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OK... first of all, yes I am up waaaaaaaay past what anyone would consider to be a reasonable hour, which technically means that I am a bad boy.

But.

A friend had a crappy day at work (apparently full moons are when things go psycho-ape-shit-crazy in ERs) and wanted to commiserate over a greyhound or three, so I think I get an out there. It's a public service.

So, I am reminded of a few of things. First, why do I not go downtown on a Saturday night? Parking is hellish. (At least around the Bar 71/XV/Barracuda geography.) Apparently I shoulda just rode my bike, but it's harder to appear all hip and happening with helmet hair (and no, I'm not just gonna shave it all off.) Second, why do I not go downtown on a Saturday night? Well, let's just say that I think I'm at the upper end of the age dimension for the clubbing/bar-hopping demographic. Yes, it makes me feel a bit old. But I was not actually wearing a smoking jacket, and didn't get accused of being anyone's father, so I think I'm mostly okay. (Do jeans and a grey suit jacket over a black stretch T count as cool anymore, or am I hopelessly lost in some mid-90s dot-com notion of fashionable?)

Third, why do I go downtown on a Saturday night? Honestly, I like to see people having a good time. I like seeing interaction. Call it my sociological streak, my desire to people-watch, my hunger to understand the human condition. (OK, inebriated human condition.) And with the concentration of people and amount of social lubrication flowing in that particular cluster, it makes for some fascinating watching.

Welllll... and some of the eye-candy is pretty enjoyable, too.

Speaking of which, there was a pretty young woman emerging from Ohm with her date, who cast an "I know that guy" kinda glance my way as the two of them went around the corner for smooching/smoking/whatever. She looked familiar too, but I couldn't quite place her. As they emerged, she stopped me and asserted her suspicions, at which point I introduced myself, and we suddenly realized that I was a patron at the pizzeria she once worked at. (She even remembered "the usual": pepperoni with olives.) Sadly, that location went out of business, but she seemed happy to see me out in the real world. Guess we didn't immediately recognize each other outside of our respective pizza-making/-purchasing garb. She did tell me that I looked good (I had to return the compliment; she did), and her friend said that you never know when someone "is not just a customer, but a VIP playa!"

Good looking? A VIP? A player? Hell, if that's the reaction I get when I put on a suit jacket, I'll have to do it more often.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
northofvoontah
Aug. 29th, 2004 11:52 pm (UTC)
Hmmm... and here I thought; as long as I'm in bed before sunrise, all is good....
clypse
Aug. 30th, 2004 08:42 pm (UTC)
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<good [...] looking?>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

<Good looking? A VIP? A player? Hell, if that's the reaction I get when I put on a suit jacket, I'll have to do it more often.>

You've always been the super pimp mack daddy to me. I mean, look how you always show up fashionably late to all the soiree's and the conversation stops as everyone turns to check out who just arrived...
(Of course by that point I'm usually to drunk to have a coherent conversation with you)

re Downtown Portland, one of the things I miss here in Eugene, although I'm with you in the slightly too old to be clubbing demo.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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