Apologies in advance for the lack of links on this post. The "New Blogger" doesn't seem to want to cooperate with me today. Fuckers.
So the b.h. played a show on Saturday evening, along with his band, some friends from Tennessee, and a fantastic band from Ohio whose name I cannot recall to save my life right now. (Sorry, guys).
After bartending for a room full of our friends for four hours, I was relieved by the night shift and we all made our way over to the Caledonia Lounge to see three more fantastic bands. Mother Jackson sounded better than they ever have, in my humble opinion; Still Small Voice was great, as usual, though I am not sure that the setting suits them as well as Tasty World; and Southern Bitch brought the house down for their CD release show. Wendy looks fantastic, having recovered (we hope) fully from her emergency surgery. She was stomping around stage in a pair of very tall, very glittery, gold high heels, that I could neither pull of nor stand on for more than a split second under the best of circumstances. It was really impressive. They all played as well as I have ever seen them.
At night's end I wound up piloting the van for our out of town friends, who at that point had been drinking for a full fourteen hours. I was immediately reminded how lucky I am to have learned to drive in a 1977 Ford LTD. The guys were sprawled out in the back and the b.h., who is not a driver, was in the passenger's seat. We left our car downtown (no tickets on the Lord's Day), and headed home. Mostly when I am around a group of very loud, very drunk people, I am immediately irritated and whenever possible i run in another direction. This particular group of guys has the distinction of being both very tolerable and highly amusing, however, and I can't remember the last time I laughed as hard as I did on that ride.
Overheard in the van:
"That monkey bit my uncle Johnny on the head you know."
"Yeah, he was a mean summbitch. They wound up pumpin 'im with a thirty ought six after he got that mailman."
"He threw that mailman twenty feet they said. Put 'im in the hospital."
Not sure how that coversation started, but the b.h. and I spent some time in bed later trying to decide if the monkey was real, or if it was a private joke that they had launched into. As it turned out, the monkey was real, and he was a chimp, and the chimp lived in a neighborhood called - wait for it - Frog @lley. Back in the seventies. I don't know. But it was funny.
Then we pulled into the grocery store parking lot to grab some frozen pizzas. The van's lights went straight into a car that was parked with what appeared to be three teenaged guys sleeping in it. The b.h. and I left the van running and the band inside while we ran for the food. When we came out, the formerly sleeping guys were gone, and from the van all you could hear, across the whole parking lot, was loud Irish rock music (we think it was Flogging Molly) and raucous laughter. The ride ended with Johnny Paycheck's Colorado Kool Aid, and if you haven't heard that song you should really go find it. I laughed so hard I almost wrecked the van.
Yesterday was a mix of errand running and loafing around. It was really cold and really windy, but I have heard that it should be seventy degrees by Thursday. I hope that's the end of the cold, because we are just about out of firewood, and I hate to pay five bucks a bundle for it at the grocery store.
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