First of all, saying the words “Death Cab For Cutie” to any one who hasn’t ever heard of them before is kind of weird.

What the hell does that mean? Where did they come up with that? Who’s Cutie?

I’m not entirely sure. But, wait, have you ever heard of The Postal Service?

You mean the folks who bring me my mail?

Granted, I like the reactions I receive from saying “Death Cab for Cutie” better than the reactions I get after saying the words “My Morning Jacket.” And considering I saw both bands two days apart and have mentioned their names to coworkers and friends, both reactions are fresh in memory.

My morning who? What’s a Morning Jacket?

But I digress. Last night, Toby Joe and I went and saw Death Cab for Cutie at Hammerstien Ballroom now known as the Manhattan Center Studios. I should know this, how? I know this because the woman from 411 corrected me two times last night when I called them for their number. Apparently, “Information� has been newly mixed with education and a little bit of humiliation.

But it’s not Hammerstein anymore. It’s Manhattan Center Studios.

Are you just trying to teach me something. Is there a reason you think that I need to know this?

I’m just letting you know. It’s the Manhattan Center Studios. Not Hammerstein Ballroom. Anymore

Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to see Death Cab for Cutie at Manhattan Center Studios. How does that make you feel?

What’s a Death Cab?

(That’s what I thought, 411. You think you know everything.)

The doors opened at 6:30. I didn’t even leave work until 7. During the years I have been going to shows, not ONCE have I ever heard of an evening show starting at 6:30. Low once played an afternoon show. I think that started at 4 or something. But that’s because there was a night show later. But this one started at 6:30 and even though I absolutely REFUSED to believe this, everyone continued to tell me otherwise.

Gerry, can you do that thing you do where you look something up for me and tell me when it actually starts? The ticket reads 6:30. But that’s fucking crazy. It can’t start then, can it?

Gerry flipped through Web site after Web site and logged onto magazine after magazine each and every one said the show started at 6:30. In protest, we didn’t get there until 9 PM, 15 minutes before Death Cab (aka the third band) came on.

The crowd wasn’t nearly as annoying as the My Morning Jacket crowd. As a matter of fact, Toby kept accusing them all of being neutered. The weirdest part was turning around and checking out the upper tier. No one up there moved. It was downright spooky.

Somehow, I managed to get into the show carrying a voice recorder. The same one I’ve been using to record phone interviews. After that kind of success, who wouldn’t put it to use? So, yeah, I basically recorded the entire show and am currently trying to decide which song to put up. (If anyone out there knows of any type of sound converter/mixing device, I’d be really happy. Email me: mihow at mihow dot com. I’ll send you a Death Cab Bootleg.) It’s a hard decision, too. Because sporadically throughout the recording, Toby Joe and I make fun of the hypersexual, discuss battering the drunk guy in front of us for picking on a geeky teenage boy. At one point, TJ tried to talk three girls behind us into beating up two very drunk girls to our left. That part is pretty funny. Especially since the girls behind us really didn’t like the drunk girls to our left. And then the tables turned and they wanted me to beat up the drunk girls. But then that song about dying came on and everyone became all serious and shit.

The part where someone near us farted was good, too. Toby compared the stench to meat products. But the part I didn’t get was the part where Death Cab for Cutie asked the audience a peculiar question.

How many of you folks are from New Jersey?

The audience went wild.

Why the hell does he want to know that? Is that why this show started at 6:30? Does Jersey need to get home? What’s he asking that for?

No clue. Maybe he’s from New Jersey?

No. Seattle. Last time I checked.

The best part, however, was when I chatted with a teenage boy on the way out.

If you liked these guys, I have some other bands you should check out.

“Holy crap!” I thought. “A 18-year-old boy wants to teach me about music.” And what happens? My geriatric ass gets defensive because apparently I left my Indie Rock Badge at home right underneath the AARP newsletter. So what does a girl like me do in response? She reassures the 18-year-old boy that she is indeed cooler than she looks because apparently looking cool to 18-year-old boys is indeed the cool thing to do. (Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?)

I’d heard them before tonight.

Why couldn’t I just let that one go? I decide that I can prove I’m cool again when he tells me about all these bands that I’ll surely know about. Then, I’ll be able to say, “Oh, that band? I saw them before CD XXX came out.”

Nope. I’d never heard of one band that came out of his mouth. Not one. Safe to say, it’s time for me to grow up already. I should stick to Cat Circuses.

The show was only OK. The thing is, I’d seen them before in a much smaller venue further away from New Jersey (take that 18-year-old boy!) One might say I’d been spoiled. But last night, it didn’t really seem like they were all that into being there. As a matter of fact, they seem slightly resentful of their newly acquired success. I guess that sometimes having a major label pick you up ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. And I think some of their fans are starting to get wind of that.

Or maybe I’m just an old bitter bitch. (To be honest, I had a really great time.)

Now, about that sound mixer/converter… help me help you.

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