I almost did nothing at all.
It would have impressed some friends (Andrew, I'm looking at you) but disappointed others (Rob, now you), but it doesn't matter because I caved.
A low-key start with Anjos vinho verde foraged at Hoppy Dog (where the owner and I agreed that sometimes you want to be able to drink a wine for hours without getting loopy) and Italian dry sausage (and no, that's not a metaphor) was elevated by the music.
And not my kind of music, either, but the kind that was distinctly of the past. Oldies of a sort that one might even call moldy oldies.
Dated, overblown and in far too many cases, sadly yet instantly recognizable.
After hearing songs I hadn't heard in decades (eighth grade, really?), I felt the importance of getting away from moldy cheese music and rejoining the real world.
At least for a couple of hours.
But not until after admiring the remains of the supermoon which hung big and bright in the cloudless sky, so different than last night.
Besides, when observing scientific phenomena, it's always best to have others with whom to corroborate what you observe.
Decamping to Secco for dessert, we were rewarded with cardamom gelato with espresso crumbles and cream puffs with chocolate cream and caramel sauce with sea salt sprinkles.
The subject of indulgence came up but was quickly shoved under the rug.
Which is where I feel certain a lot of those songs I heard tonight crawled out from.
On the other hand, it's not often I can be taken back to when I was fourteen or even 24.
"Digging Your Scene" by the Blow Monkeys? Oh, my, yes.
It's a miracle I went out at all with that kind of cheesey music tempting me to stay and listen to the next forgotten nugget.
If you're going to do nothing at all, you may as well relax into your 22-year old self and let the music wash over you. As long as I can find others who dig my scene.
But let the record show I did make it out.