Matthew was in town to sell cassette tapes at his friend's show at the Grog Shop tonight. I know it makes me a grumpy old man to complain about it, but the Grog Shop used to be the name of an establishment that helped to mold my formative adolescent years. It was the size of a small living room, had plywood floors, and the second hand smoke was like a perminant fog machine. They also had the best shows my parents didn't like me going to. For various reasons, they closed that location and moved up the street to a new, clean, fancy and boring space next door to a Chipotle. The new Grog Shop is a lot like a Chipotle that used to be a grimey street-food taco truck actually. Clearly we know which one was better.
My nightstand is looking pretty comically from another time period these days.
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