The stank and funk is strong with this one. Like he crawled out from a gutter in which, the weekend had been spent. But it isn't true, it's only that I took a nap in the middle of the day.
For two days, I've made a habit of staying up all night to watch the sunrise at local greasy spoons. Then an afternoon nap.
The first time, I thought God pulled up the blinds and whispered truth. You know I'm always listening for that sort of thing. And what Ol' Boy had to say was that a change is gonna come. Makes sense to me and is there anything more inspiring than that? I doubt it. This epiphany is the substance of prayer and hope -- intangibles, not actions making friction out of faith. I can hear the nightfall ask a question that the morning answers.
All this and all this.
Well I didn't go to Augusta and to keep this all on an interesting and cheery note, I won't explain why. Just keep in mind that all the following events take place in Macon. Not Augusta.
Par for the course. It's time for Liz Reeds. Why I go, I don't know. Why I stay? To have something to share.
You may remember the baby mama drama described from last weekend. So the first thing I want to share, is that Mr. Virus is much better. Less than a week and he was back making sure that all was well in barland. Though he looked a little tired and perhaps worse for the wear, it was a jolly sight.
"Long Island Iced Tea." That's how I start these days. I don't get down there for a while and so to maximize my drink selection it goes Long Island (1), Jack and Coke (3-4), Bud Light or PBR, water. And I never leave drunk. It works for me.
New bartenders. Debbie Harry's Daughter (Hart of Glass) and Dom Verna had the downstairs. I sipped silently while folks came up to say hello. It was Skateboard Thunder's Going Away Party Part 2 and so there were plenty of pals to be seen.
By the way, I'm rechristening some people.
Old code name: Sweet T. New code name: Tangle My Nangle
Old: Magpye New: Bee Charmer
Old: Carson Mack New: Ruth Bee Alabama
Old: Betsy Bartender New: Super Catholic Schoolgirl
Keep up.
Screw that, let's move forward.
So Dr. Dre and I were outside chillin' and chattin'. She says, "Hey, is that (Virus)?" Indeed it was. Magic, my man, magic. He was on stage just letting it all pour out. Stick 3000 was totally rockin' -- wailin' on his ax. The rest of the band -- names excluded -- kept it hot. Magic.
In general, I feel like an anthropologist there; making notes on the culture and significance of their markings and practices. And in truth, I'm not the biggest fan of hardcore/metalcore but there was more than beauty coming through the amps that night. It was love.
Slowly and entranced, people left their spots in the bar to gather around the stage. Some who both like the music a lot and the band a lot (esp. Virus) were yelling and jumping around. Doing the tough guy dance. Three songs and nothing like it will ever happen again. Just think... I was there... touch me and enjoy the special.
Skip ahead and the night is done. Super Catholic Schoolgirl needs escourts to her car. Three of the baddest muthafuckas there -- Skateboard Thunder, Hippie Thug Life, and myself -- obliged. We walk down the street and around the corner to her ride, joking and talking along the way.
Some dick in a Ford Explorer pulled by and hollered, "Hey, baby you lookin' good!"
Pause. Super Catholic Schoolgirl was one of the ladies being harassed last week before the shooting marked the night. That's the background.
Unpause. I snapped and went chasing after the Explorer yelling, "You wanna loose your teeth, motherfucker?!"
Out of character? Indeed, but I was a little tipsy still and carrying a large oak cane.
Words were exchanged, Thunder had my back and Hippie Thug had his back. The Ford Explorers pulled off citing "fuck these pussies" as their reason for leaving. Being the charmer he is, Thunder flipped them off and yelled some pleasantries.
The Explorers came back and parked. They stepped out... Hell asked if we could come out to play.
Prison Bitch, the driver, got out and said, "You gonna hit me with that stick?!" Thunder took the stick from me and said, "Yeah, come here." While they shouted back and forth about who was going to go where to hit whom, I watched the passenger, Urban Whitey Uncool. He was hovering around the back of the vehicle hiding something behind his back and motioning to something invisible inside the SUV.
Meanwhile, Prison Bitch had revealed his knife and things got a little hairier... what with him yelling that he "just got out of prison, bitch."
Schoolgirl went up to intercede, Hippie Thug and I joined. Uncool was cool with squashing beef so it was just up to our testosterone driven pals to chill. Thunder doesn't calm easily and I could tell that PB didn't either, but in time, they were shaking hands and agreeing to get drinks the following night. All was well because we explained why the tension was so high. No sweat.
Then a beat up 80's Caddylack pulled up. Three brothers stepped out and went after Thunder, yelling, "You flippin' me off, bitch?!"
So we all tried to explain that no, the flipping off was for these guys over here, not you. Two other black guys walked up out of nowhere, I assume because this was a race riot in the making and it's gonna be us versus them so sign up with your people and let's get it on.
Most of the Caddy Riders and their new buddies were fine. One remained hot and for some reason this really got Prison Bitch's goat. He tried to start shit with the passersby and the remaining hothead.
"Everybody's talkin' shit, gonna swing, but nobody's swingin'! Someone needs to swing. Swing, bitch, swing!"
Then the lanky driver got upset and requested his 'strap'. Much like Prison Bitch's proclaimation that he just got out of the clink, I assume that this was just playing to stereotypes and trying to bluff. All the same, I want no part of a bullet so I grabbed the guy, explained what should have been obvious to all -- that PB was insane and certainly not worth getting upset about.
Finally, it was done. The Ford Explorers and Big Pimpin' Caddy Riders went on their way. The Liz Reed's Wrecking Crew finished what we started by getting Schoolgirl to her car in which Hippie Thug Life was going to ride. Then Thunder and I walked nervously back to the bar each being honest about how scared shitless we were -- sparing no ego.
I'd told Lady In Black, the doorkeeper, on my way out -- before all those shenanigans -- that I loved her. She asked why and I said I'd explain later. So I explained and realized that spantaneous confessions of love are a good reason not to drink. She's still cute so it would have happened sooner or later.
Sitting at the bar drinking water with my friends.
"So Chris, (Tangle My Nangle) says you've got a friend named (Beige Sugar)," Boss says.
Dr. Dre turns, looking like she's wanted to ask the whole night. Bad blood is boiling. Someone doesn't like someone.
"Yeah, I do," I admit. For a few minutes I pretend I know nothing else as she explains that someone with a similiar name -- possibly not the one I know but probably the one I know -- used to date the guy to my immediate left (who claimed to have SARS so despite having a self-inflicted nickname, will be known as SARS).
Eventually, I get tired of the game and say, "You know, you're right it isn't the same person." I give the first and last name, adding, "She isn't the same person. I can sympathize with how you feel but I don't want to be judged on her past with you." They are cool people, I've learned that in my experience with 'em, and they weren't going to judge me. And yes, even Sugar has said that she'd done some bad things to decent people. All the same, I don't know THAT chick and that was my point. That and 'guilt by association' is a middle school way to go.
Whew, that's only Friday and now I have to eat so I hope you enjoyed yourself. By the way, nothing noteworthy happened Saturday night and I just slept a bunch today.
And for those unable to read between the lines, the moral of this story is that being profane makes God unhappy, and being obscene makes your mother unhappy.
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