I celebrated Fat Tuesday in style at Ti Couz crepery tonight. All the staff were dressed as pirates and one of the chefs was a pirate bride in white silk. He looked lovely. I think food tastes better when it’s cooked by pretty boys in dresses and Sylvie, proprietress of Ti Couz, agreed with me when we discussed it at the end of the evening. After dinner, I retired to the bar where I consumed two small pitchers of dry cider while clapping my hands and stomping my feet to the music of Rube Waddell.
Friends, let me tell you, Rube Waddell are indeed the salt of the earth and they can rub it in my wounds any ol’ time. They pleased me mightily tonight. I flirted with the Mahatma – who is so damn good at it, was unable to stop my body from moving to the rhythm of the right Reverend’s beats, and was delighted by the Captain’s skill with sousaphone, ukelele, and, oh baby, the Harmonica. Now it’s midnight, I’m listening to “Salt of the Earth” one more time – yes, Reverend, that must make 41 times since Sunday midday when I dredged myself out of bed after seeing the last show – and wishing they could be just starting up their set despite my hands being sore from clapping and the fact that the alarm will be going off in less than 7 hours.
Good music reminds you why life is worth living.