Boba, a Prairie Home Companion Band and no V

It was a night of mayhem. Well, not really. That's almost as bad as beginning a story with "it was a dark and stormy night." It wasn't actually or metaphorically. Partner and I saw a band at a church (yep, a church, try not to faint) but it wasn't a Jesus band; it was a band made up of very talented people singing folk music. Folk music. Not my kind of music by far, but Partner really enjoyed it. See, we had planned a date night, if you will. First, it was off to Boba House for some nifty vegetarian food (yum, although it messes with my tummy; I've got sensitive insides) then off to the concert (free! b/c Partner got tickets through the library) and then off to see "V for Vendetta" (again!). We made it to dinner and the band. The band was, hmmnnn, good. Interesting. Different. First, it was in a church, albeit a Presbyterian one, and this one called itself "Progressive" which, who knows their actual definition of the word; needless to say, I felt uncomfortable. I don't like churches. I feel out of place, and like everyone can see that I don't believe. Ah well. To each his or her own. Nevertheless, the band was good, talented, interesting. But there was something about sitting in a pew listening to a band play many songs, some patriotic in nature, others were obviously some sort of Jesus song. I knew none, but appreciated their talent. Think "Prairie Home Companion" on NPR and you can imagine the folkiness of the music. I'm definitely not a PHC fan, but Partner liked it a lot. So much in fact, that he didn't want to leave, but we did so, and never made it to the movie. My nose was stuffy, my tummy felt funny, and I had a bad taste in my mouth from the soyish sauce that was used on my vegetables. V for Vendetta would have to wait.
However, I did find out that this church would be hosting the author of "Misquoting Jesus" on April 3. But this is baseball opening night for Partner, and he even asked off of work to be home to watch. This is also my dad's birthday, and a day in which I partake in a ritual of sorts: I go to one of his favorite restaurants (Cracker Barrell, Chili's, Outback, Piccadilly's Cafeteria among others) and then watch his favorite film of all time: Casablanca. I don't really know what else to do on his birthday, but I feel he must be honored as if he were here, so I do what he'd want to do, especially since I rarely granted him the watching of "Casablanca." I was a teenager, and I just didn't appreciate the wonder that is a classic film with amazing acting. But the problem comes in b/c I also want to see the speaker of this book which father would NOT consider to be something he would do on his birthday. So, I will go with the traditional dinner and a movie: food and film, his two favorite things.

But that is a ways off; I hope I will be able to talk Partner into partaking with me. I'm sure he will, after his baseball of course. Anyway, I've been thinking about the following phrase: word slut. I want to use it as a title for a poem, but I'm not sure what it is about yet. Current mood is: numbish, perhaps just bored. I was looking forward to writing on this blog tonight, but now can vaguely remember what it was I so desperately wanted to share. Blah. That's the name of the cloud around me.