Well there really weren’t any lesbians, but on Saturday night, We went downtown to see the blizzard, the wonderful blizzard of Blarg.
Earlier in the day, we had brunch at DeMarcheliers with Joe and this Fascinator. When I suggested that he fall in with us for the evening’s procession, RJ laughed and said, “Oh no thanks. Been there.”
“Well you’ll be able to peruse the reviews in about a dozen different blogs.”
“Please. I could write it right now.”
And he could have.
At exactly 10PM, the snow and the wind, arriving as predicted, swept us into Pieces, the first blarg depot. This is a pleasant place peopled with men who seem to be dreaming of a better world but are happy to turn some scraps of color into a warm and functioning engine of a Saturday night. The Blarg doubles their ranks, and we meet a really cute young guy with shiny wavy long black hair to whom the concept of blog must be explained. He’s a first grade teacher, and while he compares professional notes with Glenn, I wonder how school would have been different had I been taught by two hot men like these.
Also at Pieces, Mark-O-Cane's limber boyfriend and I get into a Catholic conversation that is of interest to only the two of us. Rule: if you want to clear a room, get me started on Church.
Joe interrupts us with protocol. “We’ve got a tight schedule, my tender butterflies.” I contribute the first of many half finished beers that will form a 40 blarger wake of debris along this nostalgic canal of tumbleweedy watering holes.
I recall odd moments of conversation.
At the Monster, C, and someone who will remain nameless, had a serious discussion about the bathroom door at Urge and its need for restoration.
At the Duplex, C and Helen have an astoundingly serious conversation about midget sex. Here, also, we make the first of several toasts to the absent Dagon.
At Ty’s, Circle (who got the evening’s Congeniality award for spending quality time with absolutely everyone) receives instruction from Glennalicious about how to produce the Funny Voice by inhaling the contents of a helium balloon. Here, we also examine the “John Deere green” of WeLike Sheep's tee shirt, and are reminded by C that corporate colors are not uncommon in the pantone world. Pepsi blue is an example.
As we leave Chi-Chiz, a rueful bystander says “They told us there’d be more of you here”. I’m not sure what he meant. I don’t think he was referring to “bloggers”. I have an idea it might have been a statement of racial/ethnic expectation.
At the Hangar, Joe is restrained from taking photos while Glennalicious announces “I can so look at any girl and tell exactly what her bra size is.” Helen is the only opportunity for verification, and Glenn nails it.
There is only one conclusion to be derived from this anthropological tour: bloggers may have off-switches, but they are rarely used. Marinate them in bad beer and wind-driven snow for a few hours and they will remain lively. I kept thinking that this is the exact group with whom I’ve always dreamed of taking a bus trip to Cleveland. The driver has a medical/dental condition that causes a detour to Akron, the only food on the bus is a five pound Yugoslavian salami hidden in Aaron's backpack, and, well, RJ, you can just write the rest from here, can’t you?
I'll own up to the discussion of Urge's broken men's room door spring. It's more embarrassing to me that I forgot we had that talk. I must have drowned more brain cells that night than I realized.
Seriously, we have to do something about that door. Some kind of Ocean's Eleven scenario. I'll reconnoiter and get back to you.
I'll take that bus ride, as long as we can bring some midgets and a helium tank.
It's quite true, he's extremely limber.
Now the bus ride, I'd go on the bus ride.
I like the bus ride. When does it start?
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