Last night we--the Mike Dean Project, soon to be known as Diva and the Snow Men--played a wedding gig at the Elks Lodge in Aberdeen. The snow cut everything short, unfortunately, turning what could have been a glorious bacchanal of epic proportions into a quiet meditation on love and mortality, with dancing.
The manager of the place made our collective evening when, as we started packing up our gear, she asked if we'd like a plate of hot chicken strips. As we contemplated our ride home through sleet and snow, we immediately agreed that if we were going to perish in a blizzard, we might as well die happily.
But I exaggerate, of course. The Suburban struggled only a little through the onslaught.
Every teacher should have one.
No Elks Lodge is complete without elk antlers and dropped consonants.