When you’re in a foul mood, the idea of experiencing something new becomes more of a burden than a delight. And on Thursday, July 8, I was struggling to write dazzling copy for a client of mine. It wasn’t happening. And that made me grumpy.

As a writer, sometimes things just flow easily and vibrantly onto the page. And sometimes, they don’t. And for some reason, when they don’t, if feel as if they never will, ever again, that your entire career is over, and you’ll never write anything worth reading ever again.

That was my day on Thursday.

But despite this despair, I kept my commitment and I did something new. I dragged my bon vivant Mark out onto our slightly sloping deck and we each had a glass of wonderful, Uptick Zinfandel from California, as we watched the drama and beauty of our neighborhood dance below us. Two lean young black boys riding bikes stopped just below us and silently, as if they had been choreographed, exchanged bikes, and then rode on. It was silent, graceful and beautiful.

Cars roared by, some of them playing loud rap music. Two young teenage girls in skintight jeans walked past towards Spring Street. And while I’d had a tough day, sitting outside in the summer evening, feeling the thick, humid air on my skin, I knew my mood would pass and all would be well.

And then, there was yesterday. Friday, July 9. I had my “new experience” all planned because I was going to go see Peter Aaron perform at the Beahive in Kingston. I’d never heard Peter’s Avondale Airforce, nor had I heard live music at the Beahive, so I was set. New experience locked in!

Plus, Mark wanted to go Market Market in Rosendale after Peter’s show because starting at 9:00 pm, there was going to be “This Ain’t Your Mama’s Karaoke,” and listening to Mark sing karaoke would be yet another new experience for me.

But what ended up happening was one unplanned, unexpected, silly mishap after another.

It started with a surprise. Mark decided that we needed yet another new experience to accompany the one I’d already had planned, so he told me, “We’re going somewhere before we go hear Peter, so be ready to leave by 6:45.” Okay. You betcha!

It didn’t take long for me to realize, once we were in the car and headed north on Broadway in Kingston, that he was taking me to the Carnival that was happening at the Kingston Plaza. What Mark hadn’t planned on was all the traffic delays due to the fact there was also a children’s parade scheduled that evening. By the time we got to the Carnival, we didn’t have a lot of time to spend there if we were to make the 8:00 pm curtain for Peter Aaron’s show.

But we made the best of it. We walked through the Carnival, taking in the spectacle of all the rides, like the Scrambler (which had been unfortunately renamed the “Sizzler”), the huge, wide spaceship-shaped ride where the floor drops out and you’re mashed into the sides by centrifugal force, the Fun House, the stomach-wrenching, upside down Ferris wheel thingy, and those crazy, P-shaped cages that can flip over and upside down as they rotate round and round and round.

But we didn’t go on any rides because we knew we had to be at Peter’s show soon. So we walked, ate a little junk food, and then headed to the show.

When we got to the Beahive, Peter and his musical partner were outside. We went up to them, introduced ourselves (since I’d only met Peter through email, never in person), and that’s when he told us that they were on second; there was a warm-up group going on first.

“What?” I said, “you mean we could have stayed at the Carnival for another hour?” I was only half kidding. I couldn’t believe we’d rushed over to the Beahive only to find out we’d have to wait another hour to hear Peter play. Why hadn’t the Beahive Meetup announcement made that clear? I was disappointed only because we’d cut short a fun, spontaneous excursion to make this show, and the show wouldn’t start for more than an hour.

Mark and I considered having a glass of wine at Elephant, a nearby tapas and wine bar, until Peter went on, but we were torn because we also wanted to get to Rosendale for “This Ain’t Your Mama’s Kararoke.” So, we decided to let go of hearing Peter and head off to Market Market so we could have a glass of wine there and settle in before the karaoke began.

I hated to miss Peter, since I’d been planning on this experience for weeks now, but this night had ideas of its own as the comedy of errors continued.

At Market Market, we grabbed a couple of seats at the bar which overlooked the kitchen and the automatic Jiffy Pop popcorn-making machine (an amazing, old tin machine that shakes a Jiffy Pop aluminum pan across a heating element until the popcorn starts popping wildly, at which point it stops, automatically shuts off the heat and let’s the popcorn pop like crazy. I swear, it is worth the entire trip to Market Market just to see this thing work.) A drum set and microphones had been set up, which seemed odd for a night of karaoke. But maybe this is what they meant by “not your Mama’s Karaoke.” We had about 45 minutes until it was scheduled to start, so we ordered some food.

Then Mark decided to take a look around outside. He wasn’t gone 3 minutes when he showed up at the restaurant door, curling his index finger at me, signaling me to follow him. When I joined him outside, he pointed to a flyer posted on the wall outside the door. It was a picture of some guy with today’s date, July 9, and the time, 9:00 pm. Seems that this wasn’t the night for “This Ain’t Your Mama’s Karaoke” but was in fact the night for two folk artists to perform. We just looked at each other and laughed. This whole evening had been one ill-timed mistake after another. But now it was funny.

And just as we’d regretted not staying longer at the Carnival, now we regretted not having stayed to hear Peter perform at the Beahive. But hey, what are you going to do?

We stayed to hear a couple of songs by the guy whose face was on the poster (I don’t remember his name), and then headed home. I convinced Mark to swing by the Holiday Inn where our friend Joe was playing drums with a less than great band. Joe’s wife Diane had told me she would be there, so we figured, okay, why not? The whole night had been so strange anyway, the Holiday Inn couldn’t make it any stranger.

Turns out Diane wasn’t there after all, but Joe was playing so we stayed long enough to hear a couple of songs. And as we were walking to the car to go home, the sky filled with the pops, booms and bright, shimmering lights. Fireworks were being set off near the Carnival, but we could see them clearly from the parking lot. We stopped and watched until the display was over then headed home.