We do love us some Bishop Allen chez BLC. But with an 8 o’clock door and two bands playing beforehand? Well, I’ll be ordering coffee, not beer, at the bar, especially since I have to be two hours from here in another state by 10 am tomorrow, for a deposition in an asbestos lawsuit. But the BH and I are raring to go, regardless. I have my loafers, turtleneck sweater and Vera Bradley wristlet. The BH has his slip-on Clarks, khakis, and merino wool zip up cardigan.
Update: OK, we’re old. We get to the door, and the sign says the band we want to see won’t even go ON until 11:30. WTF? I mean, yes, I’m a hopeful assh*le who should know better, but still. They could post the time on the band or the venue website, right? I mean, don’t they figure out lineups in advance? Crank, crank, crank.
I was driving home after a productive therapy session last night, and this came on the radio like an aural acknowledgment of all the mental clarity I’ve been working towards.