notes

1.) Graffiti seen in North Station ladies' room this week: Punks Rule, OK? No, what punks do not do is ask permission. Kids these days. Sigh.

2.) So, last night trivia was cancelled because the guy who runs it did *not* bounce back from major abdominal surgery in less than a week as he had expected. Go figure. Instead Mr Barma and I went out to see some music. He warned me in advance that the venue was bad, and not in a good way. In fact when we were eating dinner, he suggested that if I thought I was going to need to use the bathroom at any point during the evening I do it then. (And when I needed to go a second time during the evening, I took his keys and ran across the street and up the block to his condo and then came back. Swear to god.) We discussed that some places could be filthy and disgusting and that is part of the whole experience (See: The Rat), but this place last night had not earned the cred for that. It's just a poorly managed pit. Example? Mr Barma goes to the bar to get us a couple crappy beers ('cause they don't sell good beer, silly), the bartender takes the order, wanders off from behind the bar, comes back several minutes later empty handed and asks, "What was that you wanted again?" But what I would most like to convey to you all is the decor. There were all these water features, one of which was, no lie, a fountain spewing TidyBowl blue water. There were gogo cages sans any dancers. There were private booths with gem names over them: pearl, sapphire, diamond, etc. There were weird club chairs on wheels and tables covered with tablecloths last seen at a christening at the VFW. And, y'know, keep in mind the filthy floor and bathrooms. It came to me while Mr Barma was off taking ten minutes to buy two beers in a mostly empty bar. This was a Las Vegas ultralounge for people who have gone to hell. (Yeah, see, now at least I know what the nightlife is gonna look like in the afterlife for me.) Oh, and I have to mention the little Asian cocktail waitress who has SUBLIME tattooed across her back, begging the question: the band or the adjective? If it's the adjective, I gotta give her props. Most people don't have that kind of self-confidence!

3.) Finally, in the Metro today (or maybe yesterday, I just found it on a bench) there's a piece about one of Tiger Woods' mistresses saying he is cheap, and that all he ever bought her was a wrap from Subway on one occasion. The article then snarks that her problem is that she thinks he's the cheap one in that story. Excuse me? Slut-shaming, what? Leaving aside any personal feelings I have about women who fuck famous married guys and then kiss n' tell in order to land a book deal or 15 minutes of fame, that's just totally unnecessary. A multimillionaire who doesn't even provide his paramours with, say, a nice room service dinner, a good bottle of wine, effin' cab fare...that's just outrageously cheap, and bad manners. Just add it to the tally of Mr Woods' poor behavior, and don't use it as an excuse to take a shot at some woman because she's a "slut." Grr.

xoxo