in da club

[photo: Carl Dwyer]


For the second night in a row, I went to the college meat market because a friend of mine was in town. I used to spend a lot of time there, but now I prefer the local watering hole because it's dark and more geared toward people who want to drown their sorrows in alcohol--and I mean that in the most positive way imaginable.

The college meat market is a reminder of my waning youth and all but faded cool. I didn't have much to spare as it was, but now that I'm getting on in years, I look more like "that creepy old guy" than just another face in the crowd.

I talked to some woman with Tourette's--she'd just taken her LSAT. Her friend said that "The younger they are, the less clothes they wear," referring to the other females in the crowd. I wondered if the same rule applied to men, because the slight drizzle had driven me to slump into my giant, thigh-length, rain-repelling jacket. I didn't want to catch a chill.

While I was on line outside, waiting to get in, three young co-eds waiting behind me discussed some guy that they were going to meet up with. One of the women, the one who had made plans with the guy, made it known that she was clearly attracted to this fellow, but not all to thrilled about the prospect of the relationship.

One of her friends asked, "So is this like just a kissing and some dick-touching thing?"

She answered, "Well, yeah, I guess so."

I think the groundhog was wrong. Spring came early this year.

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From my fortune cookie: "Your joy is your sorrow unmasked."

Harsh.