When the sands of time pass, they can be very cruel to mankind. Long before I became a cubicle-dwelling, corporate solider and general shell of a man, I used to be cool. I used to be in a band. I played guitar and wrote songs and had a few groupies. Whenever possible, I rock and rolled all night and partied every day. We played basements, garages, backyards and dingy clubs much like Mac’s Bar.
While Father Time may have forsaken me, I can nonetheless feel younger again by going to Mac’s Bar. This place is 100% maximum rock, turned up to 11 and books some great local, Midwestern and national indie talent. Drink some cheap beer, listen to some great music and leave with your head buzzing and your ears ringing.
While I hold no illusions that I stick out like a sore thumb there these days, the people are nice enough, don’t call me out on it, and let me languish in sweet, sweet nostalgia for those by-gone days.