City Slickin’

Whoda thunk it? This little one horse town actually has a semblance of a night life. Here I am, getting ready to settle in to a perfectly good and badly needed bender when the phone rings. A pal says to head over to the hippie coffeehouse and check out these kids playing some weirded out bluegrass at open mic night. Pretty swanky. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard a mandolin, acoustic guitar and stand-up bass tear Freebird to shreds and lay into the riff from Stairway to Heaven to close out a fine gospel tune. Like I said, swanky. Then we cruised up to the default watering hole and had a couple of pints while listening to electrified blues courtesy of the Phipps Bros.

Not bad, crowds were relatively small, not too much smoke and fine tuneage for one and all. I challenge any city to provide such fine entertainment for free.

But how about old Martha Stewart? Ain’t that a kick in the pants? There’s a perfect word for this sort of poetic justice but in my semi-hungover state I can’t think of it.

Let’s see you decorate that jail cell bee-yotch! Maybe you can use soon-to-be-worthless Martha Stewart Omnimedia stock certificates.

Tyler Durden said it best, “Fuck Martha Stewart!”