Since we haven't been able to go in a couple of weeks, I consider us the reigning champions at Clever Dunne's trivia night. That's my rack in their default picture.
The Brigadoon of Gay Bars
Since 2/3 of our trivia team were otherwise indisposed, Roxy and I decided to do a mini pub crawl last night. We started at Tango. I'd tried to go there once before on a Friday, but it was too crowded. During Happy Hour, time's a wastin', so you can't afford to wait for a seat at one establishment. We'd abandoned the notion in lieu of the Honey Hole.
We found that Happy Hour at Tango on a Tuesday was doable. In retrospect, it's Friday popularity had done us a favor. Tango lacks atmosphere and the food is all pretension with little payoff.
We finished our weak, overpriced drinks and bolted to the Honey Hole to catch the last 30 minutes of their happy hour. We polished off a couple of $3 martinis and a plate of Gilroy Chips. We'd ordered twice as much at the Honey Hole as we'd done at Tango and our bill was still cheaper. Tango sucks.
When trying to decide where to go next, I'd remembered an awesome gay bar around the corner from Chop Suey that Meep and I had killed some time in about a year ago. It was called Martin's. On the night that Meep and I had gone, they were playing some GOOD 80's music (Hall and Oates and New Order, as opposed to Love Shack) on the juke box. Men were dancing their hearts out everywhere. The bartender was on ROLLER SKATES and he was wearing an orange vest with no shirt, hot pants and a goddamned yellow hard hat. Naturally, he had a mustache. A very drunk gay man told me and Meep that we were beautiful. We drank our beers and reveled in the, well, revelry. EVERYONE in this bar was having a blast. It was as if someone was making a movie and wanted to create the most fun gay bar stereotype they could. It was glorious. We had to leave after one beer because we were meeting our men folk and we knew that they wouldn't be interested in such a scene. But for us, it was perfect and we vowed to come back when we were again without our boyfriends.
I told this to Roxy. She had never been inside Martin's. She seemed surprised that it was like that inside. We walked up to the door. Through the window, I could see that it was dark inside. This was certainly in contrast to the brightly lit bar I'd remembered, but I proceeded to open the door anyway. A few steps inside the door, I could hardly recognize the place. The juke box was gone. There was no dancing. I'm not even sure there was music playing. If there was, it was at a subliminal volume and was certainly not an 80's classic. Everyone was sitting down at intimate tables talking quietly. There was a fireplace. The decor was dark and boring. The place looked like a ski lodge. We backed out the door slowly and cautiously and ended our night at the more consistent Twilight Exit.
I was floored. What had happened? And how long ago? Did the Martin's that Meep and I had loved so dearly for one night even exist? Or had we stumbled into some alternate dimension that we will find again? Perhaps our Martin's was the Brigadoon of gay bars: For one magical night every 100 years, you can visit it, but you'd better live it up and leave before last call, or you'll be trapped. When you reemerge, everyone you love will be long dead.
Thank you, Martin's, for letting me and Meep be a part of your fleeting magic.
B'utcracker
Last night, Brugos and I caught the last performance of the Burlesque Nutcracker at the Triple Door. I wasn't sure what to expect. I have never liked the Nutcracker. The music is beautiful, but I find ballet incredibly boring. However, I have never seen a live burlesque show and have been wanting to for a while. The description made it sound fun. Swing versions of the Nutcracker Suites! Sexy ladies! Elaborate costumes! Plus, the Triple Door is a very classy venue. I've been there once before (to see some god awful jazz show with a work event) and even though the music was painful, the food and atmosphere were very satisfying.
We were seated right down front to the left of the stage. The host told us it was our waitresses birthday. She was very sweet and seemed in good spirits despite having to work on her birthday. We ordered drinks (I got a nice and salty dirty vodka martini) and I ordered the stuffed mushroom appetizer. The show began and I was immediately drawn in. Everything was adorable from the host's swing vernacular to the curvy tattooed dancers in their sexy costumes. The things these girls could do with tasseled underpants! There was also one man in the chorus line. Later, he joined another guy to do a cool rough-and-tumble dance number in pinstripe suits. And the other guy performed a swing number with two ladies. I am always amazed at how easily trained swing dancers can throw a girl around. I had a big silly grin on my face for the whole show. I felt pretty classy sipping my martini and watching cuties strip tease to Big Band Tsaichovsky with my fella by my side.
