A Tuesday Kind of Day


It's Tuesday, so that means I'm posting another blog as per my usual schedule I've kept lately. It's a pretty mundane day for most people, perhaps you find yourself thinking "only 3 more days after this one and I can (insert pastime and/or vice here)" as you slowly slip into autopilot. I can't think of much that happens on Tuesdays apart from this blog, and an occasional show that you may or may not attend depending on how drained you feel after work. However, this day does hold a bit of a special significance for me and a couple friends, even though we've been unable to celebrate it quite as often as we'd prefer. We refer to these rare, yet magical days as "having a Tuesday kind of day" and this is the amended version of how a regular weekday became memorable.

It all started one day in a cold, partially-lit basement. I know any story starting like that usually ends with someone getting arrested or killed, but I promise this isn't a tale of murder and intrigue; just a couple guys making music who were joined by a third person and a bottle of whiskey. Normally, I'm not someone who starts taking shots right after lunch, but I'm also not one to turn down a generous offer of free booze. At first, I told myself I'd take it slow, maybe just have a couple small swigs to be polite. I mean, I wouldn't want to be completely hammered by 4pm, right? (I can picture some of you laughing at that right now.) So, I continued jamming with a drummer friend and brainstorming for a possible new band, honestly not thinking about downing tons of alcohol. Our other friend was enjoying a rare day off, chatting with us when we weren't playing. It all started off very casual.

He'd take another shot, we'd all laugh about something one of us said, and start playing something else. After fifteen minutes or so, he offered me another shot... and eventually another... and I think you see where this is going. Since technology has yet to provide us with alcohol bottles that never go empty, eventually one of us mentioned making a beer run. Honestly, it was probably me, but by this point, who knows? Our drummer friend had yet to imbibe, so he drove us to a craft beer store where they dropped somewhere around eighty dollars on an assortment of high-quality, high-alcohol beer. Outside in the parking lot I said, "looks like we're in for a hell of a day" and in response, those magical words were spoken, "looks like we're gonna have a Tuesday kind of day" and our journey into midweek madness began.

We returned to that basement and kept playing sloppy versions of songs from the previous band of the drummer and I, as well as whatever covers we both knew or could figure out on the spot. Every twenty minutes or so, we'd walk back up the stairs and pour three glasses of that "top shelf" beer, and tell jokes, stories and combinations of the two. Time ceased to matter, and so did the precision of what we played, at this point we were simply enjoying ourselves.

As the afternoon went on, and the growlers of beer dwindled, more people came to the house; some even sang the words to the covers we were playing. As day turned to night, we recognized how terrible we were starting to sound and decided to call it a day, but the drinking continued; after all, there was still more to be drank. I'm not completely certain of how anyone else felt at this point, but I was okay with the suggestion of heading to the nearby bar if that gives you any indicator. That's right folks, I was loaded enough to willingly go out in public amongst strangers and potentially awful music; I didn't even think about resisting.

I sat at the bar with my drummer friend and enjoyed their house beer, a bargain at under a dollar and actually quite tasty. Though admittedly, I probably would've even enjoyed a nonalcoholic beer at that point; that is, until I realized there was no alcohol in it. The bar's music selection wasn't the worst I'd ever heard either, mostly 90s alternative rock with an occasional melodic metal song thrown in the mix. I was pleasantly surprised, all my previous bar experiences involved hearing people do karaoke to the Grease soundtrack. If hell is real, that's what mine is like; complete with a chorus of giant tarantulas singing the "shoo-bop-bop" parts.

We talked a lot about music, and probably football or something, but I really don't remember. Considering who was involved, I'd say that's a safe bet, but the point is, it was the first time I'd actually enjoyed being at a bar on an average night. I looked around at everyone shooting pool, laughing, and talking, just basking in the moment. It's on these rare occasions where you might actually find me enjoying a conversation amongst strangers. That day wasn't the start of a new band, but it birthed a phrase I use often and think of every week. For someone like me who claims to be "in the business of making memories" it was a day of record profits, no matter how hazy the memories. Even on the weekend, I still like to have "a Tuesday kind of day" from time to time because it slaps a goofy grin on my face, and not just because of the booze.

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