Last night, for day 4, some buds and I headed to the Ice House to see a Bluegrass band.
There was an $8 cover, and the drinks weren’t cheap (but it was my own fault for committing to some very extreme pinot noir guzzling).
The venue has a real nice ambience, the low lighting that helps you stay off your phone–because when you look up from the extreme screen brightness, you are temporarily blind–and instead be present with your company.
I think this place would be great for a date.
We started upstairs, where it was harder to see/enjoy the band, and the waiter was slow and disengaged. He used an electronic phone-like device to take orders (when he rarely did take our order), and I was convinced he was texting right in front of us. Kids these days.
There was a hole in the wall next to our table, and after I searched it for any notes (there were none), I wanted to know what was on the other side of that mysterious wall. So I stuck my camera through and took a picture.
And we danced.
I twirled strangers, laughed and swayed, and after the band’s last song, we yelled ENCORE! So, for the grand finale, the band came out on the floor with us. I couldn’t stop staring at their fingers, moving so easily between chords. I also couldn’t stop staring at the main guitarist’s flesh-colored mustache.
As we waited for the cab to pull up, the bartender shot whiskey in our mouths via a mustard bottle. He also cured Krista’s hiccups. And again, I was fascinated by facial hair. I just couldn’t stop complimenting his beard.