Thoughts from the Nite Cap: Steve Miller Must Die
What led me on this Steve Miller diatribe? I was sitting at the bar at the Nite Cap, minding my own business, when I heard "The Joker" come on the jukebox. "Someone played Steve Miller on purpose?" I said out loud, turning around to gape. Unfortunately, the guy who programmed it was standing right behind me, having just stepped away from the scene of the non-accident. He gave me a sheepish look bordering on defiance. He was assessing whether he should defend himself in the wake of my (admittedly) snotty comment. Seeing that I looked like someone who probably had a wealth of jerkoff opinions on the subject, he instead put his beer bottle to his lips and backed away.
I am not proud of being a music snob. Actually, anyone who likes .38 Special as much as I do can't really be a music snob. Or so I keep telling myself.
Actually, that is something I like about the Nite Cap. One minute someone will play Steve Miller, and the next someone will play Iggy Pop. I sat next to a bookish hipster and a giggly group of college girls. The Steve Miller offender was a jock. At the very ends of the bar sat the venue's older clientele; fellas who remember when this place used to scare anyone under 40. (Or, as my friend put it, a place that was "you, the drink, and the too-friendly German guy next to you.")
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