Bob Log III was suitably demented last night, and I was surprised to see him draw such a good crowd on a Monday, a drunken, dancing crowd at that ... it makes me happy that Seattle can support something that eccentric, and at a class joint like the Crocodile, no less. Everybody else in the world has held forth on the "new" Crocodile, so I will too: it seems fine. Lori says it smells like sawdust. A double-Jack-Coke-back costs sixteen dollars, more than I paid to get in. Lori and I have a few warm memories of the old Croc -- New Years Eve 2002/2003 with the Monkeywrench in particular, but since then we've averaged one or two visits a year at best, so it's not as romantic a rebirth for us as it is for the townies. Anyhow, I often get disoriented in noisy, crowded rooms, unless there's a performance happening on a stage that I can focus on and that's usually only a small slice of any evening out, but I had a good time last night and Bob Log played my favorites, "I Want Your Shit On My Leg," "String On A Stick" and "You Wanna What?"