This night was about violence. We played at Arlene Grocery for the first time (shit, I am writing this two months post — I really do apologize) with a slew of other New Brunswick bands and I was so sure it was going to be, well, a NJ bill in NYC with hopefully a decent number of NJ faces in the crowd. A show we could have played in New Brunswick with less hassle and stress. But it wasn't like that. Not at all.

I don't know whether to start with the bands or Hamilton, the doorkeep. Thing is, I really liked Hamilton a lot. But I never did figure out if he was bullshitting me all night or not. I mean, he's an assistant director for videos, knows all kinds of fancy people and shit like that, but is watching the door because he's in between jobs. Thing is, I don't know how much I believe him, but he was charming, terribly good company, a great conversationalist, and I like him all the same. Just so happens that he went to high school with Alex and, well, they spent time together then doing those things high school people do, but never stayed in touch. It was a pleasant enough reunion and Hamilton was my pal for the evening.

The reason I got to know "Ham" so well is because the damned club was so mobbed all night — I mean mobbed, too, I'm not even kidding — that I kept having pseudo anxiety attacks and could not tolerate the place for more than 10 minutes at a time. You couldn't move in there. I couldn't even get from the door to the bar. What the hell were all those people doing in there, and who the hell were they anyway? Sure, some were from home but I don't think that many people even live in my home town. That was a great thing for us and our bill mates, and I was excited. So excited I couldn't breathe.

And I can't remember our set at all at this point. Be assured, there was some technical fuck up and we had to cut a song or so from the set. I really, really want to change that about us. Anyway, I was told that the sound was superb in the club and that we were quite good. I'll just leave it at that.

It was odd to see so many faces from home in NYC. I felt like we were all on some class field trip or something. I began to realize that I've been doing this so long that I've established ties to my local music scene that feel much like the ties that connect you to peers in school — really. Except that when you're an adult, it doesn't always suck like it did when you're younger. You can always walk away or change things. It was probably the unlikely event of running into Hamilton that put these thoughts into my mind. But you know, we live life in groups and this night I really began to feel a part of something again bigger than myself or my band or my friends.

But the reason I began by saying the night was about violence was due to the fact that a friend of mine from a job I had recently quit came to see us, and her boyfriend beat the shit out of some asshole who was heckling people in the crowd all night. And the amazing thing was that this happened literally inches from me while I hung out on the street to get away from the madness inside the club. I was talking to my friend, who was pretty floored to see her gentle, kind bf raging like some macho hulk of stupidity on the sidewalk in the city. I was dragging her from the fight, hollering for a cop in the hopes the fighters would hear me and stop. I was afraid someone was going to get badly hurt — even if they deserved it. I had no idea whatsoever that my friend's boyfriend was the attacker in this case. I wondered why she was dragging behind me, eyes fixed on the scene. It was ugly. There was kicking and punching and blood. Hamilton stepped into the middle to break it up and got popped in the mouth. Yikes.

Afterwards, when the fighting stopped, the guy was so mortified it was painful to watch him. He told my friend he had to take a walk, then did. He was saying over and over again, "I'm so embarassed, I'm so embarassed you saw me like that..." And he WON the fight, in terms of being the assbeater, not the beaten ass. But he felt horrible. I think I understood. There was this rage in him that just let loose on this drunk asshole who, honestly, was really provoking people all night. The asshole was begging to get his ass beat. I think the guy who gave it to him almost felt used. But it was the out of control rage that really freaked him, and me, out.

I bring it back to mechanics. When to let go and when not to? What regrets are you willing to live with and what opportunities for chaos are you willing to live without? Nobody needs a perfect existence. We all have our moments of glory and our moments of weakness. But when you wake up in the morning, how much of a fight is it to stay out of bed?