Podunk Meets Paradise

Musings from Central Idaho

Guest Post — Alabama Shakes, a Professional Review by Jackie the Journalist

Guest Post -- Alabama Shakes, a Professional Review by Jackie the Journalist

Hello Podunk Meets Paradise readers!

I’m just an Oregonian visiting the big Capital City for a very special 30th birthday. Due to a few unforseen circumstances I’ve been elected to recount last night’s events, at least from my point of view.

Before getting started I will divulge that I am sort of a professional, spending my days churning out food and music articles for local and national publications. This means I can string a sentence together good enough to convince a few poor schmucks to pay me a few pennies. It’s good work, if you can get it.

But where was I…. oh yes, the Alabama Shakes show at The Knit (That’s what they call it in Reno, anyway). After being slightly lubricated thanks to the liberal pours at Bardonay, we rolled up to the Will Call window at The Knit. One free drink ticket later, and we’re in.

I can’t say enough about the opening bands. To be honest, those were the moments the whole evening seemed ahead of us. Vodka had yet to tighten her fist around my brain and the shots of Fireball had yet to hit my belly. But as time wore on, and yet another band took the stage that was not Alabama Shakes, I found my drink cup empty and my mind a bit tired.

I steeled my eyes toward the bar and attempted to get a drink. Fortunately (or unfortunately) a middle aged gentleman had seen the shiny beads dangling from my neck and decided to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

“What do you want for those beads?” he yelled in my direction.

Mardis Gras rules ruling, its nips or nothing, so he unbuttoned and showed me the goods, one nipple at a time.

Liberated of my beads, I also implored him for a drink. One free Grey Goose soda later, I turned back toward the stage just in time to see the Shakes FINALLY take the stage. It was nearing 11:30. Lady vodka tightened her grip.

The low growl of Miss Shakes got a bee in my bonnet and my toes a tapping. I may or may not have annoyed the non-dancing nerds surrounding me, but I was having fun. Sure, I had to take a few dance breaks on a large out-of-the-way sofa in the back, but I looked at it as an opportunity to meet new friends.

What happened next is a blur of grooving, swaying, and the realization that this party needed to move on, and fast. Before I knew it we were being squired home amidst cries for hot dogs, which went unnoticed.

Pancakes, eggs, sausage, and champagne were on the menu at the house. Nothing like a 2 am impromptu breakfast feast. You only turn 30 once.

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