beat up Husker Du shirt and some make-shift boat shoes. Last night was my first introduction to the band's sound and yes, it has the patented Jones-esque Libertines, but what really struck me about last night was Carl's deliciously dark vocal delivery. He didn't pick up an ax all night (except during the first song of the encore - pictured above) which forced him to focus his energy on his voice. If it was possible, my panties would have been soaked. So the band played a couple of Libertines tunes, but they've created their own identity even if it is just another car on the Libertines locomotive. For their final song they ripped into "I Get Along" which is the song that launched my love for Carl's previous efforts. Some girls tried to dance around on stage, but a nasty crew dude would just shove them right off. It was a hilarious revisit to a former love.