Let me start from the beginning.
A few months ago, a friend of ours invited us to go see Toad the Wet Sprocket in Chicago. I thought to myself, “self, you really enjoyed Toad the Wet Sprocket in the 90’s. Remember middle school? That shit was the bomb. Dancing in a big circle, huddled up with your closest pals, swaying to the music and smiling at the boy you had a crush on? Go. Seriously. Go to this concert.”
So we made plans…and then magically, Saturday, it was Toad the Wet Sprocket. Our friend Will thought that dining at a vegan restaurant would be a brilliant idea…while my boyfriend and I…well…we had a lot of fun laughing about it before hand. Phrases like this were bounced around on Saturday morning:
“Fake cheese is an abomination.”
“Wait. Chicken wings? Why lie? Why not call them tofu sticks?”
“I can’t take this place seriously.”
And so we decided that we absolutely HAD to go to this vegan locale, because at the very least, I’d get a funny blog post out of it. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a terribly funny blog post, because I got the most stereotypical vegan entree (a salad) that contained no fake cheese or fake meat. F that. I did manage to try a fake chicken tender…which was surprisingly okay. Even if the texture was a little weird.
But the part about this visit that was particularly blog-worthy had nothing to do with the food at said vegan restaurant. And EVERYTHING to do with the Toad the Wet Sprocket concert that we’d be attending a block away.
One minute I was making fun of a fake chicken wing; the next minute Will is all, “What’s going on, man?” to this guy standing at the counter ordering. “We’re looking forward to the show,” he says…
Glen Phillips, lead singer of Toad the Wet Sprockets was getting ready to nosh on some vegan fair. And he was totally cool.
And I was totally speechless.
Our other friend managed to strike up an entire conversation with him, about how great he looked for his age (he really does look like he’s in his 20’s.) And I just sat there, barely saying a word. Thinking all of the things I wanted to say.
- “Can I interview you?”
- “Can I get your picture?”
- “Can I touch your chest?”
- “Your voice makes me want to have your babies.”
No? Probably shouldn’t go there on date night with the boyfriend sitting right next to me…right?
So I said nothing. And he smiled. And made us laugh. And then a few hours later, he was jammin’ out on stage. It was…pretty fantastic. By the way, if you dig on 90’s tunes, and have the chance? GO. Go see Toad the Wet Sprocket. They are JUST as amazing live as they are on the radio or an album. Super impressive.
I mentioned this before at the Wallflowers concert we attended a few months back…but it needs to be reiterated.
I seriously wanted to cut the bitch who was texting on her phone all night long three rows in front of us. Or the bitch behind us who kept taking videos and pictures. I was mostly impressed with the lack of visible technology because the majority of concert-goers had RESPECT for the other audience members…But the few that were all up in the video/camera/busy checking Facebook/texting world? Stop being douchebags. Turn your tech off for a few hours and enjoy the music.
And that’s why I have no pictures of said concert.
How was your weekend blog friends? If you’re in the central Illinois area (or anywhere in the midwest devastated by Sunday’s storm), my thoughts go out to you and your families. Even up here in the west suburbs it was terrifying…I can’t imagine what it was south of us.