I limp to my vehicle after visiting a friend, and make my way over to the corner of Cardinal and Locust, which was not a familiar route. I wound up parking about 5 blocks away, and started hobbling over to the club. As I tottered on, I was thinking, "Do I really know this person well enough to go through all this effort? I'm not even a big fan of the style of music." I met the boyo in the midst of a chase that wound out being nothing more than the basis for my manifesto. His friendship is arguably the best thing I got out of the experience.
I'm halfway to the destination when a little sprinkle begins. I've spent enough time in the great outdoors to know when weather is going to go from bad to worse. I run as fast as I can get my busted ass to run to the nearest shelter, which turned out to be the steeple doorway of the St. Francis Xavier College Church. As the drizzle turned to deluge, I found myself thankful for religion again, if only for environmental purposes. I haven't felt that way in a while. Funny the way things work.
While I have spent enough time outdoors to recognize when weather will get bad, I have not, apparently, spent enough time to know when the weather has actually come to the end of it's yarn. The monsoon slowed, and whereas the show was about to start, I had to get moving. I ventured out, and no sooner had 30 seconds passed than it started to pour again. So, here I am, drenched in a matter of seconds, broke, and pretty well lost. But! Detirmined still to reach my goal. (On a side note, if you ever find yourself walking home in the rain, and have nothing else to do with your day, just let it soak you. It feels wonderful.)
I stopped for a quick breather from the rain in a parking garage not far from the bar to which I was heading. I recognized it a few minutes later. It was the garage I had parked in the LAST time I saw this particalur friend. After wringing out my shirt, I asked directions to the bar. The rain stopped. Had I waited 5 more minutes at the church, I would have been perfectly dry. I shouted out, as was my wont, and trudged on.
I did finally make it to the venue, and even talked my way out of the cover. I met my friend, who loaded me down with free swag, to include a dry shirt. I met his friends, and I got to brag about my wound a little. While this meant no moshing during the show, I was still able to enjoy it.
The title of this rant comes from a strange occurance that happened in college. I went to go see Flogging Molly for the first time ever, and was actually pulled up on stage by one of their opening acts, Throw Rag. I was made to play washboard in front of a packed Blue Note. Back to the present. Near the end of the show, my friend (whom I have neglected to mention was now a part of the band,) pulled me up on stage and shoved a washboard in my hands. A packed bar, all moshing to part of my rhythm. It was exhilarating. I didn't pop any stitches, I had a fun time, and I became a little famous again.
I guess the point of this little story is that if you feel like you're going through a harrowing time for next to nothing, stick to it. You might end up having a lot of fun, or at least be a harder person for it. Have fun with life, and try new things.
The Goddamn Gallows Myspace.
-The0
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