Jul26
As I sit here on my leather couch watching Othello (a movie based on dated literature about a tortured moor from Venice) I reflect on my weekend. Alongside good friends, I endeavored upon a voyage to a state south of the Mason-Dixon Line, Virginia. This trek, of sorts, had a purpose — the concert of one, Brad Paisley. I must admit, I am not terribly familiar with most of the works of Mr. Paisley, however I was willing to test the waters and attend his performance in Northern Virginia’s Nissan Pavillion. I’m sure some of you have never been to a country concert before, so please allow me to set the stage: Confederate Flags, Budweiser, Hunting Attire, Cowboy Hats/Boots, Chewing Tobacco, Several Nascar References, Tatoos, and Jean Skirts…. Just kidding. In fact, country concerts are the opposite of what you would probably expect. Having been to several country venues before, the expectations for the Brad Paisley/Deirks Bentley show were pretty high. I was not disappointed. The adventure began Friday evening with the drive down to the Washington, D.C. area. This journey is best described by the intense sing-a-long — headed by Lauren and Kathleen’s rendition of “No Air” by Jordan Sparks. It was enjoyed by all, especially Scratch, the driver. Between the tunes and the Sailor Jerry, the trip didn’t seem to last long enough. Later that night, I was the victim of a dimly lit barroom. I purchased eight shots (nothing out of the ordinary there) and it amounted to $64.00. At a quick glance, however, the “6” appeared to look like an “8.” After some fuzzy math, I somehow justified leaving a $6.00 tip — leaving the total to an assumed $90.00; consequently, though, the amount wasn’t $84.00, and I ended up leaving an overly generous $26.00 tip. Great, right? Later that evening we returned to the residence of Charles R. Walter. His new abode is on-point: wood floors, spacious living areas, multiple 40” televisions, and a roommate that willingly cooks eggs at 3, 4, 5am (thanks again for the awful smelling pan, Dave). At any rate, the night was good — omitting getting bossed around by Kathleen, of course. Then it was here: the day of the concert. The banjos were firing and the beers were going down easily. It was all according to plan. Suddenly, though, we were ambushed by a rogue thunderstorm of monumental proportions. This storm lasted about 25 minutes, but seemed to punish all those unlucky individuals who fell in the wake of its path. Lightning, piercing rain, agony. We braved the elements, though, and continued our rigorously competitive series of flip-cup games. If you’re reading this, Chuck, it was fun kicking your ass. Then it was time. The show; the main event. It was a great time. I couldn’t have asked for a better performance from Brad, nor could I have asked for a better time. Brad Paisley is a very skilled guitarist — one that, to me, comes as a surprise. I’m not sure if it’s my ignorance or negligence, but I had no idea that country musicians were that honed in the craft of guitar playing. What a pleasant surprise. In all, a great weekend. Thanks to Mark, Chuck, Lauren, Kathleen, Sarah, and everyone else who made it possible.

As I sit here on my leather couch watching Othello (a movie based on dated literature about a tortured moor from Venice) I reflect on my weekend. Alongside good friends, I endeavored upon a voyage to a state south of the Mason-Dixon Line, Virginia. This trek, of sorts, had a purpose — the concert of one, Brad Paisley.

I must admit, I am not terribly familiar with most of the works of Mr. Paisley, however I was willing to test the waters and attend his performance in Northern Virginia’s Nissan Pavillion. I’m sure some of you have never been to a country concert before, so please allow me to set the stage: Confederate Flags, Budweiser, Hunting Attire, Cowboy Hats/Boots, Chewing Tobacco, Several Nascar References, Tatoos, and Jean Skirts…. Just kidding. In fact, country concerts are the opposite of what you would probably expect. Having been to several country venues before, the expectations for the Brad Paisley/Deirks Bentley show were pretty high. I was not disappointed.

The adventure began Friday evening with the drive down to the Washington, D.C. area. This journey is best described by the intense sing-a-long — headed by Lauren and Kathleen’s rendition of “No Air” by Jordan Sparks. It was enjoyed by all, especially Scratch, the driver. Between the tunes and the Sailor Jerry, the trip didn’t seem to last long enough.

Later that night, I was the victim of a dimly lit barroom. I purchased eight shots (nothing out of the ordinary there) and it amounted to $64.00. At a quick glance, however, the “6” appeared to look like an “8.” After some fuzzy math, I somehow justified leaving a $6.00 tip — leaving the total to an assumed $90.00; consequently, though, the amount wasn’t $84.00, and I ended up leaving an overly generous $26.00 tip. Great, right?

Later that evening we returned to the residence of Charles R. Walter. His new abode is on-point: wood floors, spacious living areas, multiple 40” televisions, and a roommate that willingly cooks eggs at 3, 4, 5am (thanks again for the awful smelling pan, Dave). At any rate, the night was good — omitting getting bossed around by Kathleen, of course.

Then it was here: the day of the concert. The banjos were firing and the beers were going down easily. It was all according to plan. Suddenly, though, we were ambushed by a rogue thunderstorm of monumental proportions. This storm lasted about 25 minutes, but seemed to punish all those unlucky individuals who fell in the wake of its path. Lightning, piercing rain, agony. We braved the elements, though, and continued our rigorously competitive series of flip-cup games. If you’re reading this, Chuck, it was fun kicking your ass.

Then it was time. The show; the main event. It was a great time. I couldn’t have asked for a better performance from Brad, nor could I have asked for a better time. Brad Paisley is a very skilled guitarist — one that, to me, comes as a surprise. I’m not sure if it’s my ignorance or negligence, but I had no idea that country musicians were that honed in the craft of guitar playing. What a pleasant surprise.

In all, a great weekend. Thanks to Mark, Chuck, Lauren, Kathleen, Sarah, and everyone else who made it possible.