All I Ever Say Now

Saturday night, I saw The Dismemberment Plan.  My first show in forever, and it was worth it.  It’s difficult to avoid piling on superlatives (trust me: awesome), but predictably the show left me feeling nostalgic.  In the “remember the show when…” sort of way, where other concert-goers gathered outside afterwards, ears still ringing, trading Plan moments like baseball cards.  And in the “I wish I could go back to…” sort of way, remembering other shows, missing days long gone and friends unseen for far too long.

This morning, Eastern Market burned down.  Just a couple days earlier, I’d bought my usual haul there, the fixings for my week’s lunches and dinners.  Again, nostalgia, but in a more general key: trudging home with arms full weekend after weekend, with whatever looked fresh and delicious; free samples from the grumpy-but-congenial Cheese Guy; walking from meat counter to meat counter, trapped in the best kind of indecision.

There are bands out there that are much better than The Dismemberment Plan.  There are markets out there that run laps around Eastern Market.  But none are a part of me in quite the same way.  

Luckily, I doubt this weekend marks the last time I’ll spend time with either.