

Steady Mobbin' is not just the name of this blog /but a way of life
A band called Holy Ghost! opened. Apparently they've been around for three years or so and this was their third live performance ever (the first having been a week or two earlier). I do not wish to blaspheme, but they were awful good. Some of their songs had that kind of bass that's so low you can't breathe? That's one of my favorite sounds.
Now that we're between acts let me brief you on who was in attendance:
Tracy and Casey,
Alyssa
Carol
And all these guys
At precisely 9:35 James Murphy and crew took the stage and played for nearly two hours. Nearly two hours! That's serious.
The setlist:encore:
Someone Great
Losing My Edge
New York, I Love You But Your Bringing Me Down
Empire State of Mind
(spoiler alert!)
(end spoiler!)

During All My Friends Nancy the keyboardist started to cry. After the song she said "It's just good to be home." Who knew dance rock could be so emotional?
Ira Glass on guitar?
This is during Yeah. This song always produces a total meltdown, absolute chaos. My life flashed before my eyes as its torrents of awesomeness passed over me, I kid not.
They wrapped up the encore with New York I Love You transitioning into the chorus from "Empire State of Mind" (yes, I mean the Jay-Z/Alicia Keyes song) and then . . .
Massive Balloon Drop!
Who knew hipsters would go so bonkers for balloons?
After show, waiting for the crowd to thin, fist bumpin' with my boy Casey. He's my boy.
So I guess that makes me related to Alyssa, but this is supposed to be a spyon-the-super-drunk-guy picture.
If you were wondering where your shoes went, you left them in the middle of the floor. Now it makes more sense to me that they've got that new Drunk Girls song.
Exiting, finally. Elegantly.
Had a little after party at a nearby fancy McDonalds.
The man that kept me alive in Brazil.
Supplemental Reading: Here's all the other times I saw LCD . . . kind of ashamed of that three year gap, what can you do?
Anyway, I'm doing the music at a big (possibly huge?) party in the middle of June where present-day cool-music (hip-hop, primarily) is in order . . . is it cool if/am I expected to/should I definitely not play Mr. Bieber? Miley Cyrus? Selena Gomez? Keisha? If so, what are their jams?

The Breslin menu is a daunting thing, basically it's a list of snout to tail delicacies you would probably never order if they weren't the only options you had. I knew this headed in and was prepared to step out of my comfort zone but I saw several parties consulting the menu with faces long and worrisome. They must sell so many of its lamb burgers every night as it's the closest thing they have to what the unprepared were expecting.
And here's our entree: The (deep-fried) stuffed pig's foot with creme fraiche and spring vegetables.
Let me try to explain . . . the take a section of pig's foot about as long as your arm, take out the bone and the meat, then they grind up the meat with additonal pork meat (shoulder, I believe) and spices then stuff it back into the skin (and fat) of the pig's foot . . . essentially creating a sausage where the pig's foot is the casing. Then they braise it, bread it, and deep fry it and let it rest for a bit ("because it's been through a lot" --I quote our extremely capable waiter). Then it is served on its grand platter to your dropped jaw. The thing is huge! It's listed on the menu as "Stuffed Pig's Foot for Two" but seriously, could definitely feed four.
We could only handle about half of it and then I realized it looked a bit like Totoro or an owl (thanks to its little piggy toes) if you stood it up on its stump.
Not normal, but I found myself thinking it was an awfully cute little guy. He's in my fridge right now, probably he'd freak out my coworkers if I brought him in for lunch but our waiter (so capable) said it's real good with eggs at breakfast. So there we go.
Dinner completed, stomachs so satisfied we slipped out through the Ace Hotel lobby, probably the most hoppin' spot I've visited in Manhattan in a while and then exited through the gift shop which, in the well-planned and well-executed curating of the Ace's hipness, is an Opening Ceremony.
For the Oak Park River Forest High School Men's Swim Team, El Gallo was the out of the way late night dining destination of choice. I remember far too fondly my first visit to El Gallo and the sense of pride I felt in being included in one of these ventures as I was being assimilated into the Varsity Team and memory begins to fail as I try to recall and distinguish between the dozens and dozens and dozens of far too far trips taken here between my last two years of high school and into college.
Jared invented a new posture for appreciating the burrito.
And I appreciate the appreciation.
This is how you make the best out of bad news.
Similar to how you don't talk to the bus driver while he's driving. Both are situations where the safety and you and others is the issue.
We dined through a torrential downpour, so weirdo walk-ins were non-existent on this visit. The steak burrito tasted exactly the same as it always had, the signage (barring the newer handmade signs, of course) was exactly the same as seventeen years ago, and while the jukebox had been upgraded to an MP3 player and the Cruisin' USA game downgraded to a Ms. Pacman, the songs were the same and the lack of game reliability just as much an issue. El Gallo de Oro, burrito haven of my youth (that time when brute force of a burrito was my preferred mode of Mexican-food consumption, so long before my conversion to the delicacy of a proper taco), you are a magical, ageless establishment for the ages.