My daughter is a music artist. She sings. Boy does she ever. She’s really good. It’s not just that I’m her mother. There’s nothing worse (in my book…) than a loud obnoxious, kvelling mother goin on incessantly about her talented child but…others agree and, She gets paid for her art. She sings every Sunday at a church, though she’s not religious. She sings at weddings and parties and even funerals and in night clubs and session work. She’s in a couple of bands and on occasion does a solo gig. People love her music because she’s so damn talented. (Small boast). I try to attend her shows whenever possible because number one I love watching her perform and two, it’s my proud motherly opportunity to show off her talent. Okay I do kvell.
Last night was no exception. It was an early show, 5:30-8:30 at Bangers, a rowdy brew pub on loud, crowded Rainey Street downtown here in Austin. I should’ve know better than to ask my friends or our family to join me. My daughter said it would be kid friendly so we should ask my son and DIL to bring my four year old granddaughter and I might also take my daughter’s nine year old grandson.
At 4:45pm I stuffed some of those foam ear plugs in the pockets of my baggy pants, coerced my grandson to turn off Minecraft (that was a chore) and off we drove to the crowded street. It was a no go in finding a parking space so I flagged down a valet from across the street to take my car. He dodged opposing traffic to grab my key fob. The noise outside was deafening. I instructed grandson to pop the plugs into his ears as I did the same. It was only slightly better but onward we walked to the pub.
I cringed at the thought my granddaughter would soon be having to deal with the cacophony let alone the crowd of young people getting progressively pissed (drunk) as my daughter’s bank played yacht rock tunes.
The place was packed. I cajoled a friendly looking couple to share their picnic table with us and looked around for my friends and relatives who I half hoped would be bowing out before attempting parking or braving this crazy place.
Soon my son and his family arrived. My little granddaughter was sporting hot pink noise cancelling ear muffs. She looked like a baby doe in headlights, poor thing. Did I mention I fucking hate crowds? It’s not because I’m a crotchety old lady (though that might be debatable at least by my kids). I’ve always detested mob scenes, especially the drunken ones.
I know, you’re probably wondering if I am actually a homebody. Not really. I’m good for going out to a club for good music and dancing. I just want to be able to…hear the music and be able to keep myself from being the recipient of spilled drinks or slipping on vomit on the dance floor. Simple.
Did I mention the show was to be over at 8:30? At 6pm, my family, with grandson in tow (I’d pick him up later) got the hell out of too loud Dodge. At 7 my friends and I had had enough so we split.
I reached the valet, slipped him a tip, got in the car, removed my earplugs, rolled up the windows while simultaneously turning the a/c on “greenhouse gas be damned” high to then head for my son’s house to pick up grandson. Thankfully they had fed him since there was no way we had service at the chaotic pub and dealing with a nine year old hyperactive nine year old is something beyond my ability to monitor my own sanity. I must be too old for this.
Tomorrow is another day. Have a good one.