Good lord. Rules. So many rules I just broke.
Here are some of my general policies:
- Maintain a two drink maximum. After that I am sleepy, and just plain dumb.
- Don’t dance on the furniture. Seriously. Don’t be that girl.
- Hanging out in dark alleys after midnight is a bad idea.
- No singing along with the band, unless the band requests it. Because it annoys people.
Tonight was Yarn at the Pour House. And I broke all of the above rules, and a couple of others. And I am not even a little bit sorry.
1) I exceeded the two-drink rule. We started with cocktails on the porch swing, because it was a gorgeous night, and a Friday, while a bunch of us had some girl talk. I had to invent a new cocktail called “Cowboy Blues.” It’s just a straight-up rum and coke, with little cherries cut into heart shapes. And you put it into the most mismatched and tacky assortment of glasses you can find. Because who the hell even cares what you’re drinking out of, when the cowboy you want is off talking to Some Blonde at a bar? But we made it from rum I brought back in my suitcase from Barbados, years ago, and it tasted like island. It was damn good.
2) I danced. I danced on the on the furniture. Because it was Yarn. How do you not dance on the furniture, when it’s Yarn? And as a rule I don’t dance, other than the occasional sway-along-to-the-music scenario. But when the music takes hold, all bets are off. I shook things in public last night which I generally don’t shake at all. And it felt great.
3) Hanging out in dark alleys is a fantastic idea, if it’s the Pour House. Sure, you have to hug the wall any time someone walks by, but on a mild mid-summer night, it’s a fantastic place to people-watch.
4) I don’t know about the rest of my music people, but I am hoarse today from all the singing. The show was magic, friends. This Raleigh crowd loves some Yarn. They did three full sets, from about 9:30 until way after 2 a.m. The first set was straight-up Yarn, and the second set was Grateful Dead. Flawless. By the last set, the crowd was so worked up that I feared the band would be held captive down here on this North Carolina stage and never be allowed to return home to Brooklyn. Which, frankly, would be fine with me. They were good sports about it, and they sang us all the way from Sweet Carolina, to Abilene.
Y’all come back soon. We’ll try and behave until then. But I’m not making any promises.