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I went to the Rob Dickinson concert at {wait for it} The Friars Club.

Once I was inside, I called CK and said, “Because who else is going to call you from the Friars Club tonight?”

I stood under the giant picture of Frank Sinatra and ate the caviar that waiters brought around on little trays. Then I called CK again and said, “Because who else is eating caviar at the Friars Club?”

Seriously, after the third phone call to CK, when I said, “If you were here, we’d get thrown out and wouldn’t THAT be something to remember?” I told her I needed to get off the phone and start mingling.

I saw a blonde woman in jeans and Doc Martens over by the bar. I asked her if she was there alone, and she was, so we hung out together. Then we saw a redhaired woman in black fishnets and tall boots. She looked to be alone, and we had her join us. She was a big Catherine Wheel fan and had, like, ALL of Rob Dickinson’s CDs. She’d bought a concert t-shirt and got it out of her purse so we could admire it.

One of the waiters kept circling us with fresh food, and we helped him out by clearing off his tray so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way around the room. There was one item he kept bringing out that looked suspiciously weird, but I tried it and it was delicious. I didn’t ask what it was, because I already knew I wouldn’t eat it if I knew. I waited until I’d had six or seven of them before I asked our waiter what it was. He gave me a look, because HE knew I wouldn’t eat it if I knew. He finally told me it was tuna tartare. I was ever so glad I hadn’t asked in advance, since tuna is gross.

Tenderbox was the opening act. They were very good and their drummer has mad stamina.

Then Rob came on stage and the crowd went wild. As they do. It was a great show. Our group was less than ten feet from the stage, so we were close enough to reach out and undo the two buttons on Mr. Dickinson’s two-button fly. If we’d wanted to do that, I mean.

Before I left, I made sure to get the best photo of the night:

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