Joanna Angel's Galerie

Envol et Macadam starts tomorrow and Bad Religion and Hatebreed on the same bill has my brain completely fried. I've been standing here holding up shirts asking the mirror which one survives a pit. Tell me which one I'm sacrificing.

Brooklyn Wreck Fest has tattoo artists set up right there and my brain is already designing the next one. Saturday can't come fast enough. What would you put on me?

Coffee's brewing and I'm standing over the stove in a tank top that gave up on me about ten minutes ago. Breakfast for one but I keep setting out two mugs. Tell me you'd show up if I made yours.

Five miles in and the dog's already bored of waiting for me to recover. This bench is doing all the heavy lifting. Tell me you'd still be on your feet.

Tompkins Square still has that same electricity — next weekend's free matinee has the whole block buzzing and I'm already figuring out which shirt I'm sacrificing to the pit. You in?

The house is dead quiet and I'm making sure that doesn't last. Wanna see what I'm doing about it?

CBGB Festival lineup just landed and my brain skipped straight to Brooklyn logistics. Three weeks to figure out which boots I'm sacrificing to the pit. Tell me you're coming with me.

Fiddlehead just got announced for Sound and Fury at the Globe and I'm lying here with my heart doing about a hundred miles an hour. Some bands don't just play a show — they rearrange your whole week. Tell me you've got a band that does that to you.

Elbow-deep in vinyl crates pretending I have any self-control about money. Found a first pressing I've been chasing for years — what's the last record that wrecked you?