Sunday: Fun Day

A particularly apropos (and hilarious) Family Circus

Hello again, loving readers!  A lot has happened since my last post.  First of all, let’s address the elephant in the room:  Yes, I made something of a miscalculation in my previous appraisal of BB’s (hereafter referred to as “The One We Don’t Speak Of” or “TOWDSO”) character.  Now some of you are saying, “Uh . . . duh!  TOWDSO was obviously a creep.”  Well, excuse me for having a little faith in humanity!  I guess it’s my bad that I’m an optimist instead of some jaded, too-cool-for-school post-millennial who scoffs at everyone who seems a little bit “different.”  I guess it’s my fault that I didn’t “peace out” after he took me to his windowless apartment, and my mistake for showing interest in his collection of women’s wigs.  Yeah, I guess that’s all on me.  Oh, wait—did I mention that TOWDSO whipped me up a batch of the most superb blondies I’ve ever tasted?  Hmmm . . . I guess I wouldn’t have been privy to those if I’d judged him right off the bat (like some people).  Seriously, guys:  The cynical life is a life half-lived.

Anyway, as I was being rehabilitated by Agent Starling and the North Carolina State Police this evening, I started thinking about all the crazy things that happened last Sunday.  Now, the drive to USC was a long one (about six hours) and a pretty sleepy one as well.  Some folks (read “Peter the Backseat Troll”) slept for nearly the entire trip!  When we finally got to South Carolina, though, it was time for din-din, so everyone was wide awake.  After loitering and—having persuaded Tim—singing on the steps of the immense and beautiful Columbia State House, we dined at the Mellow Mushroom, a hallucinogen-themed pizza joint for the whole family!  The food took about an hour-and-a-half (no exaggeration) to arrive, and even then the portions were rather small.  The whole thing was egregiously overpriced as well—but hey!  I’m not being cynical!  Just saying.

Keeping Tommy Nelsons off the streets

After dinner the excitement really started:  Tommy got pulled over by a cop!  Hmmm.  I guess I could have set that one up a little better, huh?  Well anyway, it happened.  I was freaking out, as the frightened underclassmen who were in my car at the time can attest.  Everything was fine, though.  It turned out that Tommy had accidentally been driving without his lights on (what a putz!).  When we all met up again in a CVS parking lot, though—shock number two!  There were two more cops cars there, ready to meet us!  I was all like, “It’s a sting!  Get out!  Get out!”  But cooler heads prevailed and we stayed there long enough to meet Tommy and the folks in his car.  Crisis diverted.

That night we sang with the Cocktails of USC, a group, like HIT the night before, that the Streeters have been singing with for quite some time.  They’re always outstanding, of course, and memorable performances from this trip include, but are not limited to, Emily Porterfield’s attitudinous rendition of Iyaz’s modern classic Replay.  (As noted by Evan [hereafter known to as “Maltby” or “Maltbizzle”], when all of Replay’s feminine pronouns are turned masculine, lines like “That girl’s like a gun to my holster” become strangely meaningful [disclaimer: I have no idea if “girl” counts as a pronoun here, but I don’t really care either way].)   Laura Simpson also balled hard with a killer performance of Russian Roulette.  And I’ll only passingly mention the infinite charms of choreographed a cappella, because, obviously, they cannot be explained or described . . . only witnessed.

Me, keeping on keeping on

So USC was tons of fun.  But before I sign off, here are two more reasons those girls were and are wonderful:  They hosted us on a Sunday (consider that they had class the next day, folks) and just the night before they’d hosted an a cappella competition (which, for those who don’t know, apparently do exist).  In addition to all this, Tommy and I both found $25 parking tickets on our cars the day after the gig . . . and the Cocktails opted to pay for them!  Cocktails, wherever you are (USC, presumably), the Springstreeters send our love to you all.  You were heavenly hosts.

All right, everyone.  I can see the sun setting on the horizon, which means, you guessed it, primetime for hitch-hikin’!  I’ll check in with details about Monday and Tuesday tomorrow.  Until then!