Tonight I actually went out to see a concert! Brazilian Girls at the Warfield. I gotta admit I'm a bit proud of myself because it took some coordination. I only have about 1 1/2 to 2 hours of free time away from the little creature, and I definitely didn't want to waste those precious child-free minutes on an opening act and that aimless milling about while you wait for the show to begin.
Luckily I had an "in" with the band and was able to find out approximately when they'd be taking the stage, so I could plan my evening around the 90-minute set. I got lucky, too, that other forces (Nick, baby) conspired to allow me to get out of the house during that precise window. It's weird; I always used to intend to go to shows when my friends' bands came to town to play, but, especially on rainy evenings like tonight, I often found myself too lazy to schlep out to see them when the time came. Yet somehow tonight, having to do more work to make it to the show in fact made it easier to actually make it to the show.
I'm glad I did; even though the lead singer refused to show her face (she was wearing an odd lacy outfit and mask that sorta made her look like a sequined robot, all impersonal and vague and obscured), I enjoyed the jazzy-rock-dance-groove. It made for a very fitting soundtrack for my first post-partum night on the town.