November 23, 2013
The cross-stitched sign read “Do not do
coke in the bathroom." It was posted conspicuously between the two restrooms in
the downtown Minneapolis Irish Pub. It is difficult to image why there has to
be a banner, stating the obvious.
At some point in the evening, my friend
turned and asked me about my purse, sitting on her side of the table.
Evidently, the guy across the divider between our tables had reached over and
attempted to grab my bag. Minutes after we entered the bar and sat down, there
was an enormous crash. That same young man had toppled over in his thick wooden
stool backwards. Young men have no changed much since I was there age, or so it
appears. They drank until they became like a pack of howling dogs, following their
natural instincts and turning into idiots.
The singer/guitarist/harmonica player is
my friend’s nephew. She insists he should audition for The Voice, although his
craggy voice and Dylan-like appearance doesn’t seem like a good fit for The
show, from what I gather. His friend from High School, a grade younger than
him, is an incredible fiddler. They tore-up the hotel-soap-sized stage as we drank
decaf Irish coffee and White Russians. It is a heart-saturating pleasure to witness
a coupla guys, fulfilling their dream, doing what they love and magnetizing a following.
I declared we are the band groupies. The CD comes out December 14th.
The only thing left to do is design and produce t-shirts to get with the program.
I will let you know where to sign up.
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