The blackcat emerges. Sirk’s “Written on the Wind” illuminates the Albertsons television. It’s days before New Year’s Eve. Fill comes into town looking for some answer that he won’t get until he “tries.”
Life: that unanswerable question that one can’t answer until one does; until one acts.
It’s new year’s eve baby. I won’t promise shit. I won’t promise running the Maple Bike Trail. I won’t promise health, happiness, more love. I’ll maintain my humanness. I’ll continue beginning to listen to Francis Lai. Continue to learn and teach some foreign language– “german.” I’ll continue … living.
And my New Year’s Eve will probably run the same course as any other occasion worthy of my drunkenness: Dia de los Muertos 2007; end of quarter 2008; 2nd tuesday september oh-nine––it doesn’t take much for me to convince myself that i absolutely need to get drunk. Such is life of a “doing-what-he-wants-twenty-something-year-old.”
I’ll get meself hammered; I’ll barf somewhere off Broadway; I’ll get kicked out of various establishments; I’ll call all five people in my “Contacts List” to tell them how much “I love them,” how much “I hate them,” and how “totally phucked up I am right now man.”
I’ll wake up the next morning naked in some gutter somewhere not really wondering how I ended up there, but moreso wondering what I had sex with and whether or not it was an animal. I’ll hope that someone, somewhere, with a little more wits and dignity than me ended up with my wallet, because g-d knows it’s not in my back pocket.
But how I’ll get to such a state and who will serve me alcohol along the way is yet to be decided.
The Crosby: Closed New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Apparently, all the cool kids shall find themselves in LA that night, so no need for The Sea to be open.
Memphis at the Santora: Open New Year’s Eve from whenever to 2am. They’ll have “the countdown,” champagne, poppers, music, and other toys for grown-ups. Should be good times with their DJ of choice and Dave milling about. Word. Closed New Year’s Day.
Rancho de Mendoza: Happenin’ DJ, mad drink, and dance galore. Come here if you don’t consider yourself “uncultured swine.” New Year’s Day, open(?).
Lola Gaspar: Nothing “special” going on in the way of super wacky gimmicks, “just friends, and family,” and any one that stops by. Open until 2am. Closed New Year’s Day.
Gypsy Den: Open New Year’s Eve from 7:30am – 5pm. Closed New Year’s Day.
The Inn Step: It’s regular revelry for this owner-operated joint. (Their “special night” was on the 24th wherein they had a “sena,” prepared by a bartender and brought in for the patrons.) By the by, The Inn Step isn’t that scary. Whiteman welcomed. Hah. … oh but no really.
Bistro 400: The prefixed menu will run you about 65 bucks. A DJ, a trio, and some kind of Rebecca Hyrkas will be on stage that night. I hear they have a good time at the 400: *good* champagne flows, kisses are exchanged, and people eat well. Speedballs excluded, what more could the fan-tab crowd ask for?
500 Club: Slightly more scary, and definitely more skanky than the Inn Step, (though it ain’t what it used to be) the 500 will be open New Year’s Eve – complete with DJ and whores galore, but minus the stabbings from the days of olde. Open New Year’s Day from 6pm.
Proof Bar: Things and such and much carousing. (But not opened for comment when I passed by today at 7pm.)
One thing is certain, we uncultured swine here at ZauberHour will not be driving anywhere. Punkt. If at evening’s end you’re wasted and your choices of ‘what to do next’ exist only in the form of two possibilities: a) driving back home or b) dipping your head into some stranger’s toilet, then let me know and you can crash in my toilet. Now kiddies, no dying due to possibility (a).