Autumn? Really?...

It’s fall. Suddenly, after over a month of hot, dry weather where rain came a drop at a time, once every other week, the sky broke. Yesterday was an eternity of grey skies, cold weather, and water falling from the sky steadily, at a medium pace. Something shattered in the air, and summer evaporated like a long, sad dream. My mood matched my mien matched my energy matched the sky. My best friend gone, a mediocre sales day at best, too tired to feel excited even about my impending trip to see Chris Thile and the Punch Brothers, I was very pleased when I finally got to Orpheus’ place. He offered to use his discount at a local restaurant chain associated with his place of work before the concert.…

I understand that this sounds kind of sketchy, but it’s the kind of chain that’s run by restaurateurs, and no two of the places has the same menu, or even price points. What they share is management, buying power, and a commitment to higher-class kitchen technique, local produce sourcing when possible, etc… I had a lovely open-faced breakfast sandwich. It was an English muffin bearing up butter-sautéed “Mediterranean” veggies (tomato, caper, artichoke, olive, onion, etc.), in turn shouldering beautifully poached eggs. This whole was served with a side of Mornay sauce, though I have never heard of a mornay with mustard added. Despite said heresy, however, it was delicious, and the copious amounts of coffee I consumed alongside dinner did help immensely with my little problem re: wakefulness. However, the kitchen was so fast, that we felt like no sooner had we warmed our seats than we were back out on the street, cold and wet, and still waiting for the theatre to open up the street about a block.

We took a walk, and got back about the time the doors opened. The crowd was very small, probably because the Punch Brothers have a very odd following for a band as modish as they happen to be. It’s half ancient bluegrass hippie-types, and half hipsters that tend to make it out to see Thile in his scarecrow-like glory. And no self-respecting hipster is going to show up on time to a concert, as that would be too too, if you get my drift. Also, one benefits from not hearing the caterwauling of what is usually already a local scene band for acts of this size. Unfortunately, this meant the show started with a depressingly empty theatre, and as there was no opening act, little energy. However, the Punch Brothers being as talented as they are, drew from some deep well in themselves, and really pulled out a great show. This was helped when the younger, rowdier, more standing-capable trustafarians in glowing cashmere and filthy denim showed up and began giving some energy back to the band.

Now, if you haven’t heard the Punch Brothers, think Nickel Creek, but purer, closer to the Thile bluegrass ideal, albeit quite modern. Think brilliant arpeggios, deft single-line melody, stunning rhythmic reversals at the end of phrases, and perfect balance between instrumental elements. It’s a string band, and the closest they get to percussion is a standing bass, but are vibrantly rhythmic nonetheless. Also, think mind-numbing, Enlightenment/Baroque/Clockwork/French cooking-style precision laced through it all. Plus, the violinist is a really hot bearded guy stuck in the attractive place between otter and bear, who occasionally throws in gratuitous little pelvic thrusts while playing. O. and I find him utterly au charmant (sp?). I didn’t get to the concert anything but full and sleepy, but by the end, I was energized. We took a walk, as it had cleared up and cooled down a little, then watched some third season Drawn Together before going to bed. Unfortunately, by the time Orpheus decided he wanted to spelunk in my underworld, I was too far gone, and had to refuse, which sucks… He rarely initiates sex. But I think that falling asleep while my lover was inside me would’ve been more traumatic than a simple refusal of services in the first place.

Tonight, we may go dancing. It’s been awhile. Fortunately, we first have a date to nap through rush-hour at his place. The season is changing, I start roleplaying in D+D’s new 4.0 edition tomorrow, for the first time in Madison without Bulgaria as a companion. But it’s cooler and more pleasant, and I’ll see him again. Change is just change, and I’m damn near permanent… At least, relatively… Fuck.