Jett and I had kind of a strange New Year’s Eve experience last night. In the company of our good friends Barb and Bob – and, as it turns out, on their dime (thanks again, guys!) – we had a very nice dinner at Princeton Station in Chelmsford, MA. Prime rib, baked potato, squash, strawberry shortcake and good coffee. Yum.
And entertainment, too. Unfortunately, the band, which apparently specialized in hip-hop, was poorly matched to an audience that was heavily tilted, age-wise, to those who regard hip-hop as noise. At 62 I was in the “young” half of this crowd. And the band wasn’t helped by the sound system which made the lyrics seem like they were bubbling up from the Krusty Krab, about 200 feet under the surface of the ocean. Apparently so many of the oldsters were so unhappy with the live music that the management pulled the band from the stage after the first set and would not let them play again until midnight approached – a “short break” of nearly 90 minutes. Instead, we were treated to 50’s music from a local radio station, complete with commercials. Very weird.
But we managed to have fun anyway. We encountered a very lively 75-year-old at an adjacent table who grew up very close to our previous home in Somerville, MA, and who had actually met Whitey Bulger when he was head of the Winter Hill Gang in Somerville. We traded some Whitey stories (we had some neighbors in Somerville who had given us a few).
And we danced. Not a bad way to usher in the Year of Retirement.