and endured getting lost in downtown Dayton to see Larry Kirwin and Black 47, the incredible indie Celtic-punk-rock band, who like the incredible Jeff Tweedy and Wilco has done their own thing without regard to the popular music industry, but unlike My Jeff Tweedy in that Black 47 is revolutionary (as in Michael Collins, Easter Rebellion, Irish Revolutionary),
and do you have any idea, any idea at all how hard it is after eating the patty melt and those pub fries, which I did not realize came smothered in cheese, and drinking those Two-Hearted Ales, do you have any clue how tough it is to dance an Irish reel in one square foot of space, in front of giant speakers, to a tempo of 120 when you're whoozy and bloated and trying not to bump into the people passing by on their way to the smoking tent,
and can you understand how exciting it is when you, the Middle-Aged Hippie Lacrosse Mom, do win the t-shirt, but in your glory of trying to get your prize, some punk, young enough to be your grandson says to you,
I think you should take the X-large, maam.
WT...?
Dude, do you know anything at all about women?
At least the evening ended well:
It's almost St. Paddy's Day. Get yourself some Black 47:
