Thursday, December 08, 2005
We Go Where Eagles Dare
You would think that after Saturday all-day and all-night debauchery, the Go! Team would need a few days to recover. Maybe a few weeks. But then you would be wrong.
Monday nights have long been one of my many weaknesses. Karaoke is another. So when I got the invitation to come celebrate Brother Lawrence's birthday on Monday night at Village Karaoke, of course I told him I would be there. And I warned him I'd probably bring my cronies along also.
Village Karaoke is on the Bowery, just north of East Sixth Street. It's one of those places with a small bar up front and hallways leading back to dozens of private rooms. You'd think it was a brothel if you were the type who knew what brothels look like. I showed up with Southern Gent. He was dressed like a civilian. I had my usual corporate costume on. Ted Baker suit. Charles Tyrwhitt shirt. The now beat up Guccis. We walked right past the bar because we'd brought our own six-packs of Miller-Lite Tall Boys. It's the national beer of Texas.
Lawrence's private room was in the basement. Must have been the largest room in the place. The place was packed. Everyone was dressed in standard east village fare: t-shirts (hand-decorated or self-damaged), jeans and boots. They stared at me in my suit like I might have been the police.
I stared back. The women at Lawrence's birthday party were improbably gorgeous. Don't take my word for it. Check out these photos. Or these. I'd met his sister Sarah before, and Lawrence had introduced Christie to me outside of Lolita a few months ago. I half-recognized Ellen of Social Cavity, Gurj and Kristin from the interwebs.
The party was well underway. Karaoke Party = Miller Time.
Southern Gent got to singing.
Lawrence took to the microphone.
Which caused a spontaneous dance party eruption.
Too much drinking on a Monday = time to pay a visit to Cellar!
That's bartender Betsy Mittens. It's about here, right at the door to Cellar, that my pictures stop making sense, and the night goes dark and smells like whiskey.
Happy birthday Lawrence!
Monday nights have long been one of my many weaknesses. Karaoke is another. So when I got the invitation to come celebrate Brother Lawrence's birthday on Monday night at Village Karaoke, of course I told him I would be there. And I warned him I'd probably bring my cronies along also.
Village Karaoke is on the Bowery, just north of East Sixth Street. It's one of those places with a small bar up front and hallways leading back to dozens of private rooms. You'd think it was a brothel if you were the type who knew what brothels look like. I showed up with Southern Gent. He was dressed like a civilian. I had my usual corporate costume on. Ted Baker suit. Charles Tyrwhitt shirt. The now beat up Guccis. We walked right past the bar because we'd brought our own six-packs of Miller-Lite Tall Boys. It's the national beer of Texas.
Lawrence's private room was in the basement. Must have been the largest room in the place. The place was packed. Everyone was dressed in standard east village fare: t-shirts (hand-decorated or self-damaged), jeans and boots. They stared at me in my suit like I might have been the police.
I stared back. The women at Lawrence's birthday party were improbably gorgeous. Don't take my word for it. Check out these photos. Or these. I'd met his sister Sarah before, and Lawrence had introduced Christie to me outside of Lolita a few months ago. I half-recognized Ellen of Social Cavity, Gurj and Kristin from the interwebs.
The party was well underway. Karaoke Party = Miller Time.
Southern Gent got to singing.
Lawrence took to the microphone.
Which caused a spontaneous dance party eruption.
Too much drinking on a Monday = time to pay a visit to Cellar!
That's bartender Betsy Mittens. It's about here, right at the door to Cellar, that my pictures stop making sense, and the night goes dark and smells like whiskey.
Happy birthday Lawrence!
