We stayed at a nicer place than we would usually stay and our first five minutes in the room was akin to monkeys experimenting with iPads. We wandered around the room pushing buttons and moving curtains and making throaty yelps. Scrutinizing the drunken munch-fest dream that was the minibar. This place anticipated every possible crave -- from a mini-sleeve of Pringles to an "intimacy kit."
Dinner at The Bachelor Farmer, drinks at the hotel bar and then The Local. We get caught up in, first, the hotel robes, then in the ability to order room service at any hour and call in for chicken strips, sliders and tator tots at 3 a.m. I cackle into the sleeve of the robe while Chuck signs for the meal.
Lunch at Muddy Waters, record store, clothes store where I buy pants that make me look like your handsy Scottish uncle. Meet with Fannie for happy hour at Masa and suck down a bunch of spicy margaritas. Meet up with Chrissie, QT, Millsy and Nels at Bryant Lake Bowl for dinner. VFW for karaoke, not a nurturing environment. After bar in our room.
Brunch at Triple Rock where something like Slayer is assaulting my hangover and the bloody mary I'm trying to fight it with is only making things worse. We leave just before the start of the Zombie Pub Crawl. Stop at a super great comic book store, but Chuck looks a little green so we return to our hotel to watch "The Pelican Brief." Later we rally for my friend Dong's birthday party at The Nook. Awesome cheese-stuffed burger and a pumpkin beer. Back at the hotel I read Julia Wertz's new collection of comics.
We go back to Muddy Waters because they have poutine and I'm not leaving the city until I've had poutine. Plus, we're both loving this place. Ikea to get things to put the finishing touches on the Atomic Lounge: A new rug, some pillows.
There is a nightclub at street level of the hotel and it is particularly bad idea-ish. Lots of dudes, lots of skin, a velvet rope though I can't believe they actually use it. There are all these secret service-style watchers at the perimeter and inside so much air humping that the air must feel violated. I'm standing outside engaging in the mixed media art of Watching the Shit Show and playing Dice with Buddies when a kid who looks like Napolean Dynamite taking fashion cues from James Spader in "Less Than Zero" walks up and begins talking in the middle of a sentence.
I think he's telling me that his friends are ignoring him.
I think he's saying he hates all the bullshit.
I think he's saying he just wants to keep it real.
I think he's saying he hates this scene.
"I just want to go home, ya know?" he says. "Smoke a bunch of bud and just get so high."
"Huh," has become my standard response every time he pauses and seems to be searching for a response.
"So what do you think? You smoke bud? Want to go to my house and smoke bud and hate human beings?"
"No," I say.
He moves on to two girls who are willing to talk to him, until he gets into a screaming match with a woman who is leaving the club.
"What are you, like 29?" he asks and it sounds like he means this as a dis.
By the time I go inside, weaving through this strange crowd of awful people, he's on to his third woman. She, too, seems skeptical.