Midnight Outings

So I got in a bit of a tiff last night at my local watering hole. Probably not the best judgment on my part, mostly because it occurred with a long time resident drinker, so chances are I will run into him again. And so the story goes…

Because my good friend from college, Megan, is in town, she, Emily, and I went out to a couple bars. Going out on week nights is actually a rare occurrence for me these days (these days meaning in the past six months to a year), but I made the exception for our visitor. First we went to Barney’s Beanery because Emily wanted to play pool. I'm not too fond of the college scene that is characteristic of Barney's but we just don't know of any other fun pool halls in the Hollywood area that actually offer more than one table - so if you readers know of any, I beg of you, PLEASE COMMENT!!

After having our fill there, we headed back to our neighborhood to hit one of our more frequented bars, and the closest bar to our apartment, Three of Clubs. Megan and I went to the bathroom, immediately after which she left to go meet up with some other friends. I come back to the bar stool where Emily is sitting, only to find her hunched over the bar, fading fast from consciousness. I then see a group of four just-under-forty-something guys standing around her. One shorter, dark haired fellow is leaning over Emily talking to her, though she looks to be unaware of it. To me, it appears as though he is attempting to take advantage of my decision impaired friend. So I begin to shoo him away with comments along the lines of, “she doesn’t want to talk to you”, “leave us alone”, and, “we have boyfriends so get outta here,” among others. Sure, I ran my mouth a bit – because you know, I get feisty – leaving him struggling to get in his own phrases like, “are you done yet?”

Well our Good Samaritan friend gets very offended and explains that he was only trying to see if my friend was okay, since she didn’t look to be in the best of shape. I utter a bashful, “oh…” I apologize and explain that in a scenario like this one, it is often the case that the man in his position is some over-aggressive walking penis who wants to exploit our drunken state. Then something strange happened. After hearing my apology, explanation, and then follow-up apology, Good Samaritan gets even more heated. He starts berating me for my indignation. I say, “listen man, I apologized. I swallowed my pride, told you you were right and I was wrong… I put myself in place. I was being light-hearted in my feistiness, not hateful. I’m sorry. Can’t you at least chalk it up to being an entertaining exchange?”

No. No he couldn’t. His rant continued with a lecture about how he’s been coming to this bar for fifteen years and how disgusted he is with the evolving clientele, who apparently waltz into HIS local spot and take over the place with their drunken antics. I’m thinking to myself, ‘it’s midnight at a dimly red-lit dive bar in Hollywood and this guy is complaining that he’s surrounded by drunk young people… what did he expect when he walked in here, an orchestra?’ I tell him that I’m not just another wet behind the ears Hollywood newbie; I grew up down the street and have been coming here for 10 years, since I was 14 and they let me pass with my 24 year-old sister’s ID, even though she was such a regular there that they knew her by name. This only angered him more.

His friend standing closest to us finally chimes in, saying to Grumpy, “what’s the problem? She said she was in the wrong and apologized. Why are you still talking about it?” I exclaim, “thank you! Thank you very much. Let me shake your hand. What’s your name?” He tells me his name, and then I turn to the other two on-looking friends to gather their names. They look a little clueless as to what is going on and state that it’s too loud to even hear what we’ve been talking about this whole time. As we introduce ourselves, Sour Puss says, “what’s the difference? It’s not like she’s even going to remember any of your names in the morning.” “Ha!” I gloat, “joke’s on you – I don’t even remember your names right now!” And immediately realized that such a statement actually does not help my case. (I in fact remembered one name at the time. Rick.)

Then a very useful piece of information surfaces. Jerk Face mutters something about just wanting to have a good time at his local spot on his birthday. Ah yes, it’s all coming together now. He’s upset about getting older (perhaps he was celebrating the 40 year milestone), the infestation of drunk whippersnappers at the bar he’s been a veteran at for 20 years (yes, at this point we are up to 20) and most likely also that he is sans lady friend and just got three snaps in a Z formation from some cute young feisty girl. Even though, mind you, I was polite and apologetic and wished him a happy birthday.

We left the scene and I just kept thinking about how I should have said something like, “don’t take it out on me because this bar is retaining a young clientele and evolving but you clearly are not, since you are still frequenting the same bar as when you were 18, back when that was the legal drinking age.” But I guess I wasn’t quick enough on my toes.

At least I won’t feel awkward the next time I go there since obviously all faces with wrinkles look the same to me.

Activities Worth Mentioning

Well hello there. It’s been called to my attention that I haven’t written much this month. I’ve started a few different entries but something always comes up and I don’t have time to finish them. So I’m going to see if I have enough time to squeeze one out right now.

