Phew

Last night I drank margaritas with my coworkers and then saw Beirut, and it was a very very good show. There were trumpets and something called a flugle horn (that is phonetic spelling right there) and mandolins and ukeleles and violins and a cello and of course Zach Condon like a gypsy lounge singer. He's actually cute and round faced and very ordinary looking, though I'm pretty sure every chick in there thought he was the hottest thing ever. So yes, the show was excellent, with the exception of:

1. The super drunk teenagers behind us who did not understand personal space and hit my friend in the back of the head every time they did a "Beirut is number one!" fist pump.
2. It was middle-school-gym-in-June hot, and smelled about as bad.
3. Standing-room only = ouch my lower back.
   
4. My friend had to go barf for a little while.

Still, I enjoyed myself and would like to see them in an air conditioned venue with seats sometime, except they're reconfiguring the band or something.

On the way home I made a left on red onto Gough (like "cough"), which is a one way street so I thought it was fair game, but NO! I got pulled over by a cop with a gray Yosemite Sam moustache, who then told me that my MA license isn't valid because I should have a CA one by now. This made me indignant because even though I kind of knew that (just like I knew I shouldn't really turn left on red), they could have at least mentioned that when I registered my car. I expressed this thought to the cop, who gave me neither a ticket nor too much shit about the license. Score!