So, my workmate texts me a note and says that another workmate’s band is playing at the Irish pub down the street. This particular workmate is also the drummer for the ridiculously amazing Treasure State, a super funny guy, and basically awesome. I sneak out of The Showbox by buying a CD during the encore and then stepping out the door with the last note of the last song and make my way down the hill a few blocks to the pub.
I had no idea what to expect, but I should have realized his band was going to be an Irish punk band like Dropkick Murphy’s or Flogging Molly. I’ve forgotten their name in my post-debauchery-sober-hangover state, but it was something to do with rats. Musically, it was Irish music. Probably really fun to play. Nothing ridiculously inspiring, but somewhat fun to dance to (yes, I did.) He was starting to tell me the story of how he got involved with such a project but we got interrupted by a cadre of inebriated folks while we were checking out his amazing van (mood lighting!) and listening to my favorite OWLS song without a tinge of sadness for the past life it always reminds me of (“I know what I have to do and do it!” could now be my anthem for Awesome 2009). That is the best sentence I have ever written, which is good, because I spent the next three hours hanging out with English teachers. We discussed politics and economics and music and all kinds of stuff while I helped the married one to hide quarters in people’s pockets (reverse pickpocketing). It was good times.
After the pub closed, one of the band members hosted an “afterparty” at his loft apartment (condo?) merely a block away. The apartment reminded me that I want to sell this piece of crap house and move into something more exciting and less “mow the lawn and build a whole damn kitchen for no reason.” People sat around for quite a while and played guitar and sang songs, which is something that people that play Irish music do, I assume. It was pretty rad. Also, they had an old Bop-it there, which is pretty fun. It was proposed that the Treasure State drummer and I do Waiting Room by Fugazi, but I didn’t know enough lyrics so that proposal never worked out.
In all, my evening was a complete adventure. Rock show, Irish Pub, after party. At 3 AM or so I started making my way back to the amazing free parking spot I got only a block from The Showbox. I love my city when it’s quiet and sleeping. The golden brown of the streetlights making everything seem warm even when a cold breeze is blasting against my face. That same breeze toying with random scraps of paper and tossing plastic bags into trees to hang like ghosts. The neon lights advertising a market that no one could possibly be thinking about visiting at this time of the morning.
It was a glorious night and an excellent continuation of the general awesomeness that has been 2009. I’m learning to look for this sort of stuff instead of look for all the things that make my life appear terrible. This will be the most important thing I’ve learned my whole life.
I have now spent all of no-internet day on the internet, so it’s time for me to go shop for a mattress or clean the bathroom or pay my bills or play piano for a while or work son school stuff so I can work on the rally car tomorrow or perhaps call some folks and work on my fledgling friendships. Then, another show tonight!