Sam Miller's - So Sad

Saturday night we played at Sam Miller's, just the duo. When this was the Bus Stop, surely it had a bigger space for the band -- I bet in the room in the back. Now we had to push two tables up against the front window and squeeze in between the tables and the bar. It was tight for two people. At most, this place is suitable for a solo act or two guitars. A guitar and keyboards is pushing it.

As soon as the band started setting up, the few diners still there at 9 p.m. fled. That left two band girlfriends and another couple at the bar. The couple left at the break, so that left the two girlfriends, the bartender, and two people who came out from the kitchen for the last set. I think everyone was at Richbrau's as I could hear more noise coming through the brick wall from next door than inside Sam Miller's.

The menu is mostly fish and pretty expensive. I had the grilled Caesar's salad with shrimp. They actually grilled the lettuce, which was one piece about twice the size of a stalk of celery. Burnt lettuce is an acquired taste. I haven't acquired it yet. That was $6. ($6 for a piece of burnt lettuce! I love the music business.) Then the shrimp -- I think there were five of them -- was another $6. So that's $12! To deaden my senses, I had two beers, and I never drink. My husband had a hamburger and a Coke, so by the time we paid our check, I think we cleared $20 from that gig. Did I mention I love the music business?

For a restaurant, it's very lovely and romantic, with three or four different rooms all brick and cozy and elegant little tables. That may be why it's just not conducive to a late night, drunk and rowdy music crowd, although technically the bar area isn't that much smaller than Cary Street Cafe. You certainly don't go to Cary Street for fine food and a romantic, elegant atmosphere.

The Best Advice I Ever Got

You can’t replace something with nothing.
A little punk boy full of piercings and tattoos told me this when I was in my lowest, most depressed period and the clarity and reasoning of it was so monumental, it literally kept me alive through years of misery until, just as he promised, something came along.

I had paid a variety of therapists, from secular to theological, and never got such life-saving advice. The boyfriend is gone, and you just have to accept the fact that if having a boyfriend is important to you, things are going to suck until you find another one. If you don’t have a good job or even a job--and jobs are important to everyone--then things are going to suck until you get one. All you can do is develop the best coping strategies you can while you are in the Great Sucking Period of your life and not get fooled into thinking things will never get better so you might as well off yourself.

You never know how long it’s going to take, but things do get better. They just do. Eventually, the nothingness gets filled with somethingness. And looking back, I can see now that every turn was a turn for the better (because, really, how could it have gotten worse?) When you’re in the middle of it, you don’t see that part. As another old adage goes, when you’re down, there’s nowhere to go but up.

A Night at the Market Cafe

We went out to the Market Cafe in Innsbrook on Wednesday to check out the band since my husband was playing there the following night for the first time. There is a vast difference between playing the Cafe on Wednesday and playing it on Thursday. Namely, people. Wednesday we couldn't find a place to park because there was a show at the Innsbrook Pavilion, and even the Market Cafe was packed. I don't understand that. Why go there instead of the Pavilion?

On Thursday, without a show at the Pavilion, I think we just drew a few tables of people who knew the band somehow and few if any dinner or drinking regulars. You wouldn't go to the Cafe for dinner anyway unless you like dried up hot dogs and wilted salad bars. Parking was plentiful, unfortunately, but fortunately, you don't play for the door, but unfortunately, the Market doesn't pay a lot, but why should they when they couldn't have made that much money on food or beer. We were there five and a half hours and my husband made $45, so that's $8.18 an hour. I love the music business.

When we pulled up, John said, "Well, so much for the easiest load-in ever," because you could pull up right behind the stage, but there's no gate on the back of the fence. No problem. Everything was hoisted over the fence except the new bass amp which I wheeled down the sidewalk and then pushed through the patio maze of chairs. It was like playing Frogger.

The Market sells you a literal bucket of beer, a tin bucket full of ice and whatever. I remember Moondance used to sell you a bucket of Rolling Rock, but the buckets were smaller. These were big buckets, complete with a can opener. You could get a variety pack bucket with all sorts of things in it. That's cool, but I don't drink, so no bucket for me.

We were home about 10, which is great. I hate getting home at 3 a.m., especially on a school night. It was a very pleasant night, and being on an outdoor patio is a nice place to hear music, especially with no neighbors around to call the police.

My next outing probably won't be until September. My husband just booked a gig running sound for a band playing at the Bleu Bistro. Last time I was there, it was the Jewish Mother on Quioccasin, or maybe whatever came after. I've got my fingers crossed for something that isn't bar food. The band is Delilah Jones, a Grateful Dead cover band. I'm definitely going to need something more than chicken fingers and a paper cuplet of honey mustard sauce.