I’ve never been a huge Pogues fan, but I’ve always respected them. So when they played down the street from my studio tonight, I took it upon myself to see them. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the Wiltern Theater, too…so off I went.

Actually, I almost didn’t go, but when my pal Jimmy 3 Way typed “what is your other choice…ICQ-ing with us morons?” that closed the deal for me.

It’s tough to go to a show all by yourself in a city in which you know almost no one, and I was quite certain I wouldn’t be running into Mandingo or Amber Rayne or Barbie Cummings at a Pogues’ show.

Before the band played, I was the geek walking around by myself and reading the historical information from the plaques on the walls and admiring the art deco masterpiece that is The Wiltern while everyone else mingled and drank way-too-expensive booze.

I’m glad I got to see poor old Shane MacGowan before he’s dead and gone. But that old duffer is such a tough motherfucker he’ll probably be alive and not-to-well a decade from now, despite what you might have read lately…assuming you even give a shit about the Pogues. I was lucky enough to watch him stagger around, only hours ago, drunk on stage and not missing a beat…just like I was lucky enough to watch Joe Strummer do the same thing before he died.

Fake snow fell onstage while he sang Fairytale of New York with Katie Melua singing along side him…and it when then I realized this is the kind of show I think I’ll brag about seeing 10 years from now.