Five days. That's how long my parents stayed for Thanksgiving. Which meant I attended as many social engagements as possible during that time. Wednesday night (day one of Thanksgiving visitation) there was a fine party at the Baltic Room, Capitol Hill's swankiest nightclub. Following that I headed up to the Crocodile to catch Visqueen and the Lashes. The bill had five bands, for God sakes, some taking forever and a day to set up. I wandered all over the place asking when, on God's Green Earth, Visqueen was going to play. Here's how bad it was--I bailed before the band one of my best friends plays in hit the stage. Which would have been rude had she not been as fed up as I was about the whole situation--it got to the point where people were entertaining themselves by trying to figure out who it was with the B.O. that smelled like a ham sandwich.

On Thanksgiving (day two) I took my bloated belly to Whoa, Girl!, put on by Carlos and Matt from Double Trouble. What a blast that was, and the DJs were super great. Thanks for the relief, guys. Friday (day three) was spent shuttling between Throw Rag at the Crocodile and Dead Moon at Graceland. Now I would never buy a Throw Rag CD, but their live show is as much a hoot as it is disgusting and I highly recommend checking it out the next time the band comes to town. The singer ranted on stage and reminded me of Shannon Selberg from Cows, until he pulled off his shirt and tear-away pants, left in nothing but his tiny underpants--which he repeatedly shoved his microphone down--and some snazzy white cowboy boots. Next to him there was a husky, shirtless guy playing the washboard who then took it off to display not only his sizable beer gut but most of his bare ass, too. That's when he stuck his trumpet down his ass crack and blew away on it for a few songs. Gross and kinda funny on the most sophomoric level, I know. Then I made it to the Graceland just in time for Dead Moon's set. I've said it countless times before and I'll say it again here and now: There is no band in the world whose set and ecstatic, fanatical crowd make me happier. Dead Moon cracks my nose back into shape whenever it starts to get bent.

Saturday (day four) was "shopping day" for me and the folks, and between the mall and Costco, I only could muster the strength to sit on a barstool at the Cha Cha after finding out my ticket for Beck/The Flaming Lips was not, in fact, at the Benaroya's will call, as had been promised. After a few hours' recuperation I headed over to a friend's apartment with my copy of Quadrophenia (the video) so I could fall in love with Jimmy all over again.

Sunday (day five) was filled with more shopping and, finally, goodbyes and King of the Hill. Christ on a cardboard crutch is all I can say about the Thanksgiving that would've killed me had it not been for Dead Moon.

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So Pho Bang is going monthly, because Jackie and Ursula have been invited to take the show on the road. And a blind bit for now: It seems two band members may become embroiled in an assault trial. The assaulted is a nice guy while the assaulter is a dick. Hopefully that's vague enough.