If I could somehow make House of Blues take human shape, I would punch him right in the eye. "Mr. Blues, you are an offense to music itself," I would say, while gleefully kneeing his groin.
As my folks and I arrived at the House of Blues tonight to hear Keslinger play, we gaped at the line stretching around the building. They hadn't let anybody in yet at 6 o'clock--surely they wouldn't have Keslinger play right at 6. As we went inside to pick up our useless tickets at will call, I heard the familiar chordal stylings of our boys. Sure enough, they were already a good way into their set.
Instead of going outside to wait in the line (which was made much worse by the insanely cold temperatures), we decided to stay in where we could actually hear them play. And because the line outside wasn't coming in yet, they sure as heck wouldn't let us past the rope inside. Someone finally took pity on us, and we got to see them on stage for about 30 seconds of their last song, but that's it.
As we left, it looked like the line hadn't moved at all. Nobody saw them. *sigh*
My brother said nearly every person he knew who bought tickets ($28 tickets, at that) to see Keslinger did not get to see them. Yes, I would elbow the House of Blues in the solar plexus toot sweet.
On the plus side, my folks and I went and ate at Harry Caray's after we left HOB, and I had the distinct pleasure of ingesting some of the finest steak ever. Savory juices exploding out of every bite, it was the kind of steak that makes you realize how great life really is. Mmmm... steak.
So that's it, I guess. House of Blues - 0, Steak - 1.
2 comments:
Wow. Thanks to the amazingly accurate translation power of Babelfish, I know that what Peter said means this:
that sons of putas jodan estes, me cago in their jodidas expensive faces of picha.
Right on, Peter. Right on.
Dang. And after all my ballot stuffing!
Dennis
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