Ass Burgers

Ass Burgers Crossing

Last night I saw Greg Dulli and Steve Kilbey at The Independent. I was undecided about going until late in the day, but I'm glad I did; the show was phenomenal. Before the show I'd never heard of Steve Kilbey or his band, The Church. Dulli and Kilbey each did their own songs, but sang them together, ending with a few they'd written collaboratively. The ones I enjoyed most were Steve Kilbey's opener, Under the Milky Way, and Dulli's Step Into the Light - a song that would take on new meaning later that night. 

On our way out, The Profuser and I remarked to his lady that the man leaning against the stage looked like the retarded lovechild of Ray Romano and Al Pacino. Everybody Loves Tony Montana. Outside I bid them farewell as I braved the cold, waiting for my friend from LA. She jumped out of a dark Nissan Maxima with tinted windows and caught me off guard. I hugged her deeply and we talked and shivered in the cold night air for a few long minutes before moving to the candle-lit bar across the street. 

The server was somewhat dismayed that we'd entered the bar and made it known that they'd soon be closing. I suggested we had time for one quick beer and requested two Trumers. I sat listening to her, still trying to shake my chill, exchanging stories and getting caught up on the chapters of our lives missing from each others books. Both of us seemed to be doing well, happy. Our time ran out at the bar and we made haste to my place, reminiscing as we walked. We spoke of old friends, old pets and old times; memories stuck like crushed insects against the walls of our minds. While we walked a sensation of unreality swept over me. Memories of passing through the streets of the Lower East Side with her on my arm, the crispness of the autumn air, forgotten times when her lips knew mine. A nasty nostalgia pierced me deeper than the cold.

A sense of uneasiness crept around the corners of my soul. I'd been badly hurt by her before. Patches of black ice still decorate my heart. I was happy to see her but I couldn't relax; a feeling that has gained influence in me lately. I've noticed that as I've grown older these past few years I feel an increasing sense of discomfort in social settings. I question whether this is the result of a stressful work-life, a lack of social stimulation (from working too much), or some delayed onset low-level Aspergers. Even with those around me with whom I'm familiar, at times I feel unnecessarily anxious - without cause or reason. Unsurprisingly, smoking exacerbates this phenomenon. A stoner, tried and true, she suggested we smoke. Not wanting to be rude, and wrongly thinking myself able to manage, I obliged. After all, Etta James was presiding, what could go wrong? Almost instantly things began to get strange. I knew the sprinkles I put on top were a bad idea. I felt she was talking too much, divulging information too quickly with the precision of a discharged shotgun. I in turn, became self-conscious I was speaking too little. When I began to speak, to make up for my perceived lack, I became conscious I was speaking too much and repeatedly lost my train of thought or ended sentences abruptly. I was ruined by the lone crystal.

I began to think my perceived awkwardness was the result of my inaction. Maybe she wanted me to show a sign of affection, to take her hand or press my lips to hers. But what if I were wrong? I shuddered at the thought of even trying to manage rejection in the state I was in. But what if I was wrong? What if she felt rejected by my inaction? I couldn't tell. What I could tell though, was that thinking about it was making things worse - I appeared distracted. What if I were wrong though? Such a painful refrain. She played me YouTube videos of things she'd been involved in, one of which she'd directed. I was in awe of her. I felt proud for her, happy she was doing something she loved. Happy she was doing well. Feelings of love thawed my frosted blood and I looked up at her, nearly unable to resist the urge to physically express this to her. My arms and lips begged me to build a bridge to hers. But she didn't notice my gaze - her eyes were held captive by the glass screen. The moment flew away like a frightened yellow bird and indecision took hold again. I asked to see another video, to try and recapture the momentum, but it was too late. I cursed myself for my emotional impotence. I resented myself for my cowardice; my lack of confidence. Shame and dejection rained down on me, and I shivered with ignominy. 

She said it was cold.

Then a moment of misunderstanding. I'm still unsure whether it was hers or mine. The characters we played were shameless and shameful, though I know not which was which. Doubt and uncertainty are wicked mistresses in those witching hours. She called a cab. I said goodbye the same way I said hello. She, like the last time she said goodbye. 

I turned out the lights and played one last song.


Whenever the light shines
And the stillness is shaken
And the drug of your smile has gone
And left me alone
I need it bad, I need it now
Won't you come and give me some?
I need it sweet, baby please
Won't you answer the phone?
Step into the light, baby
Just give me the word
And I will begin
Step into the light, baby
And see the trouble I'm in
The light has gone
My love has gone
The good times have gone
Away
I have to ask, I need to know
Was it ever love?
I need it sweet, baby please
Come and give me some

Step Into the Light - The Afghan Whigs