Pooteewheet is off to play poker tonight (a luxury I gave up so I could ensure I was going to plays at the Children's Theater with Eryn) with my coworkers and coworker-friends, so Eryn and I were left to our own devices. I was going to take us to St. Paul to see a ghost tour, but then I found out Bill Woodson was playing at Ring Mountain, the local ice cream shop.
Bill's wife works at my company, so when he's singing about You're My Angel, I can look across the ice cream shop and actually see to whom he's singing. Good voice and music I really like (Springsteen, Beatles, and some of his own songs).
Eryn and I had ice cream (I splurged and let her have the medium, which is too much cinnamon ice cream for anyone) and listened to Bill for almost an hour and half, well past her bed time, particularly as we read a few chapters from Benjamin Button (the graphic novel) after we got home. Eryn danced and clapped and Bill gave her a CD (titled English Motorbike, both words which made it into our game of hangman) to play at home, although her bedroom CD player is broke. I promised her a replacement tomorrow so she can listen to him at bedtime. I read the Harvard Business Review, so you know I'm sort of a geek.
I have this urge to see if Bill is affordable (plays for food) for my departmental picnic next year as I'll be manager in charge. We'll have to see if Kari allows business and home to mix.
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