Madison and Back Again: A Sibling's Tale

So, last night, my sister and I drove up to Madison, WI to see Marc Broussard live (as in, "play in person", not "watch him eat breakfast and go about his day"). We were a bit wary, as the venue was about a block away from the Wisconsin capitol building, which was, that very day, playing host to some 40,000 various protesters from both the pro-worker unions and the Tea Party. Thankfully, by the time we got there, only a handful of the protesters remained, and the city had quieted down to its (presumably) normal state of "hipster invasion". Beards, flannel, and ironically un-ironic hats were inescapable. And they naturally congregated to the Majestic Theatre for Broussard's soulful crooning, along with some really obnoxious business dudes (who, as luck would have it, stood right behind us); some drunk married women who wanted nothing more than to flaunt the last remains of their waning sexuality to a crowd of uninterested music snobs; and that one creepy, old, balding (though still rockin' a ponytail!) guy in the front corner who kept having rhythmic seizures to every song.

"It's okay! He's just dancing!"