a message for the suburban moms.
friday night oonagh and i ventured out to one of the suburbs and a snappy little wine bistro to see her brother and sister in law play. oonagh's brother and sister in law are cool, hip, beautiful kids from the city. they seriously are the most beautiful couple ever. and talented. they kick ass on stage. seriously. for example, they tend to wear form fitting clothes and gaze smokily at each other while they sing, creating sizzle like nobody's business. their music tends to be smokey and gritty; trust me when i say they kick the shit out of a johnny cash cover, and that isn't easy to do.
so, friday. oonagh and i show up. the last time oonagh showed up at this particular bistro for one of their shows, she imbibed a few too many cosmos and ended up going home with the band, her date left high and dry - this is how the beautiful couple's shows tend to go. but friday - perhaps because it was the first day of hanukkah? - was a bit of a quiet night. sure, the place was packed, but the crowd rather low key. there was a lot of wine drinking. a lot. particularily by the friends - the solidly middle-upper class white bred friends, most of whom are in their forties, the women sporting the suburban blond mom hairdo and expensive, unattractive sweater sets - of the chef/owner. for instance, at one point the chef's good friend kept getting up and asking to play harmonica with the band. ever the savvy band members, the beautiful couple smiled and encouraged it. why not? can't hurt. the first set finishes. we drink with the band during the break. the band gets back up, plays around with tuning up their instruments, begin the first notes of the next set.
and then...suburban mom, chardonnay sloshing in her glass, shouts out to the band - "play some christmas songs! we wanna sing along to some christmas carols!"
uhm. excuse me? the look on oonagh's sister in law's face was priceless - she looked momentarily like a deer in the proverbial headlights.
pardon me? she asked, her heels kicked off, a vodka tonic in her hand. she looked around at the band, all handsome boys in dark rimmed glasses and too small sweaters, part emo, part hot. she looked over at me and oonagh, who stared back, mouths open. christmas carols? christmas carols?
uh, we don't know any christmas carols, she says. there's a moment of stunned silence. drunk suburban mom looks confused. oonagh's brother refuses to make eye contact with anyone, for fear of the laughter than will follow.
no christmas carols? dejected, suburban mom almost looks like she might start crying.
no, no christmas songs.
but the bass player called out hopefully - happy hanukkah, y'all!
seriously. you ask an indie-rock band who has already demurred to the chef/owner's best friend's request to 'jam with the band' to play christmas carols?
this, ladies, is why the suburban moms should be allowed one - and only one - glass of chardonnay.
so, friday. oonagh and i show up. the last time oonagh showed up at this particular bistro for one of their shows, she imbibed a few too many cosmos and ended up going home with the band, her date left high and dry - this is how the beautiful couple's shows tend to go. but friday - perhaps because it was the first day of hanukkah? - was a bit of a quiet night. sure, the place was packed, but the crowd rather low key. there was a lot of wine drinking. a lot. particularily by the friends - the solidly middle-upper class white bred friends, most of whom are in their forties, the women sporting the suburban blond mom hairdo and expensive, unattractive sweater sets - of the chef/owner. for instance, at one point the chef's good friend kept getting up and asking to play harmonica with the band. ever the savvy band members, the beautiful couple smiled and encouraged it. why not? can't hurt. the first set finishes. we drink with the band during the break. the band gets back up, plays around with tuning up their instruments, begin the first notes of the next set.
and then...suburban mom, chardonnay sloshing in her glass, shouts out to the band - "play some christmas songs! we wanna sing along to some christmas carols!"
uhm. excuse me? the look on oonagh's sister in law's face was priceless - she looked momentarily like a deer in the proverbial headlights.
pardon me? she asked, her heels kicked off, a vodka tonic in her hand. she looked around at the band, all handsome boys in dark rimmed glasses and too small sweaters, part emo, part hot. she looked over at me and oonagh, who stared back, mouths open. christmas carols? christmas carols?
uh, we don't know any christmas carols, she says. there's a moment of stunned silence. drunk suburban mom looks confused. oonagh's brother refuses to make eye contact with anyone, for fear of the laughter than will follow.
no christmas carols? dejected, suburban mom almost looks like she might start crying.
no, no christmas songs.
but the bass player called out hopefully - happy hanukkah, y'all!
seriously. you ask an indie-rock band who has already demurred to the chef/owner's best friend's request to 'jam with the band' to play christmas carols?
this, ladies, is why the suburban moms should be allowed one - and only one - glass of chardonnay.
posted by lynda at 9:06 AM
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