Just look at all these burlesque cuties!
Here's a flier that was too big to paste into my blog. Aren't they adorable?!
I admit, I was a LITTLE skeptical at first. $20 is a lot for a show for me and the Nutracker usually sucks. But it was worth every penny. It's too bad it was the last night, or else I would urge each of you to run out and see it. I think it was a success, though, so they may do it again next year.
I really want to learn how to swing pasties and waggle my butt in tasseled underpants. Luckily, I can take lessons! I think as soon as the classes are back in session, I am going to try it out.
Thanks a bunch, National News
Dear National News,
Why did you tell my mom Seattle was being evacuated?! She called me in a panic. I was out getting teriyaki. She'd just tried my office line and there was NO ANSWER. She called my cell phone and I, as usual, didn't hear it the first time because the city is loud. So she left me a voicemail telling her to call her back IMMEDIATELY if I was ALIVE and OK.
So I did, and she told me that YOU told her Seattle was being evacuated, that streets were flooded, power was out and public transportation was out of commission. Granted, all of these were true, but only on a relatively small scale. This is no hurricane Katrina and the only people who had to evacuate anything were people who's homes had trees fall on them. They didn't need to leave the city and hopefully, they have friends and family who could take them in.
Maybe you DIDN'T say that the entire city was being evacuated. You might have just said the WORD “evacuate” and that was enough to take several years off my mother's life. But I know you, National News. You are as prone to sensationalizing things as my mother is. So between the two of you, wires got crossed and I had to get out of line at the teriyaki place to calm my mother down and assure her that I was unharmed and, apart from having not showered this morning and being late to work because of the power outage, otherwise unaffected by the storm. It didn't help that all of her equally unstable friends who know of me called one after the other to ask if she'd SPOKEN TO HER DAUGHTER YET!!!! What a mess.
Anyway, all I ask is that you PLEASE try to be EXTRA careful when using words like “evacuate” and “disaster” to be sure they are appropriate to the magnitude of the situation. Fragile old women like my mother just can't handle it.
Thanks a bunch!
Love,
Baxter
Another weather post
So it's official. This is more than just a particularly horrible Seattle winter. Two weeks ago, it was SNOW. Now it's FLOODS and WIND STORMS. Holy. Crap.
This is in Wallingford!
Many people woke up to find TREES on their cars.
People are kayaking in the streets!
Who wants to place bets on what's next? Tsunami, volcano or P.T. Anderson frog plague?
Ode to my sandwich
If it's possible to be in love with food, than I'm in love with the Starbucks Eggs Florentine breakfast sandwich. I have been for quite some time now. Not many people understood our love, including the employees of Starbucks. “Why don't you try the Black Forest Ham?” they would say. “The Turkey is really good too.” “I'm a vegetarian,” I would inevitably reply. This may sound like our love was forced out of necessity. But this is not so. True, it was always my only sandwich option. But I have always been fond of spinach, eggs and cheese. And the Starbucks Eggs Florentine sandwich brings these ingredients together in a magical way that I have not been able to find anywhere else.
My heart was broken the day that e-coli was found in local spinach. Madness flooded the populace and people eliminated spinach from their menus. My beloved sandwich was among the casualties, quarantined for months for, what seemed to me, a somewhat reactionary measure.
After spinach began popping up again, I checked back in with Starbucks. Had my love returned? What I found instead was a new face. The Sun-Dried Tomato sandwich stared at me from the glass case with cold eyes and said “Hello, I am the very played-out Sun-Dried Tomato. I am the vegetarian option from people who think they are being clever.” “Where is my spinach?!” I pleaded with the Starbucks employee. “Isn't this e-coli madness over yet?!” And then I received the horrible news. “We're phasing out the spinach,” he said, with not a hint of remorse. “But you should try the Sun-Dried Tomato. It's much better.” I was devastated and, in my grief, I rebounded with the Sun-Dried tomato. Every bite was stale and unsatisfying. The experience left me feeling cold and empty. But what was I to do? My sandwich was gone. I had to move on.
After an exhaustive search for an adequate substitute (including trying the Seattle's Best spinach sandwich, which proved far worse than the Sun-Dried Tomato), I eventually found an acceptable replacement. A small cafe a block from my office served a tasty egg and cheese. There was no spinach. In fact, there were no vegetable options at all. But it was good enough to keep me happy. This would do. I could get on with my life.
