It’s the winter solstice. The moon was eclipsed last night. The festival of lights is upon us. I do so wish you were here to watch the days grow longer with me. You know who you are. Anyone I have ever loved, I love still, and I do so wish you were here. That includes the critters.
We stay home during the “winter holiday” and travel on the highway of poignancy and nostalgia that is in our hearts.
Sometimes a person has to travel for love. Imagination is not adequate. Pulled towards it at 10 miles above the limit. Towards live music and a band that brings it in spades. I could hear it way far off in the future, up the road, and needed to run towards it. Run. That’s what happened in November, when the days were still waning and I needed a pick-me-up. Had to hit the road for love.
We were there. At the Bell House. In Brooklyn. For a dip into the Brooklyn Flea followed by a dive into the Bloodshot showcase featuring the beloved Bottle Rockets (see them above and Roscoe, too). We were a roadtripping trio, Seemeen-o-wich, Along-for-the-Ride Hei7di and me. In custom Bottle Rockets shirts, made by shamelessly self-promoting ME.
The food at the gig was damn tasty, cooked by The Good Fork, and we watched Decent e eat a sandwich. The show was long. And started early. Five bands. Five lively bands. And by the time we were riding back to Newark, we were hungry again and on the prowl for the bad fork. Two roads diverged at the yellow line, and we took the one most traveled by.
The fork that lead to White Mana!
It was a bad, bad fork. So forking bad it was GOOD!