Thursday Night is Dead.

Back in college, Thursday night was the new Friday night. Thursday night was THE night. Walking into a Friday morning class hung over or just skipping it altogether was a common occurence. Then real life happened. Thursday slowly transformed into another weeknight. Sunday's popularity gained a little, becoming the new Thursday -- just enough weekend energy stored up for one more night out, albeit finishing up at 1am.

Every now and then we'd resurrect Thursday night and hit the town with the vigor of 21-year-olds. However, that all changed last night. Last night, Thursday night died.

As many of you will agree, the Swinging Johnsons are the one of the most unheralded bands in all of Boston, performers of great renditions of your favorite sing-along bar songs. For as long as I can tell, their Thursday night residency has been at the Burren in Davis Square. As per Thursday night tradition, the plan was made as last minute as possible. We (the roomates) were going to meet up with a group of friends at the Burren to see our favorite cover band. The deal was even sweetened when I was able to convince another group of friends to make the trek from Brighton.

And then it all fell apart. One roomate dropped out. Upon arrival at the Burren, there were only two people from the first group there. The Brighton group arrived, but by then the line was too long and they weren't willing to wait. THE BAND DIDN'T SHOW UP. We left by 11, five dollars lighter after paying a cover for "live entertainment". The doorman gave the excuse that the "live entertainment" was the fiddle player in the front room. We saw a sign that the cover was reduced to $2 when we walked out of the door. Worst of all, I have to go to a funeral tomorrow. Thursday night is dead.


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