4th Street Live! Unisleeves and Basketball

I'm slaphappy tired today from running errands all morning and afternoon and not getting much sleep at all last night.

The Hard Rock Cafe show was super-fun. I did not get the box of puppies as request on my rider, but I did have a bottle of Maker's Mark sitting in the green room for me and lots of good food. Who knew the Hard Rock had such yummy nachos? And broccoli? And smashed potatoes? And fancy fruity cocktails?

If you are a Louisvillian who avoids the Hard Rock because of it's association with 4th Street Live! and commercialism, you should re-think that when it comes to hearing live music. It's an intimate venue, and the acoustics are awesome. They also don't skimp on the sound system, so it's really one of the better places in town to hear a concert.

But, of course, there's the other side to 4th Street Live!

Post-show, I met some friends for one cocktail upstairs at one of the bizarro clubs. We'd put together a scavenger hunt the night before that included things such as: a girl dancing on the bar, a uni-sleeve tank top, a server offering fruity shots from her cleavage, and other such oddities. It was an unofficial hunt, but we pretty much crossed everything off the list. The music was mostly horrible, except for that Beyonce single that I think kinda rocks and some Violent Femmes thrown in for good measure.

The strangest thing about the whole night was watching these idiotic women -- customers, not servers -- pole dancing in their mini-skirts, while pretty much everyone else in the room was trying to watch the Syracuse/UCONN game.

I was tired, but thought, hey, I'll just stick around for one cocktail and see who wins.

And two hours and six overtimes later, I finally went home.

Holy crap, did anyone else see that game?

Rob and Brian of The Muckrakers are on their way to pick me up for our show tonight at the Boone County Library, so I should sign off for now. I'm still irritated that they didn't want to leave earlier so we could go to The Creation Museum.

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