Happy last day of 2015! I could write a summary of all the music I listened to and loved in 2015. I could admit that Spotify's end-of-year calculations confirm that I listened to a lot of Colin Blundstone and The Turtles this summer. But here you go:

Last night, my husband and I celebrated our anniversary by throwing darts at The Albatross (followed by a fancy dinner, but this is about the bar).

I met him thirteen years ago at Mooney's Pub through the serendipity of mutual acquaintances. He was playing darts. Mooney's had a decent jukebox, not particularly notable but solidly stacked with comfortable drinking favorites like Johnny Cash, Social Distortion. I had just moved to Brooklyn from Cambridge, Massachusetts, where I'd hung out a little too often at a crummy neighborhood bar where you were as likely to hear a late night Frank Sinatra sing-a-long as be drunkenly serenaded by the lead singer of a local punk band. I had high standards in drinking establishment jukeboxes.

Fast-forward thirteen years. I don't go to bars that often, my darts game is rusty, and I'm not so judgmental about the music. Last night at The Albatross, I was utterly content to throw darts while listening to Patsy Cline, Hank Williams, mediocre country crooners I couldn't name, a sprinkling of necessary 1980s punk from The Clash. I hit some solid bullseyes, still lost three (close!) games out of four, can't wait to go back.

Cheers to 2016!