Still wrapped up in the old punk protocol

Last night at Anita's invitation, since their lyricist-vocalist is one of her new housemates, I went to hear Lucretia's Daggers at Great Scott. Thanks to an unspecified accident on the line, however, no trains ran out of Alewife for about forty-five minutes; the paperback of Peter Dickinson's Tulku I had gotten from Saturday's book fair barely lasted me past Central Square, and I arrived in time to hear only the last three or four songs, including a cover of (naturally) the Sisters of Mercy's "Lucretia, My Reflection." I am therefore leaving far more time than I need to get to the Paradise Rock Club tonight, where Eric and I have tickets for Amanda Palmer. Not going to miss that. If I'm really lucky, she'll perform "Bank of Boston Beauty Queen."

Is anyone else having trouble with comments notification? I keep having to check my older posts in order to find replies and it makes me feel at once neurotic and egotistic, never mind comments I've left in other people's posts . . .