I�m back, and still rubbing my eyes from lack of sleep, or possibly too much sleep�I can�t remember which�but anyway, I�m back. Friday night�s gig went really well�thank you to all who were there (as I pretend that those people are reading this). For those of you who weren�t there, (i.e., everyone reading this), here�s a little recap, complete with gestures and pictures. Well, one picture. A really unclear one. Woo-hoo! Career in rock journalism, here I come!

The festivities began when I arrived at the apartment shared by Sweetheart and Mathrock (bass and lead guitar, respectively) carrying bags containing four skirts, one sweater, a t-shirt, four silk camisoles in assorted colors, and six pairs of shoes. And two pairs of stockings. And several styles of foundation garments, for good measure. I left five more pairs of shoes in the car, just to be sure I had enough. (I did.) I also brought six pounds or so of various cosmetics and some hair products.

Following four costume changes, I found a suitable outfit (with Sweetheart�s assistance) and ended up in: a black skirt; a black t-shirt reading LOVE in disturbed embroidery and sequins and flowers; sea green fishnets; Les Chaussures Dangereuses. And various rhinestone barrettes, for maximum understated flashiness. Sweetheart required only one costume change, and then a small amount of conference regarding jewelry. She is very �together.�

Mathrock got ready in fourteen seconds, and we all set out (after a vodka tonic) and headed up to the fabulous, fabulous venue which I will call the Lucky Horseshoe. Yee-haw! It is what you might call a roadhouse. That�s what I�d call it anyway, with the smell of beer and cigarettes woven right into the tatty carpet, and a variety of mismatched tables and chairs and crazy guys with Jackson Browne hair-dos and leather vests. We loaded the equipment in (i.e., Mathrock loaded in the equipment) and we introduced ourselves to the headlining band and set up, sound checked, and drank Robitussin and Greyhounds (I had a wicked cough, left over from last week�s wasting disease) and visited the ladies� room 433 times until it was time to start the show.

I had informed my friends that I expected lots of inappropriate yelling, and I was not disappointed. I couldn�t have been happier. We had a great time, up there in the spotlight (see illustration):

ILLUSTRATION

Ooo! MOODY!! That is me, incidentally, looking alien and blurry and holding onto the mike stand in a way that irritated at least one audience member, who recommended later that I go for a more Gwen Stefani, audience-participation approach. (And, sorry: I just am not down with abbreviating the word �microphone� as �mic.� That looks like it should say �mick� to me, and I do not care if that makes me uncool. Add it to the list, brothers and sisters.)

We played every song approximately 1.5 times as fast as we should have, running on pure adrenaline. Sweetheart admitted to me afterwards that she was nervous the whole time. I never would have known, so solidly did she rock. Mathrock was his usual kick-ass self, as was Bobzilla, our fearless drummer, playing on the other band's kit. I was not nervous the whole time, possibly due to the combination of Robitussin and Greyhounds. I like the way the show went, though�and so many people bought me drinks that I ended up leaving them scattered all over the bar, one sip out of each. This is a good trend, and one I hope will continue.

I also realized that I have my own age-inappropriate groupie, which is excellent and another trend I hope will continue. I mentioned him to Sweetheart, who was slightly shocked and said, �Violet! He is twenty-one years old!� I think she was trying to horrify some sense into me, but of course all her revelation did was make me more psyched about the whole situation. I will fake-name this new groupie Alex. He is very nice, and wears like, long shorts and listens to Weezer (probably). He lives with his parents while he finishes his last year of college. Yee-haw! I hope he will start a website dedicated to the band (good) or to me personally (even better) so that I can develop a coterie of barely-legal groupies who will carry my amp and buy me like, shoes and stuff. "I said LOUBOUTIN, you idiot!"

And although I don't like to brag, we did make upwards of $79. That's right. It's true. So, you know, fame AND fortune. Life is sweet.

And so are you.

Star of the day. . .Eric Boucher