On Friday night, Berta and I went out with Stan, Judy, Jay, and Kelly to dinner and a Rusted Root concert.
It’s been a while since Berta and I were out to a concert. The last one was Puddle of Mudd. Puddle of Mudd is one of those bands where you have to be careful who you tell for fear of ridicule. Rusted Root isn’t one of those bands around here, but I remember there was some derision back in college about it, simply because they’re local to Pittsburgh. For example, I’ve met people around here that felt the same way about Live, who are from the Hershey/Lancaster area.
We somehow managed to pack the kids into the van and get to Stan’s just after 6, which I thought would be nearly impossible. Berta did a great service by getting out of work early to pick up Abby from school and get home. We even beat Stan home from work!
We left the kids with Stan’s kids and their grandparents, who seemed like very nice people. They were happy to have a little one to take care of, since their grandchildren are getting more grown up. Johnnie’s hair certainly qualifies under that descriptor.
We took off in Judy’s SUV, Stan driving, Berta trying her best not to observe the distance to the bumper of the car in front of us. There was some difficulty making it through traffic to get to the restaurant on time, and we traversed many back-roads on our way into Philly. Stan drove Judy’s SUV over a median at one point, scraping the mud flap running board as he did. Judy regaled us with the tale of the bottle opener that impaled her seat when Stan sat down with it in his back pocket. I think Judy’s car gets the brunt of Stan’s abuse.
We arrived at the Spaghetti Warehouse only a few minutes late and met Jay and Kelly. It was surprisingly easy to get into on a Friday night. We had food and conversation. During dinner, my knife leapt animatedly from my hand, off my plate, and onto the floor, splattering my shirt with red sauce. Hey, who’s idea was this pasta business, anyway?
Off to the concert.
Outside the gate there were some large men selling ‘shrooms and extacy, from which we abstained. Inside the gate, I was frisked so thoroughly by security, we both had to have a cigarette afterward.
The Electric Factory was not too busy when we got there, but it eventually filled up. I did not realize that the opening acts were actually members of Rusted Root performing their own solo projects. That’s pretty weird. I guess if you break up and then re-form, you get this sort of thing.
We had drinks. I think that the only time I’m near shots is when I’m with Stan. Somehow I get roped into that. Yeah, I know, I wasn’t complaining.
The music was great. The band wasn’t as full as it once was, but it was more than competant. It was as energetic as I remembered from our previous Rusted Root concerts. (Yeah, there was more than one before this one.) I’ve been absentmindedly humming the tunes all weekend. Among my favorites: Food and Creative Love and Martyr.
Hey, I this just occurred to me: On the way out to the car, someone in the crowd grabbed my butt. No, it wasn’t Berta - I’m not sure who it was. But I had some strange dreams last night about Chris Bledsoe, and he was the one who started that whole butt-grabbing thing when we were at the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies concert, which was probably the last time I was at the Electric Factory. Weird, no? (Yes, Chris grabbed my butt. Yes, he was a little strange.)
Back at the Konaga’s house, Abby and Riley were dead to the world. We loaded them up in the car and drove home to get a few hours sleep before our meeting with Father Steve. Ooh, boy!
Berta and I like hanging out with Stan and Judy – We’ve been to a few concerts together. Since my other friends mostly don’t share my musical tastes, it’s nice to have someone with whom to go out to these places on occasion.
I’ll have to remember to invite Stan down for this year’s birthday party. Grilled meat and Golden Monkey. Mmm.
