journalism reunion and Arab night at Clique
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Yesterday I went to the News Record reunion, caffeinated and decked out in Hawaiian regalia, eager to see staffer faces of olde like JR Rininger or Jimmy Dinsmore. Alas, the only two I saw were Jay and Roy, whom I've seen (at Southgate House and Meck's respectively) already this month, so no crazy bar catch-up nor story-swapping. It was fun to delve a little into some old stories (like Jen's quote on the darkroom wall: "Drag your teeth on the upstroke thereby avenging yourself through oral sex" which she insisted was taken out of context).
I had some cabernet, thumbed through some copies of the rag during my heyday (1996). I would have felt old had there not been tearsheets from 1957 right beside it. (So many cigarette ads). We tour the new bullpen, mourn the passing of the darkroom concept (Thanks digital, you've destroyed a haven for smoking and making out for all time. There are precious few vestiges for such activities). I drank more cab, chatted with Pam and Roz, who is running for judge. I reminisce on my most vivid, though certainly not favorite, News Record moment: When Nate Livingston on a bullhorn came filing in with all his cronies chanting "No justice, no peace." and howling for the blood of Aaron Willis and Kevin Knapp. I sat at my computer neither confessing my identity nor taking in too much oxygen. Roz instructed Pam to dial 911 and Pam asked how to dial it. A valid question, since all lines on campus had some odd prefix, and Roz announced in "I'm talking to a foreigner" tone "Nine ONE ONE."
Ah, what sweet danger to run an opinion column. I think it was then I decided to go back to entertainment. I drank more cab, probably polished off a whole bottle by myself and since my pals had taken off, I set upon the appetizer table like a stoned 15 year old, took a bottle of water and headed out. The event was not as enjoyable as I was expecting, but satisfying nonetheless.
Amy, Haven and Rex had plans to attend the opening of "Clique" formerly the "Bar Humbug" (is this place doomed to have a stupid name forever?) Rex showed up at my place first, we had some High Lifes, and for unexplainable reasons I dug out the Fudgie bag. (For those not in the know, I have in my possession a red Norelco duffel in which I kept all Fudgie costumes, hats, whatnot.) I rooted through and decided I would wear my burnt sienna 70's jumpsuit with Arab head-dress. Rex was opting for the trucker cap stating: "Rock Out With Your Cock Out."
Amy, Haven and their pal Alison showed and we headed down to Covington, though both Rex and I had bladders in immediate need of draining. We pull off at a White Castle and I, looking like Disco Abdul, scurry off by the overpass and relieve myself on some deserted hobo camp. We get to Clique and it's been renovated so that you enter on the right side instead of left by the bar. The stage is gone, the comedy club tables have been replaced by couches. A great Vegas light show shone on the ceiling, controlled by a little blue space-age knob on the couch by the exit.
We get a mohito and I see three beefy rednecks in ballcaps glaring at me. I even overhear them say "goddamned Ay-rab." Uh oh. Kentucky. When Fudgie, I can get away with dressing like a homoerotic idiot or Saudi and throw cupcakes at people who paid money to see me, but this; this was danger. One misplaced step on their yellow workboot and same boot would be kicking teeth down my throat like hard white Milk Duds. I was too much in my cups to cope so I sat at the couch closest to the exit, played with the ceiling show. Rex and I had a fun time role playing that he was my interpreter and I vamped up an accent for effect. Alison kept laughing and blowing my cover, outright telling people I was American.
Ionna had to drive her friend's car home, so I made a rash decision to catch a ride back across the river, lest the trio of meatheads decide to take vengeance on a proxy bin Laden for shits, giggles and NASCARmerica.
Today my head feels like a braided pretzel. I'm in desperate need of coffee, since sleep is out of the question (some neighbor started blasting "Master of Puppets" by the dawn's early light) so now I'm off to obtain some.
-hon. Dr. Chutney McDeviltoast
-King of Giraffes and Porridge
I had some cabernet, thumbed through some copies of the rag during my heyday (1996). I would have felt old had there not been tearsheets from 1957 right beside it. (So many cigarette ads). We tour the new bullpen, mourn the passing of the darkroom concept (Thanks digital, you've destroyed a haven for smoking and making out for all time. There are precious few vestiges for such activities). I drank more cab, chatted with Pam and Roz, who is running for judge. I reminisce on my most vivid, though certainly not favorite, News Record moment: When Nate Livingston on a bullhorn came filing in with all his cronies chanting "No justice, no peace." and howling for the blood of Aaron Willis and Kevin Knapp. I sat at my computer neither confessing my identity nor taking in too much oxygen. Roz instructed Pam to dial 911 and Pam asked how to dial it. A valid question, since all lines on campus had some odd prefix, and Roz announced in "I'm talking to a foreigner" tone "Nine ONE ONE."
Ah, what sweet danger to run an opinion column. I think it was then I decided to go back to entertainment. I drank more cab, probably polished off a whole bottle by myself and since my pals had taken off, I set upon the appetizer table like a stoned 15 year old, took a bottle of water and headed out. The event was not as enjoyable as I was expecting, but satisfying nonetheless.
Amy, Haven and Rex had plans to attend the opening of "Clique" formerly the "Bar Humbug" (is this place doomed to have a stupid name forever?) Rex showed up at my place first, we had some High Lifes, and for unexplainable reasons I dug out the Fudgie bag. (For those not in the know, I have in my possession a red Norelco duffel in which I kept all Fudgie costumes, hats, whatnot.) I rooted through and decided I would wear my burnt sienna 70's jumpsuit with Arab head-dress. Rex was opting for the trucker cap stating: "Rock Out With Your Cock Out."
Amy, Haven and their pal Alison showed and we headed down to Covington, though both Rex and I had bladders in immediate need of draining. We pull off at a White Castle and I, looking like Disco Abdul, scurry off by the overpass and relieve myself on some deserted hobo camp. We get to Clique and it's been renovated so that you enter on the right side instead of left by the bar. The stage is gone, the comedy club tables have been replaced by couches. A great Vegas light show shone on the ceiling, controlled by a little blue space-age knob on the couch by the exit.
We get a mohito and I see three beefy rednecks in ballcaps glaring at me. I even overhear them say "goddamned Ay-rab." Uh oh. Kentucky. When Fudgie, I can get away with dressing like a homoerotic idiot or Saudi and throw cupcakes at people who paid money to see me, but this; this was danger. One misplaced step on their yellow workboot and same boot would be kicking teeth down my throat like hard white Milk Duds. I was too much in my cups to cope so I sat at the couch closest to the exit, played with the ceiling show. Rex and I had a fun time role playing that he was my interpreter and I vamped up an accent for effect. Alison kept laughing and blowing my cover, outright telling people I was American.
Ionna had to drive her friend's car home, so I made a rash decision to catch a ride back across the river, lest the trio of meatheads decide to take vengeance on a proxy bin Laden for shits, giggles and NASCARmerica.
Today my head feels like a braided pretzel. I'm in desperate need of coffee, since sleep is out of the question (some neighbor started blasting "Master of Puppets" by the dawn's early light) so now I'm off to obtain some.
-hon. Dr. Chutney McDeviltoast
-King of Giraffes and Porridge
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[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 10/15/2005 12:04:00 PM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!