I have transcended exhaustion and moved onto that blissful, slightly delirious stage that can only come the Monday after an epic weekend. An epic weekend that ended with trading shirts with the extremely queeny guy behind me in the middle of "Filthy/Gorgeous" at the Scissor Sisters concert. You'd think that at the tender age of twenty-five I'd still cling to a small loose thread of modesty, but you would be quite wrong. Besides, not counting the drummer and possibly of one of the roadies, there was not a single straight man in all of 9:30 Club last night.
I really can't say enough good things about a live Scissor Sisters show. Jake Shears is a ridiculously charismatic leading man and Ana Matronic last night was literally the most beautiful woman I think I've ever encountered. I spent a significant portion of the concert just gawping at her magnificent boobs. She is newest winner of the Angelina Jolie Memorial Women I'd Go Gay For Award.
I vaguely remembered seeing the Scissor Sisters at V Festival last fall, but I only caught their last three songs after running across the length of Pimlico following The Who's hour-plus set. Don't get me wrong, I love The Scissor Sisters, but seeing them after seeing The Who absolutely destroy the mainstage with their four decades of badassery was like getting the chance to sleep with Adam Brody right after getting sexed up by Brad Pitt. Any other chance you'd be salivating, but the timing and setting was all wrong and dulled what should have been a perfect experience.
Therefore, I was very glad to be able to see them headlining their own show. Particularly when it closed out a weekend involving reckless deployment of leggings, the (all-too-brief) return of Libby, a deeply vile drink involving both Peach Schnapps and Pop Rocks and five hours of revisionist Cold War historiography at Tryst over $4 pots of tea and bean salad.
Aren't I just the most precious little hipster?