Last night at Chop Suey, I endured a set by the Radar Bros., who were opening for the Clientele. So irredeemably mediocre was the Radar Bros.’ music, it made me both homicidal and suicidal. To make matters worse, they seemed like really nice guys. There are things worse than a band stinking up the joint, and that’s being terminally bland and innocuous. Note to bands: Either suck hard or shine like supernovas, all right?

In a freakish turn of events, a woman next to me at the club asked if I minded if she smoked. Stunned by her civility, I hesitantly said, “Uh… actually, yes.” And she refrained until I moved. What made the encounter even stranger is, she writes for Seattle Weekly. Despite her consideration, the cumulative efforts of other tobacco addicts in the surprisingly well-attended Chop Suey burned the hell out of my eyes and lungs. December 8 can’t arrive quickly enough.