After a post-Carolina Cup self-imposed hibernation, we reemerged from the crawlspace beneath our all-time low to attend Wednesday’s Best of Charleston party at the TD Arena. We’ve never actually attended a basketball game ­— something about needing our college ID validated in 2004 (whatever, it still works for a 10 percent J. Crew discount and reduced movie tickets). But, a conservative seven years post-college, we were really impressed with the venue and setup. A metal-themed party was on point, as most attendees dressed as their favorite has-been rock stars. We were dressed like a rock star’s manager, as pocket squares are about the most anti-metal thing we can think of. Iron Cherry headlined the event with some power ballads that were featured on your mom’s Columbia House CD membership in the late 1980s. After everyone got into the spirit via music and actual spirits, DJ Natty Heavy closed down the event and seemed to force even the most metal-heavy reveler to shake it.


On Saturday we welcomed the Farmers Market back to Marion Square. While fresh produce is a constant, local vendors also featured their wares and goods. We overheard one group of tourists say that they must be “in the art district” which is apparently located somewhere between the middle part of the park and the Embassy Suites. The Hat Ladies Easter Promenade brought in fancy church hats adjacent to a group of break dancers. And good thing our resident “street chiropractor” Byron was on hand to crack the backs of onlookers. In recent years, we’d heard he isn’t allowed in Marion Square, but we suppose the local police have more to deal with, as in not letting King Street become the new Bourbon Street. With tens of people on King at any given moment, is it any wonder?

Easter Sunday we took in a service with family at the French Huguenot Church. This is a service where a 20-something lady in her grandmother’s pearls and last night’s makeup will let you know that the sermon will only last 45 minutes before you can leave early for brunch. After brunch, we were informed that we were to see a musical production of Catch Me if you Can down at the Dock Street Theatre. Given that Frank Abagnale lives in Charleston, we were wondering why we couldn’t just go up to his house and ask to listen in on him singing in the shower. Suffice it to say, the performance at the theatre was better. We were wondering how they could Chitty Chitty Bang Bang-ify this performance and our questions were answered. Not sure if Tom Hanks, who played the FBI agent chasing Abignale’s down in the Hollywood version, is really musically-inclined — short of playing hopscotch on a gigantic piano in the ’80s — but his likeness did very well, as did all of the actors.

Summing up our family-themed Easter Sunday, we ended up at Halls for a much-needed burger and a Ketel or two. Our low-key evening was derailed briefly on our short walk home when we ran into the Drunk Easter Bunny of King Street. She asked to walk with us, and we obliged. We’d already agreed to take a picture of a father and son earlier in the day, so we were feeling especially giving. After dropping her phone three times within half a block, we were told we needed to walk with her to Rarebit before she had a sudden internal change of plans and hopped herself over to Dudley’s. No word if she proceeded to bop anyone on the head, but we hope she managed to find the particular rabbit hole she calls home.