Monday, June 21, 2010

Everybody Dies Famous in A Small Town

There I go again, leaving my desperate fans holding their breath waiting for another post. I've been busy, okay? It's a lot of work being a rockstar.
Seriously, what have you all been doing during this monsoon season? Not sitting inside I hope. NOT watching Real Housebitches of New Jersey or Real Houseflakes of New York City. You know you're guilty! I know I know, watching the trainwrecks is breathtaking, I swear I wouldn't watch another episode if I didn't want so desperately to see Danielle get knocked off by the Manzo Mob or Kelly get sent to the nut ward. Just watching Kelly's head spin like something out of the Exorcist when she tries to string sentences together is worth the 10,000 brain cells I just lost and the belly laugh.
But it is summertime, and this town is overflowing overnight, making for some of the best people-watching I have ever seen. It sure beats reality TV. And the nightlife is unreal. You've got the Tavern, where the flower children pay $10 for beer you've never heard of while they sway to the music blissfully unaware that that the Rainbow Party left Cook County in 1983 - where washing your hair makes you stand out and the air is heavy with the pungent odor of incense and goat cheese. It's a truly spiritual experience. Or so I was told by a woodtick seated next to me, who clearly had had a big fat spiritual experience in the alley behind the bar before he came in.
"It's such a great love, man," he said, grinning, eyes half-mast. I had to move three stools down because the contact high was that good, he was starting to make sense.
Then you have the rockstars of the Birch Terrace. Where the whiskey flows, girls dance to karaoke, punches fly (and blood flows), everyone looks sexy in Carharrts and when you sing Divinyls you earn a cult following with fan clubs as far away as the Twin Cities. The men smell like sweat and wood shavings and the women wear baseball caps.
The best part about this town is you can hang out anywhere and have a good time. If you know how. And all that means is putting your prejudice aside and smiling at someone - before you know it, you will be having a conversation with a senator, singing showtunes with a doctor and eating pulled pork sandwiches in the parking lot. Staying for one more quick one and finding yourself doing shots with a guy who totally looks like Chuck Norris.
And maybe, if you're lucky, getting up to sing with me.

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