Yesterday afternoon, I cut out of work early (I left my desk...) and Maisy and I headed downtown to meet up with Nat. We were all set to head to the Jeff Twedy Show at the Abbey Pub . Good times, right? Turned out great! Well, I got there a bit early and Nat hadn't gotten home from work yet, so me and Maisy ran over to Barker and Meowsky for a new sweater and she dug it. It's a pinch big, but hopefully she'll 'grow' into it. (She's turning into a bit of a 'fatty arbuckle' as it is!!) We got back and Natalie was home. Outsmarting ourselves, we thought, 'Hey! Let's just get chow at the Abbey instead of SoupBox or Tomatohead . Irish Nachos and Ruebens and such. Well, as we're walking up to the Abbey, sure as shit, we run into Jeff Tweedy, his wife Sue Miller, their 2 boys, what appeared to be one of Jeff's cronies/guitar techs/friends, and a hot nanny. Jeff was carrying 2 clamshell carryout styrofoam containers and the kids weren't
Showing posts from January, 2006
USC's Daily Trojan knew Bob Dylan, and admits Conor Oberst is no Bob Dylan.: What would the scruffy old veteran say to the up-and-coming musician? Would words of advice be imparted? Would stories be shared? Would compliments be made? I don't even think they'd get to words. Let's be serious. Before Oberst could mutter his hellos to the best songwriter in American history, Dylan would smack him in the back of the head like an owner shooing away an obnoxious pet that came to look for food at the dinner table. There would be no conversation.