It don't matter to Jesus

Hit Flagstaff this weekend: Matt and the gang. Worked on fixed gears, talked about 3-d space time, "feeling" in poetry, guitar tones we like/don't like (like: son volt; don't like: anything on the radio), and about how Cap'n Jazz had three amazing (truly amazing) guitar players in the band--and only one was a guitar player. Another snippet from Falstaff:

Sitting downtown at Late for the Train (where I used to be a barista) Bianca, Matt, and I looked out the window as we downed espresso. Across the street walked a few lame-ass faux hipster kids with the dirty white canvas shoes and slouchy shoulders. I said Hey you can't be a hipster asshole and get away with it in Flagstaff--what are those kids doing... they look like they're trying to be The Strokes or something...

...next morning I look in the free weekly Flag. rag to see that one of the guitar players from The Strokes had played in town the night before. The picture above the story positively ID'd the bastards in question as the same from the day before in downtown. Son of a bitch, I say. Son. of. a. bitch.