And then it happened. Today, I went into a Starbucks to grab a Gingerbread Latte. Indeed, it was the same Starbucks in which I had received the horrible news months before. As I waited in line, I glanced into the glass case and…saw IT! My sandwich! But was it too good to be true?! During the e-coli scare, they kept the Florentine model in the case as a cruel reminder of what I could not have. But it wouldn't hurt to ask. So I did. “Do you guys have the spinach?” I timidly inquired. The employee looked at me like I was crazy for asking. “Of course we do. I mean, I think. Let me check.” And she opened the fridge and pulled one out!!! On the surface, I was calm and collected as I handed her my debit card. But inside, my heart was doing somersaults.
And here, at my desk, after months of separation, I bit into the warm, gooey goodness of Havarti, egg and spinach and once again, everything was right with the world.
I love you, Sandwich. Don't ever leave me again.
My baby's in the news again
The Stranger hopped on the story about Brugos' mural. I guess they needed to wait until there was some actual contention before they would write about it. It's an informative and (mostly) accurate piece, apart from spelling his name wrong at the end and getting his age wrong as well.
I like the picture too. It's deliberate forced-perspective designed to make Brugos look not hobbit sized next to John's elf stature. Fo real.
The umbrella fiasco continues…
Due to this apocalyptic fucking weather we're having, my trip to the library resulted in me having to buy YET ANOTHER umbrella after the wind ripped my trusty polka dot number to shreds. I briefly mourned the loss of a good umbrella which has served me for over a year (and which I miraculously hadn't lost) before ducking into Bartell to buy another umbrella. I know I still have the one from Portland at home, but this isn't the kind of day in which you can be umbrella-less even for a second. As it is, they only serve to keep parts of you dry. The rest of you is wind-blown.
Let me take this opportunity, too, to mention how incredibly jealous I am of people with naturally curly hair or otherwise natural body to their hair. Seattle in winter is not the place for people with naturally straight, bodiless hair, as anything we do to it in the morning is negated in a matter of minutes. I know it's like this every year in Seattle, and this will be my 10th winter here, but am I the only one who feels like it's SO much darker and miserable this time? Wonder why that is.
This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off.
I'm quite sad to have learned of this too late.
'Alien'
(STAGED READING) The talented freaks of Brown Derby inflict their theatrical gifts on Alien, the literally gut-busting 1979 space-horror classic. Tonight the screenplay will be brought to life by a collection of beloved local hams including Nick Garrison, Imogen Love, Dusty Warren, and Rebecca Davis. Plus, stuffed animals and Silly String. (Re-bar, 1114 Howell St, 223-9873. 8 pm, $12 cash at the door, 21+.)
However, I won't make this mistake again when, in January, they will be doing the same thing with TOTAL FUCKING RECALL!!!!!!
Weekend Recap
FRIDAY
As soon as I could leave work (5:15), I hopped on a bus to Ravenna to help Brugos set up for the party. He was supposed to have left work at 3:30 and so, when he wasn't at his house, I assumed he was at the store or something, and well into his preparations. I let myself in and set about look at pictures of bruises on google for my costume. When he got back around 6, he was kind of stressed out. I guess he had left work pretty late and had gotten nothing done. So I tried to be as helpful as I could by doing a little decorating and fetching us dinner. It all worked out in the end. The karaoke machine arrived around 7:30 and the first guests about an hour later. By 11, the place was packed. About half of the guests were people I didn't know (and many of them, apparently, were also strangers to Brugos). There was much singing and dancing and making out. It was every bit the rager. Elyse and Wade's Fraggle costumes were adorable. Brugos looked quite good as Al Swearengen. Apparently, my bruise makeup was pretty realistic because Rocko thought I'd actually been battered. Meep was sexy as an undercover assassin. Things got a little out of control for a while. Someone drank all of my vodka. There was some crying. At one point, apparently, Matt's (Brugos' roommate) dog bit a crazy girl in the nose. Brugos and I began to slack on the DJing and strangers struggled to opperate the machine, so we heard a couple of songs twice. Around 3:00, a group of people no one knew, yet who were among the last to leave, began to sing the entire Beastie Boys catalog. It was then that I realised I don't like the Beastie Boys. Brugos exacerbated his bruised rib by attempting to do The Worm. Eventually, the strangers left and Brugos and I were just about to go to bed when one of his co-workers and a guy in a poncho came in from the back yard. They quickly exited the front door. We probably should have made sure that the last few people who left were ok to drive, but we just wanted to go to bed. It was a fun party, to be sure, but Brugos declared that it was the last one he would ever throw. This is probably an overstatement, but I could see his point.
