During a wine-and-chocolate event on the Upper West Side I got a call from Andy Battaglia, who writes about music and edits the city section of the New York edition of The Onion.
He wondered if I wanted to go to a Lindsey Buckingham concert.
He then explained that Lindsey Buckingham was one of the key people in Fleetwood Mac, a group he correctly assumed that even someone as ignorant of music as I would be familiar with.
I try never to pass up the opportunity to hear live music, so I skipped the baseball-themed Maker's Mark party to which I had been invited, stopped by the Time Warner Center for a ham and cheese sandwich at Bouchon and then to Town Hall, a music venue in Times Square, and witnessed the bizarre but not unenjoyable spectacle of a man in his 50s playing music with which I was vaguely familiar, complete with '80s-era light show.
During the concert I realized that even in the 1980s I wouldn't have paid the $16 or whatever it would have cost to witness Fleetwood Mac live, but seeing Lindsey Buckingham for free with my friend Andy was worth the opportunity cost of missing a bourbon party.
Andy and I closed out the evening with Irish whiskey on the rocks at Siberia.