Where is my mind?

I saw the Pixies at Akropolis last night.

If you don't know Akropolis, you won't appreciate what a coup this was -- it's a concert venue with an official capacity of 600 and last night they sold 800 tickets (that's what I heard, anyway, and I always believe the stuff I hear from random people in the crowd at concerts, that's how I found out Elvis was not only still alive he was opening for the Strokes).

If you don't know the Pixies, you're probably Amish and the only music you were allowed to listen to growing up was the stuff you made yourself with your spoons, and god love you.

If you know both Akropolis and the Pixies, then you've just turned bright green with envy and I don't blame you -- I'd be envious of myself too, if I hadn't gone. (No wait, if I hadn't gone I wouldn't have been envious of me, I would have felt sorry for me; if I had gone, I would have envied me. But I did go, so I guess I am envious of myself. This is like one of those puzzles where you're locked in a room with two doors and a guard at each door and one tells the truth all the time and one lies, and you get to ask one question to figure out how to get out. Except my version would be you're locked in a room with me and I don't make any sense whatsoever and you can't get out and you go insane.)

But I digress.

We were packed into Akropolis like tuna in its own oil (I'm trying a new take on an old fish simile, you were expecting "like sardines in a can," no?). The sound check took so long I was beginning to think the guitar-tuning guy was actually a homicidal maniac who'd killed the Pixies in their tour bus so he could steal their audience and force us to listen to his three-chord rock stylings ALL NIGHT LONG.

But then the Pixies came on and my fears were washed away on a wave of mutilation.

We sang, we danced, we sweat. Boy did we sweat -- I could have filled my plastic beer cup with water wrung from my own clothing. Not that I did, that would have been kind of gross, but I could have.

Afterwards, we wanted to drink beer outside, but the outside part (oh, give it a name, call it a "deck" or a "patio") at U Sadu was just closing so we did the next best thing -- we bought cans of beer and stood under the Zizkov tower drinking, doing the post-mortem on the show (Kim Deal looked really happy and surprised by the warmth of the reception and she smokes a lot), and tried to develop "signature dances" in the unlikely case that one of us should become a rock star.

I'm listening to the Pixies right now and I think I'll continue to do so for the rest of the day, grateful that the Pixies got back together, grateful that I attended the show (I got a ticket at the last minute because my friends rock), and grateful that I'm not Amish, forced to relive my concert experience by playing Pixies songs on my spoons.