I got to the downtown Disney parking area and got a little shock over the prices to come park to shop of all things, but as I was not willing to go anywhere else I slid into a space in the back. I knew I had come to the right spot when I saw the kids wearing the Viking helmet and the Motorhead T-shirts. I cracked an energy drink and began to mosey my way over to the venue. About three quarters of the way there I realized I had no business cards on me and headed back to the car to retrieve them. I got em, passed a few out to the Viking youth, and headed back to the venue.
Now this was the first time I had not only gone to a concert by myself, but also the first time in the House of Blues. Now we, the fam and I, had walked by this place a dozen or more times over the years, either coming or going from Disneyland or catching a bite and the atmosphere of the Rainforest Café. But I had yet to venture into it.
The line had formed but wasn’t insane yet, so I hung out and spaced on the flora and fauna that surrounded me. There were weird bird things hanging off the lights and a bizarre totem pole thingy over in the corner. All in all a semi trendy but not too precocious joint. After the wait, during which the bouncers all in their little yellow and black pseudo-referee outfits milled around and did the man love hugs and chatted and obviously and painfully were ignoring all that waited, I went up the stairway and grabbed a rum and coke. Eight dollars less and holding a plastic cup that I was working on draining steadily I made my way through the place to check it out.
