Indecisiveness pre-empted the party’s crash downtown later than normal. There were drunks all over in place for the beginning of tailgating season. Not even out of the car yet on West 6th, and some middle aged grey hair was already yelling for head. Two perfectly drunk-looking young men were handcuffed on the sidewalk against the windows at Velvet Dog. And I always find it classic when dudes are just sitting on the street indian-style as if they’re home getting ready to “handle” the controllers on whatever video game madness is currently of the moment. So, downtown is full of a bunch of dirty, dexterity-inept, drunken pig men tonight. Sweet. Let’s go get some phone numbers. Blind Pig (appropriate, right?) upstairs was a hot sweaty madhouse. I swear the air conditioners were blowing lava. As per usual, always great for live bands. Did I mention how kickass the front stage placement is? Does anyone remember the stage in the BACK? Holy Christ was it a PIA to see bands there — or use the restroom. Downstairs… eh. Same tired dance music from junior high school (You wanna fuck me like a… what?) and it’s midnight and I’m not drunk yet.
Velvet Dog. No line. No cover. Always redeeming… but not when you have to wait twenty fucking minutes to WALK UP STAIRS to the rooftop. TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES. Drink wait time: fucking twenty minutes… which is only slightly different than the stair time. But when sober, and first in line against the bar and even the MALE bartenders are ignoring you… it’s sick. Seeing as how I was soon enough going to hell in a handbasket after doing three shots of vodka, I bring sexy back to the dance floor and almost immediately get bored. I see some guy I met a couple months ago (remember guy-living-with-ex-girlfriend??) and chat with him. He’s closer to moving out now… great, right? I can be nothing but empathetic as I have been in similar mood-decreasing situations. He will be my date for Saturday night, regardless of the baggage he carries.
After running around on a mission for mini croissants for a wedding shower (still never found any — and why do all local bakeries seem to be closed for vacation at the same time? Is there a bakers convention in Ft. Lauderdale end of August of every calendar year?), I take part of more bridesmaids’ responsibilities over on the east side of town. Sucked to have an outdoor tea party get rained on, but always heartwarming to be with the girls from my original neighborhood and ruin a good diet over a buffet-heaven of food.
Quiz time: What’s Mel’s favorite movie? If you guessed “Pulp Fiction,” you get a blue star, but not gold. Although Pulp is high on the watch-and-memorize-line-for-line list of movies in my collection, one rises above: To Kill a Mockingbird. I love old movies. I especially love old movies with Gregory Peck. And who cannot cherish watching (second favorite actor) Robert Duvall in probably the most moment-in-history role of his lifetime. (And in staying with my Duvall rant, sure you loved him in The Godfather. Me? Loved him in Assassination Tango. BEST. DANCE. TANGO. SCENE. EVER. Go now. Rent it. Learn one of 7,342 reasons why I’m looking for a tango partner). Back to Mockingbird hoohah. Read the book? You betcha. Required reading for probably any NEO student in junior high/high school. It’s that favorite book that became my favorite movie that was showcased at the Palace Theatre Saturday night. Obviously, not of sound mind and body during the original release, I never imagined I would be able to view the production in all its movie house glory. Looking for something different to do Saturday nights: Cinema at the Square. Future schedules are here. The Shining is playing next Friday — I’m THERE. Shown the way movies should: with Bugs Bunny cartoons prior to feature presentation and organ playing along with all your Broadway/Ragtime favorites.
Finished off with nightcaps at Riverwood in Lakewood. I really wish they had a band Saturdays. I KNEW I should’ve tried Savannah or Town Fryer. By the way, date was fantastic and at the very least, kept interesting. Luck (and good genes) has me running ahead of the crowd apparently in the eyes/ass/snarky-department. Where did I miss that last fraction of a percentage? I’m sure it had something to do with these menthol cancer sticks in my purse I pull out in case of alcoholic emergency.
