Perfect Date

I am dealing with the fact that I love this town. After I took a beautifully sunny bike ride on our old one speed along the beach to dance class, Chickzilla met me and we had a lovely dinner at a nice restaraunt. The fancy dinner unplanned, we sported old jeans, flip flops, and hoodies- my hair twisted in sweaty loose braids. Later, slightly tipsy, we wandered down Pacific Ave and were delighted to encounter a jug band, the Dandelion Junk Queens, pounding out some truly racous music on the saw, washtub bass, washboard, and, dear to my heart, accordian. They played pirate songs and Krass covers. Then they played a waltz and we danced on the sidewalk, joined by two fellows travelling with the band. I was struck by the romance of their dirty carharts, bandanas hanging off their belt loops, piercings, loudly tapping boot heels, grubby hats, their freedom. After rolling a smoke from one of the waltzing fellows, we dropped a few dollars in their can, and sashayed down the street. In one of my fantasy parallel universes, I am am on a street corner, singing my heart out with the accordian, busking for a few dollars to buy a pint of whiskey or find my way home.

Check them out:

the Dandelion Junk Queens