Kinski vs. tequila -they make me equally sick

In what was to be our last Victoria week-end Sean and I went to see some muz-ak at a bar called Lucky on Friday night. Lucky is a sweet bar. I enjoy the exposed brick everything, the bartenders are nice, and I especially love the autographed Luke Perry glossy they display so proudly and prominently behind the bar.
A Seattle band called Kinski played after two openers -a Victoria band called Run Chico Run (who I've been weirdly obsessed with for years despite never having heard them) and some other band I think was called Espionage and whose hometown I'm sure I don't care about.
Anywhoooooo we attended the show with one of our three Victoria friends, Chris, and his girlfriend. I was already quite drunk when we arrived and then Chris insisted on buying shots (plural) of tequila for all of us. Did I miss something? Was it frosh week? Would it have applied to us if it was? Questions I ask myself now, but thought nothing of at the time. Mostly because I was too busy shooting tequila. And then beer. And then wine. So I was spetacularly trashed rather early on, but still. This should only have served to make me think more of all of these bands by virtue of the fact that my powers of judgement were at an all-time low.
The first band sucked. I think I may have danced to one song and that was only because I was thinking about the Joel Plaskett show I'm going to attend on my triumphant return to Ontario in a couple weeks. Run Chico Run was also un-exceptional, which made me sad because it means all the years of curiousity about them were for naught. Or at least, only for suck.
The third band, Kinski, was supposed to be some hot shit Sub Pop Seattle band but really...when was the last time being on Sub Pop meant anything? Not bloody lately. Jokes on their website still reference Singles, and that was a looooooooooong time ago. Roughly the same time Bridget Fonda did anything worth anything.
Now I may have drunk (drank?) a lot but the bands sucked at least as much, and I maintain that it was the music that pushed me over the edge from "woozy" to "sickly smashed and unable to even consider riding my bike home", which is something that's never happened before. I can always ride my bike home. We ended up catching a cab three songs into the Kinski set.
On the upside Sean and I ran into a guy we worked DCMF with. On the downside of that upside I was screaming and embarassing-drunk in his face. I may have spit in his mouth, and I'm sure I stepped on his toes a bunch.
Also made a fool of myself (or at least made a stranger feel like a freak of nature) getting grossed out by this one dude's mechanical arm. He fell out of a window while working construction or something equally stupid. I don't know. It took me ages to get that information out of him. At first I thought his idiocy came with the territory (he was, remember, a construction worker) but then Chris told me he'd had a run-in with the same guy and that he was on LSD, so that accounted for his crazy eyes and inability to focus on anything I asked him. Plus it made me feel a bit better about making gagging/puking sounds about his sickening arm because I'm sure, in his head, words only made sense in Vulcan or Mandarin or Pig Latin.
Here's to our bikes not getting stolen overnight, and also to the awesome breakfast we had at Paul's Motor Inn the next morning.