I admit to a love-hate relationship with The Whip, and we�ve been having our troubles, that�s for certain, mainly because Larry insists upon playing bad blues on Mondays and on having hour-long 70s flashbacks at 8 am each morning. And he insists upon putting Pork on the air on Tuesday evenings. Plus no one ever replied to my polite e-mail inquiry about location of the bar at which the benefit show was being held. Not that I�m making a list.
The venue was a sports bar on the east edge of Bloomington near the airport, in a semi-industrial sort of area surrounded by new housing developments.
In all the radio commercials, Larry failed to mention it would be an outdoor concert, so it was a bit of a surprise to be directed out the back door of the building. Then we noticed the stage at the far edge of the property. At the distant edge of the vast sand pit.
But it was early, so we took a seat at a patio table and watched the scene with amazement. We agreed it felt like we were at a bad wedding reception�all the tanned, bejeweled people floating about in strange pastel beach or golf clothes, talking to friends from junior league and the country club.
We stuck to our table and our $3 drafts of Miller Lite until the opening band wrapped up and the Commonwealth boys finished preparations. Off came the shoes and into the sand pit we went. We politely stayed behind the row of children on blankets, but there would be no sitting. It was a lovely night�perfectly temperate, no bugs, nice view of the Big Dipper off to the left of the stage, the north star overhead, and Cassiopeia to the right.
Eventually the rest of the C-U contingent and the radio station groupies traveled up front. The band was fabulous, undeterred by the flock of socialites back on the patio, drinking and whooping it up amongst themselves, once we, the riffraff, got out of their way.
What a marvelous band. My devotion is renewed. Scott was busy signing and talking to drunken devotes after the show, so after paying our respects, we hung around with our feet in the sand and stars in our eyes and let the rest of the band chat us up, wishing we could drag the evening out and on.
Yeah. I think I�ll be sticking around. I have new rear wheel cylinders. I can stop whenever I wish.