Yeah, yeah, the blog series is finished. Good thing too because I was totally not on duty Halloween weekend. I dumped the observer’s eye. I took a few pictures Friday at the Little Bear (most of which aren’t very good). Saturday at Scruffy’s, my camera never came out of the bag.
I didn’t so much as think the word blog. Yet, how can I not write a little about the Little Bear, done up for Halloween, ghostly gauze floating over the wall of bras, the band relaxed and having a good time, happy fans crowding dance floor and stage?
It was like hanging out at a family reunion with the funnest relatives you never met.
You know all the songs I love by now, but I’ll admit–with six week’s between shows–Friday night, every song was my favorite.
Scruffy’s is different. There’s no place I’d rather be before midnight. It’s narrow, you think the dance floor is filled with five people until you get twenty-five on it. The stage is set low and Angus Mohr essentially plays in the middle of the crowd. It makes the audience participation songs like “Whiskey in the Jar” and “Drunken Sailor” extra fun, and even an introvert like me ends up friendly by default.
All of that went double at Saturday night’s costume bash where matadors kept company with a bunch of crayons, a satyr danced with his nymph, and Capitan Jack never once broke character.
Yet, once the witching hour passes the whole cart starts tipping on it’s rails, tension increases with the number of binge drinkers chumming through the silly-sloppy crowd, dead shark’s eyes shifting lazily for prey. The night becomes a race against imminent catastrophe…
…which the band always seems to win (despite Matt’s near beer shower and stripper cop strumming Paul’s bass).