Around six in the evening I met Ken and Terry at the new Vietnamese restaurant on Hulen Street near Central Market for dins before our gig at Lola's later that night. Ordered a coconut water to drink with the meal which resembled a glass full of ice and napkins. Tasted better than it looked, thankfully. The food itself was pretty good and the prices were quite reasonable.
After the meal, and with plenty of time to spare, we hoofed it to Barnes & Noble so Ken could make a purchase that he would soon regret. The latest edition of Guitar Player magazine - the quintessential guide for the spotty thirteen year-old who aspires to master another form of wanking in the hopes of becoming famous and oversexed (I should know, since I was that kid) - contained an interview with Stooges and ex-Sony VP James Williamson, which was too tempting for the bearded scribester to pass up. Unfortunately Ken caught a glimpse of another page which showed a Dorian scale, and, as a consequence of his carelessness, will be attending therapy sessions beginning Monday.
In the effort to burn some more time, we headed to the Bull and Bush for a couple of pints. We also discussed the merits (well, mostly lampooned, if totally honest) of the inventions featured in a book that Terry purchased from the bookstore. After a chinwag with a patron who brought a Lab along which had a rash we decided that it was time to leave for Lola's.
We arrived in time to catch Ramsey Sprague's set. Afterward Terry and I walked to Wendy's for some grub (meal number two for me that day, and Terry gets the munchies after a couple of beers). The restaurant bit was closed, and apparently attempting to order utilizing the drive-through while on foot is a breach of fast food etiquette. We headed back towards the club and retrieved Terry's car, and then headed back to Wendy's, resulting in us being promptly served. Car culture at its most absurd.
HIO operated as a quartet with Mr. Brunt in tow on this sound making occasion. Terry unveiled his new percussion instrument made with PVC pipes and pot lids which Marcus and Ken put to good use. As usual it was fun, and, as usual, we did our job clearing out the joint except for the die-hards (e.g. family and friends, including my mother) and drunks. Despite our mastery of room-clearing (or maybe because of it, since it saved the trouble of the club telling the patrons that it was closing time) we managed to make a few bob, which is always a plus.