My wife and I were invited to a 40th birthday party for a friend of ours from the kids’ school. It was a real fun time, held at a small dance studio, we learned some salsa steps. I think it would be a great place to have a party, maybe we’ll do Mary Ann’s next milestone there.
So a lot of friends are there, not all are particularly close to us, but people we both enjoy hanging out with. One guy I talk music with is Kevin, he plays guitar in a band called Bender. I started telling about a gig we played the night before at a school in Orinda.
Here are the pertinent facts:
The band sounded great – all the parts were tight.
The PA (weeks old) was absolutely dialed in. I heard every note everyone played or sang.
The crowd danced with zeal – I’d say 90% participation.
We got paid up front.
It’s times like these you remember, I was brimming with pride.
Back to the salsa party. After a couple drinks, mingle, hang out – I end up with Mary Ann and a small group of people including Kevin and his wife. Someone asks me how the band’s doing and I’m ready to launch in with my gig story from the previous night, but before I can get much more than a couple of words out, Mary Ann, a little too eager to provide her take on things, lets it be known that it was a dance for a Brownie troop. It was actually a father-daghter dance for the troop our keyboard player’s girl belongs to.
OK, so I have a little egg on my face, but you know, it kind of tasted like an omelette. I hadn’t mentioned to Kevin that the 7-10 year olds were screaming like Beatlemania when we played, nor that we signed autographs whn we finished. So I took my lumps, maybe blushed just a little bit, but you know what? I’d play that one over a dog gigs where the crowd doesn’t give a shit or dance.
Feel the love! BCO!