thomas' quintet had a gig at the rotunda on saturday, and after promising to go for his last two performances and bailing, i decided that the decent thing to do was actually show up for one. the quintet was perfectly lovely -- all the other acts that preceded it, however, were excruciatingly weird -- a scantily-dressed woman stomping barefoot on broken glass, a buxom tit-twirler mixing martinis in shakers strapped over her breasts, sylvia plath put to music with black-and-white videos in the background of a jet-propelled turtle soaring over the sea. i abandoned fs halfway through the performance to join the other shaun and admit that my wtf quotient had reached capacity. so had his, but there was no escaping until thomas went on, and so we waited as the parade of strangeness went on and on for approximately forever.

the evening was sort of rescued by supper, although it was kind of awkward having two recently-broken-up couples at the table, and no alcoholic beverages. then jared and adam and stephen and i repaired up to marbar ($1 long island teas), and discovered firsthand why undergrad bars suck.