Last Night at Half Moon Bay

Last night I went to Half Moon Bay to see Prof. Susanna B and Grad Student Brett R play rock n roll music. SB is what I want to be when I grow up; she looks like a rock star, she plays bass like a rock star, and her Classical scholarship is rock star.

Cameron's Pub on a Thursday night: is that what a social life means when your older? There's something depressing and disquiting and indecorous about dads acting like butterflies.

For example, there was one dad-aged man who entangled me in a conversation last night, before I even knew what hit me. He asked me if I've ever been to this town 90 miles east called L___. Before I could say Jimminy Cricket, he plunged into this long account of how that land was settled by Black Sea Cassocks: Cassocks relocated to the Black Sea by Catherine the Great to be a buffer between her and Napoleon's oncoming army (I know; WTF), and then relocated again to Dakota by Napoleon. My interlocutor's grandfather was one of these Napoleonic soldiers, he said, which would mean my interlocutor was like 160 years old. Fuckin A. Why do people tell me these stupid yarns?

I'm greatly indebted to James C for rescuing me. If he hadn't strolled by when he did, I may still be sitting there like a jerk, cursing myself.