Despite some unexpected gum surgery, Lori and I made it out of the house to attend, well, a Rolling Stones "tribute" night (I know, I know). I thought only Chicago wasted its time with multiple-band tribute sets, but here in Seattle the phenom is just as popular. This was a benefit for "No Vote Left Behind," which billed itself as a means to get young people active in the democratic process, but actually was just left-wing propaganda designed to evict our current feudal lord out of office. The political discussion was limited to a drummer (never give the drummer a microphone, please, I beg you) describing Republicans as "assholes" and "stupid assholes." With brains like this behind Kerry we can look forward to another four years of our current administration.

Anyway, I was in no mood to speak or be spoken to, so I glowered at the drunken revelry around me, and cringed painfully at the pitiful drag queen that served as emcee. What the fuck is it with Seattle and drag queens? A fag in women's clothing isn't shocking, subversive or amusing anymore, and this one (its name was "Anna Rexia," get it?) was as bad as they come. Dude, put some fucking pants on.

We only caught four bands, and they were pretty terrible, the only saving grace being that they were limited to three songs each. Finally, fifteen minutes behind schedule my pal Jeremy's band came on, the whole reason we were there, and they were better than I expected. With only one rehearsal under their belt they acquitted themselves nicely with "Before They Make Me Run" and "Happy." Jeremy was pulling out all his Rod Stewart moves, even had the rooster hair and silk scarves going. The more Lori and I thought about it, the more we realized that he could very well become the Rod Stewart of the next generation, and you can take that as positively or negatively as you are inclined.