The most Texas bar sign ever.

This is Geek Bowl wrap-up week. Every day this week, I’ll post something from our recent trip to Austin for Geek Bowl VII.

What do you know? VS What do you think?

Here’s what we know:

After Geek Bowl, we couldn’t handle Sixth Street for a second night in a row. Since we’re all in our 30s now, drinking is no longer the endgame unto itself, rather the side attraction to catching up with your friends whom you never get to see anymore because you’re all so goddamn busy with your own bullshit. So we found Shiner’s Saloon, got a table, ordered beers, and found ourselves really enjoying Shannon Lee Nelson and her band. She paired cover tunes of classics like “Folsom Prison Blues” with her own stuff that was quirky and heartfelt, uptempo and soulful. She was a pleasure to listen to. Also, whatever whiskey is in Shiner’s well is excellent.

Here’s what we think:

Not content merely to enjoy the music and talk about our lives, someone poses this hypothetical: “Who is fucking who in this band?”Assholes that we are, the game escalates quickly as hypotheses are offered, tested, argued about, dismissed, reintroduced and dissected. Both the lead singer and backup singer are quite striking, which, for whatever reason, lends the necessary stakes to this game.

The lead singer is fucking the lead guitarist because why would she waste her time on the rhythm section?

The backup singer is fucking the drummer.

Are you serious? She’s fucking the bass player because NO ONE fucks the drummer. That’s why he’s the drummer. Ask Ringo Starr and Peter Criss!

The backup singer isn’t actually fucking anyone in this band, but the bass player in a different local band who tells her she should be her own lead singer by now even though her stage fright is crippling and she can’t handle the spotlight. But the sentiment is so overwhelming she loves him even though he’s using her for sex.

This conversation lasted for two hours. Then a second guitarist emerged who was previously obscured from sight due to the layout of the bar, and that added dynamic kicked off another hour or so of speculation. Kristin left early to go to bed, and when we brought it up again the next morning at the airport, she asked, “I thought we already settled this last night.”

“Oh no, it kept going long after you left.”

Final verdict: The lead singer is actually fucking the previously unseen guitarist while the other guitarist carries a secret flame for her and tortures himself by playing right behind every night, while the backup singer used to fuck the bassist, but that went sour when they played a gig with another band and she hooked up with that band’s guitarist who coos his admiration for her abilities and encourages to go for something bigger. The drummer still fucks no one.

It was like Us Weekly for crazy people.

Here’s what else we know: Despite these batshit crazy conversational machinations, we sincerely enjoyed this band’s music no matter who’s fucking who and wish them all the future success in the world. We bought one of her CDs. She came up to us after their set and thanked us for paying attention to them. We felt appropriately awkward about this gratitude considering while we enjoyed their music, we spent the bulk of our energy writing an ad hoc Behind the Music for them without knowing anything about them.

Here’s what I always know: I need to hang out with my friends more because I fucking miss shit like this.

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