The past week has been jam packed with activities. Be it a Dodger game, a night with grandparents, staffing a work related event, moving furniture, attending a show at the Hollywood Bowl, jet-setting to San Francisco for the weekend, or seeing THE BEASTIE BOYS (what what!) at The Greek AND The Wiltern, I just can’t seem to get a quiet night of relaxation at home. Oh woe is me!

Yes, the past eight days have consisted of all those activities, and more. Where do I start? How about I work backwards in time. So, yeah, I saw The Beastie Boys last night in concert at The Greek Theatre, ya know, no big deal. So like, they were amazing and it was probably one of the best few concerts I’ve ever been to, if not THE best, (shrug) but whatevs… in all seriousness though: WOW. I’ve been ardently listening to these B Boys since I was about eleven years old (“be true to yourself and you will never fall” was my eighth grade yearbook graduation quote), and yet I had never seen them live. Last night was exactly what I was hoping for, but so much more than I expected. They played more or less the entire Ill Communication album, which is definitely my favorite album, the one that first got me interested in their music, in fact – the one I was hoping they would play plenty of songs from. The stage was absolutely magnificent: a dozen or two rounded tyriangular, asymmetrical, different sized screens loosely hung in a wave shape over the stage, shining different lights and patterns throughout the show; the raised instrument section of the stage (including two full drum sets, other forms of percussion, and keyboards) had bright, color changing lining underneath it, which illuminated the whole stage – during funky jams they set the color to a mellow orangey-red and during high energy rhymes it alternated bright whites, yellows, blues, reds, greenss etc.; Mix Master Mike’s turntable setup had strobe lights posted on both outside table corners; they were all dressed in suh-weet getups, reminiscent of 1940s speakeasy-goers. The whole act was very classy, even when singing “No Sleep ‘til Brooklyn”. Overall, the show had a very funky, lounge-like feel, due to the new instrumental album the are promoting, called The Mix Up.

Oh, and did I mention that I’m going to see them again tonight at The Wiltern, for their all-instrumental “Gala Event” show, for which audience members are expected to dress to the nines? Oh, I did? Well anyway, I’m doing that too.

Whew, I’m already out of figurative breath, and I haven’t even started talking about the weekend. On Friday night Karen, Emily and I set out for San Francisco, for a weekend of fun in honor of Sam’s birthday. A weekend of fun indeed. I really don’t know that I could have had a better time. Naturally, after going out to dinner that night, we set out on the town. I don’t know the name of the first bar we went to, but it was nice until it got over crowded. At that point we headed to one of Sam’s favorite bars called “The Red Room”. The name says it all: everything, everywhere you look, is red. They even have wall partitions made of bottles that reflect red everywhere (perhaps the bottles themselves are red, I don’t know). I definitely liked the layout there. Of course, when you’re on vacation, no night simply ends when you hear the shouts of “last call!” and realize the lights are fading back on, making your red room appear not so red after all. So we went to an apartment that had pretty cool graffiti covering the inside walls, which made for some unique photographs.

Saturday might have been my favorite day of all. For his birthday, Sam wanted to play softball. I was pumped about it as soon as I heard. I love softball but stopped playing after eighth grade because I was never very good; despite having a decent arm, I was always pretty much a benchwarmer. Regardless, I’ve always loved to play catch and I guess I just really like games in general. Anyway, we spent the whole afternoon outside, in the sun, being merry. It was grand and I’d really like to make a habit of it… outdoor game-playing, that is. After getting cleaned up we started the evening by convening for “Happy Hour” (read: 10pm) at Sam’s. The first bar we headed out to was so interesting. It was actually an art gallery that throws themed parties every week. This weekend the theme was croquet, or garden party, or something of that nature. The entire floor was covered in plush grass – I couldn’t resist walking around barefoot. Plus, there was an upstairs loft area that we had to our group of about 15 people for a good hour, so it made for our own little private party. The second place we went to was also interesting in its own rite (I hope I remember the story correctly): back in the day, Miles Davis opened this cool little jazz bar and I guess it was quite the musical destination for awhile. It closed and remained closed for about twenty years, and only recently reopened with the new name “222”. The DJ in the back had us all getting groovy, dancing our little hearts out until, yet again, it was time for them to kick us out for closing.

Sunday consisted of lying around in Washington Park all day, from which my face incurred a nasty red sunburn unlike one I’ve had in years. But it was relaxing and totally enjoyable to just lounge around on a grassy knoll all afternoon with a handful of good friends. All in all, it was fantastic to hang out with old friends all weekend, in addition to meeting and making new ones. Great people, awesome city, what more could I ask for?

That’s all the energy I have to write about things in the past. So, there you go.