I'm not negative.
I will not use my blog as a soap box or a formal bitching forum.
I'm simply giving the reader(s) an account of my life.
Last night, among many other activities, I met some friends at Bacchus. Bacchus is a bar downtown(that term is used loosely) that on the surface seems like a great place to go. The name alone suggests great wine, merriment, and the occasional orgy, all but one actually do occur.
The friends and I have decided Thursday night to be the best night to go since the bar is not full of drunken idiots(just us), and Thursday is open mic night. The open mic host, Allen, has long hair, a small jolly gut, plays guitar when no one else will play, and is quite merry. I guess you could say if there is a Bacchus there, it's him. Or at least a representation of him. Allen definitely portrays Bacchus in a much more flattering light than the crudely painted monstrosity hanging to the right of the bar.
So, last night I was able to hear the usual butchered Pink Floyd, Grateful Dead, Sublime, Talking Heads, and any other readily covered song with minimal chords and horrible singing. Luckily, I did not hear any Dave Mathews or Jack Johnson. I was able to hear two of my friends play open mic and there was actually some variety in the performances. I should be happy? I had the opportunity to hang out with friends, have an ale or two, and a laugh, so I should be happy? No.
We have decided to liven up the open mic night a little bit. Next week it's on.
We are planning to do an acapella---barber shop quartet style, maybe I'll play a song, and read a poem with psychedelic music playing behind me. It's at least something we were talking over. I'm just saying that Bacchus needs some lived blown back into him or else he's going to die from boredom exhaustion.
I will not use my blog as a soap box or a formal bitching forum.
I'm simply giving the reader(s) an account of my life.
Last night, among many other activities, I met some friends at Bacchus. Bacchus is a bar downtown(that term is used loosely) that on the surface seems like a great place to go. The name alone suggests great wine, merriment, and the occasional orgy, all but one actually do occur.
The friends and I have decided Thursday night to be the best night to go since the bar is not full of drunken idiots(just us), and Thursday is open mic night. The open mic host, Allen, has long hair, a small jolly gut, plays guitar when no one else will play, and is quite merry. I guess you could say if there is a Bacchus there, it's him. Or at least a representation of him. Allen definitely portrays Bacchus in a much more flattering light than the crudely painted monstrosity hanging to the right of the bar.
So, last night I was able to hear the usual butchered Pink Floyd, Grateful Dead, Sublime, Talking Heads, and any other readily covered song with minimal chords and horrible singing. Luckily, I did not hear any Dave Mathews or Jack Johnson. I was able to hear two of my friends play open mic and there was actually some variety in the performances. I should be happy? I had the opportunity to hang out with friends, have an ale or two, and a laugh, so I should be happy? No.
We have decided to liven up the open mic night a little bit. Next week it's on.
We are planning to do an acapella---barber shop quartet style, maybe I'll play a song, and read a poem with psychedelic music playing behind me. It's at least something we were talking over. I'm just saying that Bacchus needs some lived blown back into him or else he's going to die from boredom exhaustion.
1 comment:
If I didn't have to work Friday morning, I'd totally go this Thursday and read some poems and rock Bacchus's loincloth off with you. (Ugh, that sounded better in my head...)
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