I complain about my bad days (and their numbers are legion), so let me tell you a little about a pretty fucking great day, at least by my standards.
Saturday, March 6, 2010 didn't start out so great. For one thing, I had to be at work at 8:30 in the morning. And it looked like I was going to miss the University of Louisville basketball game, which would have really sucked. Trust me, it would have.
Louisville has been playing basketball at Freedom Hall since 1956. It's located at the state fairgrounds, but they're moving to a fancy new downtown arena because they want parking to go from slightly difficult to impossible.
I love the artist's rendering of the new arena. There's apparently a large event going on, but there's no traffic; just a few cars out for a leisurely cruise. Those people just magically appeared, ready to enjoy arena stuff. And although the building will eventually be named for the highest bidding corporate entity, I kind of hope they just call it Downtown Arena. It's downtown, it's an arena...Why not?
Anyway, I wanted to see at least part of the last Louisville basketball game played at Freedom Hall. It was kind of a big deal, and to top it off the opponent was Syracuse, ranked number 1 in the country. I managed to get out of there in time to see the last ten minutes of the game (ten basketball minutes, which is thirty or forty real minutes). I watched it in the bar area of the Mexican restaurant next door to where I work. I don't know why that place isn't more crowded for games. They have a nice TV, 2 for 1 margaritas and free chips and salsa; but despite these amenities, it was just me and a large portion of the restaurant staff, cheering and screaming at the TV.
As the game progressed and Louisville ran away with the game in stunning fashion, I heard a lot of jubilant Spanish. One guy made an effort to include me by yelling "YEAH! FUCK YEAH, MAN!" after a particularly fucking awesome dunk. I appreciated the gesture.
After watching the best basketball game I've ever seen, I went to dinner with a few friends. There is nothing like finding a bartender who knows how to make a proper Manhattan. The food was tasty, the conversation was entertaining, and the Manhattan was perfect.
When dinner was over I was full and kind of tired. I almost didn't go out. I'm old, you know. But I got my second or third wind and ventured over to the Z Bar to see Those Darlins.
Holy Mother of Fuck that place was packed. Someone sack the Fire Marshall, because there were too many people there! But it was worth enduring the crowd to see The Ladybirds, one of my favorite local bands. They never disappoint.
Then, ladies and gentlemen, Those Darlins - if I may indulge in cliche - blew the roof off the dump! I'm not a music critic, but it was a stomping, ferocious roar like I've never heard before. It was worth the long wait for beer and the drunks who danced like spastics and the stifling heat of humanity just to be there in that moment.