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  •  Thing is, I'm straight, but . . . (none)

     . . . I just happened to be up in D.C. for a long weekend about a year-and-a-half ago and got together with a bunch of friends of mine from way back (I mean elementary school, when I used to live in Northern Virginia).  Anyway, we (about a half dozen, maybe 8, of us, guys and girls) decide to go hang out around Adams-Morgan and, basically, we bar hopped.  I cannot tell you how long it's been since I've done such a thing.  Anyway, this girl (woman, now) that I haven't seen since seventh grade -- 1976 I'm telling you -- keeps going on and on about how she wants to go to a place called "Hubba Bubba" or "Heavy Equipment" or something like that to see "male strippers" and the rest of us were all like, "Well, good luck with that!"  But, at any rate, between this one Ethopian restaurant (forgot the name) and some Irish Pub there's one of those basement places where you've got to go down about half a dozen stairs and, lo and behold, there's the small neon sign for "Hardly Matters" or whatever it was and this woman about has 16 kittens to go in, so, sheesh, we're all, "O.K., ONE drink and that's IT!"  So we go in and the place is what you'd think:  smokey, seedy and "rave-sounding" techno-funk just THROBBING away.  I can't hear myself think.  But we all go up to the bar and each  s c r e a m  for 1 beer each and my skin is just wanting to crawl right out the door:  it is sooooo much not my scene it's not funny.  And, then, as our eyes started to adjust to the gloom we see the stage, just a few paces from the bar, and it looks like "amateur night" because the guy up on the stage looks like a real DORK trying to do a "sexy dance" (kind of like a Martin Short character) and it's as disgusting as it is laughable, but, in fact, there's about 5 or 6 guys, one wearing a baseball cap, all gathered around him cheering him on.  Well, I always carry a camera and so I decided to snap a pic, just for laughs.  Mind you, it was dark and I couldn't see anything very well, but I had a flash, so I knew it would turn out once it got developed.  So, I snapped the pic just as just thuggy guy starts coming at me and waving his hands (must have seen me starting to take the pic) and, well, after that one shot and this guy telling me how, "Your ass is GRASS and I'M the LAWNMOWER!" I'm all like, "Whoa!  Sorry!  I'm outta here, and I just turned and stalked off and went a couple of doors down to a Starbucks and got an Americano and sat out at a little table (it was in June) and just people watched.  Well, it wasn't 15 minutes before my friends came along and they looked like they were "the living dead" -- just all like "glaze-eyed" -looking, like they were in shock or something and I'm like, "Well, you took your time gettin' out of that hellhole and they're like:  "Do you have any idea who's IN there?  And I just go, "No and I really don't care."  Well, they just do all these "knowing looks" at each other and do these very uncomfortable laughs.  We end up going to a couple more "standard" bars then go head back to our respective homes.

    I had forgotten ALL about that role of film and it popped up in a dresser drawer a couple of months ago and I just turned it in to Walgreen's.  I'm serious, I didn't know what was on this role of film -- til I got it back.  And there, THERE, in the middle of this pack of photos . . . WHAM!  

    So, that's the story and, well . . .  There you go.

    BenGoshi
    _________________

     

    We're working on many levels here. Ken Kesey

    by BenGoshi on Mon Jan 23, 2006 at 07:21:10 PM PST

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