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"We're going out!" TeddyBear declares and that's that. I didn't argue. I had been in a royally bad mood all week. Pissy about the birthday. Something about getting older makes me realize the things I haven't done, places I haven't seen, the people i've lost, especially those i've lost and still love. Sometimes it's an ache for my friend Bud that just sits in my heart undigested. Sometimes it's the stab of betrayl from an ex, an old wound that still hurts whenever the emotional humidity kicks in. But it's Friday night which is not a night for sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself. It's a night for getting shit faced drunk and engaging in the ancient Spring sport of women watching.
So TB & I hit East Atlanta. There's an 80's night going on. Sure why not? What's a little retro between friends and besides... I prefer my bootyshake britpop with just a little splash of hip-hop to be honest. We get in and the place is packed. I score us a couch in the corner. We order up and three songs in we realize that this is Lionel Richie 80's not Duran Duran 80's. They do Billy Ocean, they do Huey Lewis, they get into some Foreigner and man, if that's your thing cool, but i'm not the one Baby. Still we manage to get what we need and we quickly weigh out our options.
We quickly agree on Cyberave over behind the Red.
Get there just past two and the place is packed. It looks like someones filming a William Gibson novel here. Jungle bass on the decks. Brixton spitting and the floor is jumping. Black vinyl goth dolls pass by with their flourescent outer space dreads that glow in the dark. Bare chested angel boys with animal contacts and drenched in a second skin of sweat melt out of the walls. Rolling party grrls drift on currents of cigarette smoke leaving phermone trails of estrogen and ecchs behind them. Glitter Babies huddle over the flame of a lighter, androgynous savages that have crawled out of one of David Bowies old wet dreams. There are post apocalyptic warriors, there are neon punks, there are down low hoodie cultists, there are vampire aristocrats, there are people who live their life like everyday was Dragon*Con and there is a small amount of Midtown Money types walking around drunk in the Freak Petting Zoo.
TB and I wade through the human tide. I run into a portrait gallery of friendly faces. TB goes to score us some of the 'PUNCH', I take seat by the Goddess and my lap is immediately seized by a young lady. I'm flanked by friends old and new. We're already laughing, in fact it's very hard to stop smiling. It's going to be a long night and the sun will rise before I will sleep but i'm going to step away here, where it starts to get hazy, where it starts to make me suck on my own teeth for the last dregs of it's sacred memory.
I don't get out often, but when I do....
So TB & I hit East Atlanta. There's an 80's night going on. Sure why not? What's a little retro between friends and besides... I prefer my bootyshake britpop with just a little splash of hip-hop to be honest. We get in and the place is packed. I score us a couch in the corner. We order up and three songs in we realize that this is Lionel Richie 80's not Duran Duran 80's. They do Billy Ocean, they do Huey Lewis, they get into some Foreigner and man, if that's your thing cool, but i'm not the one Baby. Still we manage to get what we need and we quickly weigh out our options.
We quickly agree on Cyberave over behind the Red.
Get there just past two and the place is packed. It looks like someones filming a William Gibson novel here. Jungle bass on the decks. Brixton spitting and the floor is jumping. Black vinyl goth dolls pass by with their flourescent outer space dreads that glow in the dark. Bare chested angel boys with animal contacts and drenched in a second skin of sweat melt out of the walls. Rolling party grrls drift on currents of cigarette smoke leaving phermone trails of estrogen and ecchs behind them. Glitter Babies huddle over the flame of a lighter, androgynous savages that have crawled out of one of David Bowies old wet dreams. There are post apocalyptic warriors, there are neon punks, there are down low hoodie cultists, there are vampire aristocrats, there are people who live their life like everyday was Dragon*Con and there is a small amount of Midtown Money types walking around drunk in the Freak Petting Zoo.
TB and I wade through the human tide. I run into a portrait gallery of friendly faces. TB goes to score us some of the 'PUNCH', I take seat by the Goddess and my lap is immediately seized by a young lady. I'm flanked by friends old and new. We're already laughing, in fact it's very hard to stop smiling. It's going to be a long night and the sun will rise before I will sleep but i'm going to step away here, where it starts to get hazy, where it starts to make me suck on my own teeth for the last dregs of it's sacred memory.
I don't get out often, but when I do....