This ain't the Ritz, but at least we didn't find any syringes. The motel we found for the night was pretty comfortable, affording us a chance to shower and thankfully displaying nothing by Thomas Kinkaide. We picked up the room for the price of two people instead of four, by having Josh and Logan rent the room while Lauren and I hid out in the van. We're sneaky bastards. In the morning, we ambled back into the van and hit the road for Boston, home of the Tea Party, Berkeley College of Music, and The Middle East.

Boston's a pretty interesting place. Upon our arrival, we were forced into a chaotic onslaught of vehicles, all pushing their way to the front at once, with no lanes or lines to guide the way. Logan will gladly testify to the bitch that is driving in Boston. By the time we were making our way out of the old city the next day, he was spouting out such profanities as, "PANTS!" and other such unmentionables. Besides the traffic and crazy one-way streets though, Boston offers a lot of visually appealing architecture (lots of brick buildings), cool stores and some great eastern/middle-eastern cuisine.

The club we happened to be playing was actually called The Middle East, and besides having three stages, it was also a wonderful restaurant, which lets bands pay half price for anything on the menu. The food was delicious. I walked downstairs for a bit and a couple DJs were spinning some "sounds-like-the-rest-tonica" and nobody was listening. I walked back upstairs.

The show ended up being pretty fun and there was a well-sized crowd even at the beginning. Strange crowd though; for as many people as there were, I barely heard more than scattered applause for any of the bands until the very end of the show. Our set went really well nonetheless; the sound was great and as I'm going through the very last stages of my flu, my voice had nearly come back completely but still had some grit to it, which I took full advantage of. We played really well, but I don't think the people that heard it knew quite what hit them. Their senses and sensibilities seemed dulled with drink and age; not in an Elizabethan way, but in a flat, grey sense, like staring at a television too long and realizing you've been watching nothing but static for the past couple days. Solace for the soulless.

I really wasn't into the next band. I don't know what they were called, and it doesn't make my life any worse. They were your average bar band, complete with a singer sporting an orange iridescent shirt that he probably got at Style Land, and musical breaks where the band stops for a couple seconds to look around and "fool the audience" only to do a predictable jump back into the shuffle. I got bored quickly and left for a while. When I came back, I thought the same band was still playing, but I was wrong; it just sounded like it. Swearing at Motorists was up and even though I have soft spot in my heart for drum and guitar two-pieces, they were pretty boring too. Plus the singer looked like a bearded Weird Al. I don't know, I hate flat-out dissing bands, as I think it admirable for anyone to being making art or music, and who am I to make judgements about anything, but I found it boring. What can I do? "It wasn't my thing." How's that?

The last band was the salvation of the night for about two songs. The hippied-out, shoeless lead singer of My Morning Jacket, who had a toy horse's head strapped to his microphone stand (so that along with his flowing mane, you couldn't make out any details of his face at all) had a great voice reminiscent of The Flaming Lips and Neutral Milk Hotel, and sang two beautiful songs in the beginning. They were GREAT songs and he had a very tasteful amount of delay/reverb on his voice. After that, everything got way too happy and jammy for my taste, and the soul found in those first two gems was completely lost on me. I felt like a Phish out of water. I had to leave again. They played for a REALLY long time, did a super-jam encore and we finally got to leave.

A friend of Ezra's named Rachel was at the show, and she offered us her place for the night, which we gladly accepted. Rachel is SUPER-nice, she's a great photographer, and her pad was extremely hip. Thanks for the tea and cocoa, Rachel. Tomorrow we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin. Actually, we take Brooklyn tomorrow, but we're stopping through Manhattan on the way and we'll take it to go.

Judah