Dear Gallagher's

Dear Gallagher's Pub in Huntington Beach,

You know I love you.

You are the kind of little
pub I used to play,
the kind I am used to playing.

A rowdy Irish bar
with a heavy drinking
crowd that is there to
booze and see music
as a side note.

I like the challenge,
it's how I cut my teeth so sharp.

"hey.... pub! listen to me!
I've got something funny to say
and I'll keep trying to convince
you it is worth your attention"

if all else fails,
bring a drunk dude
onstage to play backup
percussion.

In this case,
on this past Tuesday night,
the drunk dude in question
was a surfer named Trent.

Trent, you know I love you.

You joined me for the first song,
egged on by the dude in the front
with the Tom Selleck mustache.

You were actually good at that kid's
bongo I gave you to play,
years of experience at beach
side drums circles paid off.

You were welcome to stay
onstage for the set, why not?

That rowdy pub crowd can
be a tough bunch to win over.

The key is, building momentum,
never letting the energy drop
or the crowd interaction falter
so gradually the entire bar
feels like they are part of the show.

It worked! It was working,
there we were, in front of that
rough Gallagher's crowd,
rocking our balls off.

The dudes in the front were laughing,
the ladies in the back were smiling,
we even got that dark and silent
bartender to chuckle.

Everything was going great,
and at the peak of energy,
the promoter jumped onstage,
grabbed the microphone,
and said this:

"is anyone missing a girl?
we have a girl passed out
on the bathroom floor and
nobody knows who it is..... anyone
missing a girl?"

Alright! On with the comedy....
hey!.... hey!.... why isn't anyone
looking up here anymore?

Oh, yeah, maybe because they're
looking at the fucking bathroom
to see what the hell is going on.

Maybe I'll make a joke,
"wow.... I've never heard
a human being so described
as a bookbag. anyone missing
a black leather bookbag, anyone?"

Then the promoter looks at me,
and tells me sternly, "this is pretty serious,
don't joke around about it"

That's fine, I agree.
Don't joke around about
girls passed out on the floor.

However, I would also add
that maybe you should avoid
talking about girls passed out on the
floor as if they are lost wallets during
the middle of a comedy show.

It's bound to make things a bit weird.

What should I do?

Trent, my new buddy, up here onstage
protecting me with your bongo skills...
we were kicking ass just a second ago,
how do we win this crowd back over?

Trent..... where are you going?

Trent?

Oh, that's Trent's girlfriend in the bathroom.

what a night.

Wait till you see what happens next month.

-p