sold-out shows Tip the Band, Kiss the Cook Vampire Weekend invite you over for dinner, but it just so happens they’re fresh out of Aleppo pepper, and no the paprika or crushed red pepper or certainly not Fresnos will do. The dish is ruined.
sold-out shows Killer Parties If I were 52, and my band had been together for 20 years, I would have serious reservations about playing a bowling alley for one, much less four, of my precious 365 annual nights, eight years in a row.
sold-out shows Second Rodeo I swaggered in with a better setup, lots of electrolytes, and an “it’s not my first rodeo” level of arrogance. Emily came equipped with three packages of baby wipes, fresh but refrigerator-agnostic vegetables, and an open mind.
latte sipping Consummate Professionals Toward the end of the match, one of my friends turned to me and whispered something along the lines of “god, this guy is just such a professional.”
gallivanting Le Grand Chef While he waited, I found a young man walking about the plaza, buckling under the weight of the keg on his back. He sold commemorative cups of beer after the show, outside of the venue, in paradise.
