At least, that’s the angle WWeek pushes in this week’s cover story ^[1]. And you know? It’ll be good enough to hook me in sometime soon.

I’m a huge fan of live music. My tastes are ecletic, wide-ranging, and definitely not calcified – despite what my young son might say (hey, I’m the one who’s turned him on to new music – even scored him an autographed Maroons CD from a show at Berbati’s a few weeks ago. And his friends oooh and ahhhh over my iTunes collection. But I digress.)

But I also am, ahem, of a ‘certain age.’ I have responsibilities, kids, and a day job. And while certain vices linger on (New Deal vodka ^[2], anyone?) others have gone by the wayside (I’ve been smokefree for, uh, close to 20 years now.)

So, clubs that ban smoking (as Berbati’s has done recently)? I’m there. Inclined to clean the messes up off the floor? Fine by me – despite one WWeek commenter, I don’t find vomit and dirt proof of an authentic club experience, thankyouverymuch. Acts that start on time? Hallelujah!

After all, I need to hit the recliner for my nightly dose of Metamucil and warm milk in a timely manner, don’t you know…

So…might have to put a field trip to Doug Fir on the agenda for the next kid-free weekend. Which, as it happens, is this weekend (yay, hooray!)

Any suggestions or recommendations for an evening excursion…?