Now that summertime is here—its fleeting glory passing quickly, like the glorious smell of cooking grease after leaving the fast food district—I’ve been able to get back out to some open mic nights. Most of these events shut down during The Age of The Virus, but a thirst for easy revenue and cheap entertainment has finally seen many venues bring them back.
During the school year I’m typically so slammed with work, lessons, and the desire to see my dog that I tend to miss out on open mic nights, as they’re almost always on weeknights. By the time I’m done teaching L’il Billy how to play “Polly Wolly Doodle” on his Fender, I’m ready to go home to enjoy a night of reheated spaghetti and cheap horror flicks.
But with the hot summer nights I arise from my ashes like the Phoenix of Arizona, uttering my wild, bestial cry into the sticky night.
Two songs. Eighty-eight keys. Half a chance.
This is Open Mic Adventures.
The Portly Politico 