Now, if the Jews had announced that they were touring a couple years ago, before David Berman got on the wagon, that would be a +1 in favor of that show, because he, too, was looking like a good bet for the Death Pool. There are certain performers I didn't have the good sense to see while they were alive: Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, J Mascis...::rimshot::....the list goes on.

But have any of you seen If I Should Fall From Grace With God, the Shane MacGowan documentary? (It reminded me of the time I made my mother watch Kes. "What language are they speaking?" she cried. "Why are there no subtitles?" My mother, who thinks that bad teeth are a sign of moral turpitude, would fall off her chair if she saw If I Should Fall From Grace With God.) It was basically concert footage interspersed with scenery of hedgerows and interviews with Shane's parents and other people, all of whom seem in agreement that he's a nice boy with a fondness for the drink, and also "interviews" with Shane himself, during which he says things like "He's a right cunt" and very little else that's intelligible. However, it served to drive home a very important point: Shane MacGowan is on death's doorstep. +1 in favor of the Pogues.

(Tangential observation: Before it's too late, maybe Shane could do a little "Big Brother"-style mentoring on Pete Doherty, because holy crap, talk about the Ghost of Christmas Future, pal.)

Also, there is the liveliness factor. Drinking and dancing vs. opium-eater-headnodding. +1 for the Pogues, again.

This of course is all immaterial. The tickets are purchased, and either way, the beers will be $6.

I have trepidations about Saturday's Silver Jews show, stemming from my crippling inability to deal with uncomfortable situations. Even fictional ones. (Watching Curb Your Enthusiasm causes me such anguish that my anus hurts right now just thinking about it.) I fear that something will happen that will make Daniel Johnston and Cat Power shenanigans look like child's play and I'll be standing in the audience using my dual coping mechanisms of humming tunelessly and slapping my head, while N looks at me in wonderment and says, "We paid $20 for this?"

For the love of God, David, in the words of born-again-era Dylan, don't fall apart on me tonight.