I went to see Yerba Buena with my friend and her brother at the 9:30 club last night. And, damn, was it a good show. I was a dancin' fool... I wish it had been a longer set. My only complaint of the evening was that it was also a thousand degrees in the club. It was upstairs and as far as I could tell un-air conditioned. There were a few fans scattered about, but they were just not doing the job. By the time the show was over I was literally dripping with sweat. Okay, actually, I have a second complaint. Cash. Only. Bar. I'm just a never-have-cash kinda person. I had exactly one drink, and then only because my friend's brother took pity on me. Which may have been a good thing considering how dehydrated I was by the end of the night.
I was all amped up when we left the club, but by the time we'd waited for the bus and rode it to 18th street and walked home I couldn't even be bothered to hit up Chief Ike's. When I stepped into the elevator I almost wondered if I'd ended up in Chief Ike's after all. There's nothing quite like getting home and finding two empty cans of Bud Light (keeee-rist, who drinks Bud Light?), dead butts, and the cellophane from a packet of cigarettes lining the floor of the elevator. I mean, come on, people, if you're going to have guests, make sure they're housebroken.