saag paneer and a talking penis

Last night, E and I had tickets to the Decemberists show at Webster Hall and decided to get our little party started early with Whole Foods Indian buffet takeout and Bud Light tallboys in Union Square. Though I'm not such a fan of the surrounding area, that park brings out every kind of loonybin you can imagine and, therefore, I love it.

We sat on a bench outside the dog run and amused ourselves for hours with curry, beer, and a constant stream of interesting people to stare at. Our favorites included a couple silently caressing each other on a nearby bench for an unreasonable amount of time, a girl walking around while playing what was essentially a single-stringed harp (not a lot of melody, beat, or anything resembling music going on there,) and a dude who accosted us and declared, "you two must be together since you [me] finished her [E's] sentence [something to the effect of 'go talk to the girl with the one-stringed harp']." Congratulations to him for having high enough self-esteem to assume that any girl that doesn't engage him in conversation must be a lesbian. Anyway, then we saw Wendel.

Wendel was clad all in white, including the signature crown and clown collar. Shortly after he established himself near that weird statue on the south side, another conspicuously dressed gentleman entered stage left. This guy sported a long black trenchcoat, black pants, and a black Charlie Chaplin type hat, only it was a helmet. From what we could tell, neither acknowledged the other, and their close proximity may very well have been a coincidence, but I prefer to believe that we'd somehow warped into an urban comic book and Good and Evil were about to have it out.

Oh yes, and the Decemberists were good, but concert nirvana (TM) was not achieved. Webster Hall is not my favorite venue. It's hard to feel connected to the bands, and it feels like the floor is going to cave in from violent head-bopping. Also, the band came on late, we were stuffed with spiced grease and alcoholic water, and full-time jobs are, like, tiring. We declared ourselves old fogies and headed home, where I somehow found a clip featuring Amy Sedaris as a cartoon penis talking about puberty. And then I went to bed. Not bad for a Wednesday.