Sundays are our days. Always have been, always will be. They’re the most bittersweet day of the week but we love ’em.
It all started back in college – the Fall of 2002 – when Sundays meant a hangover and the perfect excuse for us to sleep in, eat tons of snacks and never get out my Juicy pants. My girlfriends and I had this mutual understanding that Sunday’s were “boyfriend days” so nobody had to feel guilty. I spent countless Sunday hours lounging around the 838 (Danny’s house) and we’d always listen to Tucson’s 92.9FM The Mountain’s “Acoustic Sundays.”
Then in 2004 Danny graduated, moved to Phoenix and Sundays became more bitter than sweet. I’d watch the clock all day and dread the moment he’d say “it’s time for you/me to get going.” Sundays meant we’d be driving back to Phoenix or Tucson – alone.
More than 4.5 years ago we moved in together and Sundays weren’t so bad anymore – nobody had to go home (yay) but we now had these pesky things called jobs on Monday morning. So in an effort to keep some of the carefree ways of college in our repertoire, we reinstated Acoustic Sundays… aka our lazy day. By late afternoon, we’re in our PJs, on the couch with the pigs, eating and drinking whatever we want while watching movies and TV for as long as we want. Do not disturb.
Tonight, we’re mixing it up a little bit but for good reason… a fantastic artist, Griffin House, is playing at the Rhythm Room, a tiny music venue. So, for your listening pleasure this Acoustic Sunday…
“the guy who says goodbye”