Dear Friends Ken and Elsie, if you read this:
You totally missed out on awesome.
I woke up this morning with a terrible hangover. Had gone out to an art gallery opening last night with the Ceramics Crew, and then joined Leonie and Gabe for drinks at 83 Proof. I blame Leonie: she kept encouraging refills on my bourbon, and before I knew it I was three sheets to the wind and four drinks down in a two-hour period. (I also thank Leonie, since she was nice enough to foot the bill on my drunkenness. I owe you a few, girl — and it's good to see you again.) Cabbed it home and could barely see straight when I walked in the door.
The rainy gray day I (eventually) woke up to was perfect; I ended up just staying in bed until past noon, emerging every once in a while to down another glass of water. By the time I rolled out of my apartment, say around 5:30 or so, the rain had reduced down to a heavy mist, and the Giants-Phillies game was well under way. Stopped at the local Toast Eatery, watched a few innings over a BLTA and almost felt like a real San Franciscan (in a good way, Geof ... not in a douche way). It was a good night for Bay Area sports.
The Trashcan Sinatras played tonight at Cafe du Nord's upstairs venue, the Swedish American Hall. I'd never been there, didn't know what to expect, but it was a nice experience. No drinks, but it's a quaint interior, and the sound was fantastic from my second-row-back seat. Was chatting with a few of the TCS-regulars (the band has a small, but fairly rabid following ... so you go to enough shows, you start to see the same people over and over again, which is awesome), and realized that I'd been a fan of these guys full on half my life. I suppose that's not such a big achievement, except for the fact that they're still around, still making music, and I'm still able to see them live. Also, they are still fucking awesome; every time I go see them in concert, it reminds me once more why they are my favorite band of all time.