SATURDAY
We stayed in bed for as long as possible so as to prolong dealing with the wreck downstairs. Eventually, hunger forced us out the door. The scene at Cafe Racer was surreal as usual. This time, however, it was not the owner, but the clientèle that was making with the weirdness. A fey bald man in sunglasses and a trench coat came in with his straggly, vaguely homeless looking companion and ordered a drink with 3 shots. The owner attempted to explain that they brew double shots and so if he wanted the extra shot, he could have it. While this was clear to everyone listening, it was not clear to the bald man. “You are not understanding me. I would like THREE shots,” he demanded. The owner once again explained that he could have his 3, but there would be a 4th that would go unclaimed unless he wanted it in his drink. “I would like THREE shots. Do you understand what I am telling you, Cochise?” said the man. Yes, really. Cochise. “And my friend here would like a cookie.” As the owner prepared the coffee for the companion, he asked the bald man how he was enjoying his coffee with the THREE shots, he replied “I have not yet TRIED my coffee. I am standing here waiting to pay you.” Good lord. There was also a strange exchange between a Husky football player and the vagrant companion about origami. I didn't hear it as I was still listening to the bald man be bitchy, but Brugos said the vagrant hilariously repeated himself in his explanation of the concept. “It's about paper and folding and zen and your soul and paper and your soul and folding.” If I believed in that sort of thing, I would suspect that Cafe Racer actually existed in an alternate dimension.
Our bellies full, we walked back to the house, picking up the keg cups and bits of Fraggle costume that had made their way to the end of the block. We then plowed into the cleaning. Several trips to the recycling bin and several of Brugos' declaration about never having a party again later, we had actually made some headway. We took a few songs breaks (until the machine was taken away) and one ANTM break so that I could confirm that Fabio is indeed the creepiest”sex symbol” alive. We were done with all but mopping by 2:00, at which time Brugos had plans to go to the Husky game and I had a meeting to attend.
I was supposed to meet Brugos back in the U.D. for dinner, so I decided to leave the Hill early in an attempt to avoid the Husky traffic. I wandered around a little bit and checked out Tiger Tiger. I've always wanted to go in there but avoided it since I loathe shopping unless it's under very specific circumstances…like time killing by myself. After that, I got an Irish coffee at Flowers and read until Brugos called to say the game was in overtime and that I should meet him at his friend Joey's house. I wandered up to Joey's and hung out with her and her Chihuahua brood until the boys returned from the game. We got some Mexican takeaway and played the new Marvel game for X-Box (which was pretty fun) until it was time to go to the House of Fun party. We made a decision early on that we didn't feel like bothering to dress up again. We're not really sure why, but people kept asking us why we “changed our costumes”. Umm…this is actually just what we look like. But thanks!
The scene at the H.o.F. was kind of weird. We didn't really know that many people there besides Elyse and Wade (I guess Brugos' friends showed up later) so instead we decided to go back to Ravenna with Brad and his girl to smoke and play Catan. That sounds awfully nerdy in print. I was glad we did it though. I didn't feel physically hung over but I was definitely emotionally wrecked. Partying is hard work, dudes.
SUNDAY
We spent a leisurely morning eating leftover curry and watching BSG. Then Brugos and I raked leaves in his backyard. When I was a kid, I loathed yard work. I would probably feel differently if it was something I HAD to do, but in this case, I actually enjoyed it.
After showering, we went out in search of nachos, only to find many bars closed. I found out today that it was due to power outages. It was certainly bastardly windy yesterday so in retrospect it makes sense. We finally found nachos (and a fireplace! and football for the lad) at Dante's. We had a lovely chat and Brugos beat me twice at air hockey.
Then we returned to the Hill to watch a little Angel before heading to Scrapper's to watch brilliant b-movie/gay porn horror film LEECHES! on his giant TV. Dudes. Leeches! Netflix it now.
When I was a kid, I also hated Sundays. Now, I love them.
NEXT WEEKEND: Crispy and PTLD!
Also: Halloween pics forthcoming.
Effed by the Wind 
