Went to CB's last night to hear AMA's band play a CMJ show. I had the misfortune to watch the news right before leaving, and it made me intensely sad. But from this sadness, I was actually able to appreciate AMA's band more. And New York just seemed so radiant to me last night.

I'm a New Yorker, before I'm an American. New York is where I came to be who I wanted to be, and I owe so much to my seedy punk rock roots. Sitting in CBs basement, swilling Bud from a bottle, that rancid burnt-rubber smell still in the air, I felt entirely at home.

If my life passed before my eyes, whole chunks of it would be this scene:

me with a beer in a loud, dark club, feeling cozy and safe and exuberant.

Afterwards we ate Burmese food and strolled around the E. Village. I thought, "Go ahead, terrorize my homeland. If you're gonna rub us out, I'm going down with my city."

No, I don't always talk like that.