Dear Lord. What happened to Trent Rezner? I find his new, giant arms deeply disturbing. Pictures just don’t do that transformation justice.

The Loungebunny and the Loungebunny Husband took us to Nissan Pavilion last night for TV on the Radio, Bauhaus, and Nine Inch Nails. We were either mistaken for press, or we were exuding some sort of set-list nerd pheremone because just as NIN came on, some girl dashed over and handed us copies of the setlist. It was nice, but odd.

But not as odd as Trent’s arms.

Nissan is nice because in the boxed seats the beer comes to you. Sadly, the ladies room does not.

The Bunny and I contemplated a drinking game based on spotting Fragile-era Trent wanna-bes, but quickly squashed the idea after we realized we’d be unconcious before Bauhaus even took the stage.

It was a great show, although the Bauhaus set was much too short.

In the car on the way home, as we sat in the obligatory post-Nissan traffic backup on 66, Husband didn’t understand why the Bunny and I were so icked out by Trent’s He-Man physique.

Me: “He looks like a serial killer!”
Husband: “He is a serial killer. Haven’t you listened to his music?”

My theory is that he’s tired of the whole “hurling the micstand at the guitar-player schtick.” Now, he’s got the upperbody strength to actually hurl the guitar player at the mic-stand if he wants to.