front yard dance

I don't speak Spanish, unfortunately, but at 3:30am, this red sequine-clad group rocking out on Telefutura is just about the coolest thing ever. I'd like to think music is universal anyway.

Tonight, my ears were battered by some rough and tumble punk bands at the bar outside of downtown. They were relentlessly loud, but one of them was really good and worth the permanent damage. I've done so much to my poor ears at this point, I doubt it matters, though one of the better drummers in town informed me that it's never too late to start wearing ear plugs. I want to take him up on his advice, but I always forget.


[photo by Nathalie Dulex]

Before the show (I'm working backward), I grabbed dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I wanted to try something new, so I took my time perusing the menu. The house special beef had mushrooms, but the iron plate beef did not. I took the latter, even though it had the little pepper insignia informing me it's hot.

"That's hot," remarked the matriarchal, and still oddly attractive woman who I assume owns the place.

"How hot? Like really hot?" I asked. I've started to like hot foods, and my tolerance is pretty high, but I've noticed that Asian foods produce a different kind of heat than most Mexican salsas I've tried. Sometimes, the Asian heat is way too much for me to handle.

The fact that I asked the question seemed to tell the matriarch that it would be too hot for me. "I can make it mild or medium," she said in her thick Cantonese accent.

"Medium," I said, hoping not to be too much of a wimp, but I think it was already too late.

The meal was great, and just spicy enough. I think I could have handled the regular spicy, but any more than that would have been pushing it. As I was eating, the restaurant closed, and the family that runs the place sat around the table across from me with their dinner. The matriarch, son, I presume husband and some other guy I've never seen before ate noodles, steamed vegitables and some kind of meat. The young woman ate nothing but sat with cell phone at the ready. No one seemed to mind.

From there, I went to my friend's store, drank a beer and watched some fucked up movie before heading to the bar out of town--the place where my ears were pummeled. After the bar, I was at a party. The woman who drove Coworker C and I there seemed pissed, but I was too drunk to care. The party was out of beer, but I was done anyway. I stood outside with a couple of coworkers and talked shit about Titan, but it wasn't long before C and I noticed that our ride had left, without a word. I needed to sober up a bit for the long walk home.

We didn't get a block away before we saw a pretty gnarly fight break out on the lawn of this frat house. Pretty gnarly because some dude was knocked down and stomped upon. That's what I heard. I didn't watch, but I heard it, and C confirmed it. When we were around the corner, I called the police. I don't like to do that, I don't trust the cops, especially in this town, but it sounded like someone got really hurt. As much as I don't want to get involved, I don't want that on my conscious. I explained the scene, told the operator where it was and declined to leave my name. A few blocks later, we jaywalked in front of two squad cars racing toward the scene.