I was in Connecticut with my brother Chris, standing in the rain outside a movie theater, waiting to see a sneak preview of The Avengers. But I wasn’t talking to Chris. I was on the phone, debating with my friend Steph whether or not to go to Mt. Joy, Pennsylvania.
We’d made tentative plans to visit Mt. Joy a few months back, after I read an article in the Washington Post’s Travel section that hooked me on the idea of a Friday night ghost tour, Saturday brewery tour, and the dinner theater Saturday night. But Mike and Steph couldn’t make it there by Friday, and now, on Thursday, Steph told me she’d kept forgetting to make reservations, and the dinner theater was sold out.
“We can still tour the brewery,” she said.
“We can tour a brewery in Alexandria,” I said, referring to our hometown and its Port City Brewing Company.
After checking the Bube’s web site, Steph said, “There’s a Dave Matthews cover band playing Saturday night.”
This isn’t the first time we’d discussed the cover band, but at no point did we address whether it was out of irony, nostalgia, or a genuine interest in hearing their songs.
“We can do that at home, too. We have, actually.”
We agreed to cancel the trip and hang out at home in Alexandria that Saturday.
I hung up with Steph and told Chris, with rain dropping off my upper lip, that, a few years prior, in Arlington, we’d seen a Dave Matthews cover band called the Gabe Matthews Band. Ever since, I’d wanted to write an all-gay DMB cover band called the Gaybe Matthews Band into a script.
“The lead singer would sound exactly like the lead singer of The B-52s.” I did my best Fred Schneider, in a melody vaguely reminiscent of “Loveshack”: “You’ve got your ball, you’ve got your chain / Tied to me tight; tie me up again!”
Chris laughed. “You sound just like him.”
“It was so hot outside / You could fry an egg!”
He thought for a moment, plucked a line from the “Jimi Thing” chorus: “I’d like… to show you what’s inside!”
We went back and forth like that for about ten minutes as we stood in The Avengers line, surrounded by kids wielding shields and parents wielding kids, waiting to see the patriot, the playboy, the big man, the thunder god.
Evan Allgood's work has appeared in McSweeney's, The Millions, LA Review of Books, The Toast, and The Billfold. He lives in Brooklyn and contributes regularly to Paste. Follow and maybe later unfollow him on Twitter @evoooooooooooo.