A lovely, relaxed show; and, as always, a gut-punishing trip to the Wiener’s Circle.
I managed to get to the Wiener’s Circle just in time; during the day, they’re severe and haughty, and scornful if you don’t order right; at night, they turn cruel and excoriate the drunken post-bar crowd. One time I walked in after the gig and the girl yelled, “Yo, ROGAINE! What the FUCK do you WANT?!”
This time I ordered a char-dog with everything but pickles, tomatoes, and hot peppers. The girl said: “So you want it with grilled onions, mustard, relish, and celery salt?” Yes. “Hm. Order it like that next time, OK?” Yes, ma’am.
I did the show stoned on their cheese fries. So delicious, but afterward my gut cried: What did we do to you? After all those protein shakes, I thought we had patched up our relationship?!
Show was fun, too; lots of good heckling which led to improvised mic patter. One guy yelled out, “Paint your guitar! It’s Packers colored!” Which led to a long discourse about my entire discography being actually a concept album about Brett Favre.