I woke up bright and early, both eager and nervous. I had volunteered to lead the tour of the American Museum of Natural History that had been brought on board at the last minute to replace something else, I can't remember what, some dumb generic thing that couldn't be accomplished for space reasons I think. Anyway, I was excited because the American Museum of Natural History is one of my very favorite places in the entire world (ranking with the Mutter Museum in Philadelphia and the Buffalo Museum of Natural History and the Smithsonian Institution.) I was nervous because A.) I had only the roughest idea of what I was going to say, as tour guide, B.) I had only found out yesterday that half the subways were closed and/or re-routed due to construction, and C.) some people had taken it upon themselves to e-mail me with the sentiment that a museum tour was a dumb idea. To which I can only say, fuck you.
One thing that I was not nervous about was bridge-n-tunnel traffic. This was foolish of me, because Todd and I were staying with Matt and Danielle in New Jersey. We arose in what seemed like plenty of time and then sat, and sat, and sat, and sat upon the asphalt, as the clock ticked away and the skyline grew but marginally nearer.
This was a problem because of the a.g.f swap, which is a tradition of many years standing. Now, I would never say a word against a.g.f even if bamboo shoots were forced under my fingernails, because in general they are the nicest group of goths one can meet online and in particular, Trystan and her spouse rescued me from being lost forever in the subways of Toronto at C4. But, because nearly everyone wanted to attend the swap, I had been forced to schedule my tour very early and nevertheless expected that I would have to do the museum but little justice. Now, my preciously wrested time was ticking away and I knew that I would have one bunch of early-roused, cranky goths on my hands.
The good news was, I didn't. The bad news was, by the time I got there I didn't have any goths on my hands, except for Danielle, and a couple of people who probably felt sorry for me and melted away like the morning dew as time for swapping loomed and we couldn't find a goddamn open subway line to save our souls. By the time we made it to the museum, having gone on foot by way of Central Park, it was just me, Danielle, and one other guy who fortunately was a rather good conversationalist, because I was rapidly becoming morose. I took some pictures, but they didn't turn out either.
Nevertheless, the Museum in its glory lifted my spirits. Which was good, because I needed them to attempt to find Todd and Matt again in the maelstrom of crossed communications before The Big Show. We had sushi.
And then, ah yes, The Show. The highlight of this evening, of course, was Coil's first live show in America. They were every inch as, well, Coil-like as one would expect. I will leave it to one who actually enjoys live music to present a fuller review than that. However, I will note that the two peasants whom Carol and I encountered the day before at the absinthe tea were thrown out of the venue for unspecified offenses.
Unlike many benighted souls, I actually stuck around to hear the bands who went on after Coil. I also got to go up on stage and take a bow and all that jazz. We weren't shot at, which surprised me pleasantly. Then, we went home and got some sleep.