...one minute i'm in my home-away-from-the-east-village, louisville's hipster haven, the highlands...i'm spending the day in pretntious book stores, i'm joking about cheney shooting a man in the face, i'm buying an ep from the indie record store, i'm eating greek food and surrounded by 'bad americans' and all is good...i'm smushed into a car with a band...they stop at a health food store on bardstown, moments later a cop car pulls up...'if that's the cop i'm thinking of she's reall nice,' says the bassist...'thats not very punk, dude,' laughs the guitarist...but i follow him inside while he get a vegan pb bar, and it is confirmed that -punk or not- the cop is nice...but then it comes time to play dodgeball...moments later i am exactly where i do not want to be, trapped in the suburban sprawl of sothern indiana...i'm surrounded by white people, the kind that are threatened by the possible homosexuality of cartoon charecters...to quote tommy corn 'we're not in infinity; we're in the suburbs'...i am in god's country...first we need a dodgeball, and my silent protest of wal-mart pays off...we go to the lesser evil target and pay 71 cents more...there is confusion, and i'm in what appears to be someone's hunt lodge...but it's sorted out...white jesus rules the suburbs, and we arrive at a monument to him, 'the warehouse'...it's a place where hipster christians can 'hang', complete with red couches, warhol and pollock like paintings of the son of god, and of course, a pool table...this is the band's practice space, and how a church had given this band of men a key and security codes is beyond me...but we're here, and we're using the gym downstairs...this is where we play dogeball...later, i'm exausted, and i have an hour and a half drive infront of me through the dark...i call nic to keep me awake, but she's not in the post-excitement of some club hopping night in boston...she's going to bed in the peace and quiet of rural connecticut...i decide then to return a missed call to my communist freind eugene...surely the combination of the hubub in the boogie down bronx and his insanity means he's up at this hour...but it goess straight to voice mail...damn...that's it...short of the people i just left, i can't think of anyone that might still be up and willing to talk...it seems as if used to know hundreds of these people -my fellow insomniacs willing to share and listen to stories of interesting nights...granted when you leave nyc that number is going to go down, but still, where did they go?....do they have a job in the morning, or kids, or a mortgage, or have they all settled down?...we're all in our early 20's, surly not...but who knows...i get home and to my suprise kel is asleep on the couch...i wake her up...'i picked up the back to the future trilogy for you' i say...'yeah,' she replies...'nothing like speacial effects driven movies from the 80's' i say...but she's back asleep...