Way Out Way After
After the Tom Waits show on Thursday, Berkeley and I went back to the Pig (despite the fact that we, um, live a block away from each other, we drove separately to the Pig and Whistle. Don't ask, it made sense.) I wasn't really feeling the Pig and Whistle vibe and suggested that we go have one -- just one -- at the Way Out Club, since its not far from our respective houses and on the way, anyway. Plus, Berk knows Bob and Sherri. Plus, where better to go than the Way Out Club after seeing Tom Waits?
I negotiated a group discount on the cover charge, and in we went. Side note: two weeks ago, after a drunken evening with Ashley (on the night we decided to go to Key West), I decided to get a tattoo, as I passed by Trader Bob's. Unfortunately it was 10:10 and Bob's closes at 10. Who knew of such a thing? A tattoo parlor (why do they call 'em parlors, anyway) closing at 10 pm. On a Monday night, I could maybe understand this, but on a Friday? Who gets a tattoo during the day, anyway? I digress. So, as long as I was on the block, or rather on the sidewalk in front, I decided to have a drink at the Way Out. I had to pay an 8 dollar cover. Then I bought a 4 dollar Jack and Diet. And then, feeling all out of place wearing a pastel T-shirt, carrying a Burberry plaid bag, and reading a Maeve Binchy novel, I left. I had a similar feeling at the Chuck Palahniuk reading with my pastel T-shirt, khaki skirt and Burberry bag. That night at The Way Out, I kicked myself for not bringing in a Chuck Palahniuk novel -- I had one in the car. So, like I said, I left. But not after watching the weirdest film short I'd ever seen, involving a man with a large studio apartment containing a glass cage in which a girl is go-go dancing. He lets her out of the cage and she goes a little nuts, so he puts her back in the cage where she dances endlessly. It ends with the guy covering the cage with a dark sheet. In the context of the Way Out, it made a certain kind of sense.
Back to Thursday. Kathy chatted up the bartender who I came to understand was Sherri, the owner. And then, as I stared drunkenly at the bar, I noticed a sticker that said "Dangerous Curves." My synapses fire differently when I'm toasted, apparently, because I called Sherri over and asked, "Do you double as Sherri Danger on Friday afternoons?" Who knew? (Yes, I'm sure that lots of you knew. But, I didn't. And I'm not sure how I didn't. But, whatever). And then, as more synapses began firing, I asked, "Do you ever play the Pipettes?" (I listen every Friday). She not only confirmed that she did, but complimented me on my correct pronunciation of their name (apparently, some people call them the Pipe - ettes). So, that was my second A-HA moment. (Recall that when the Pipettes showed up in my mailbox, I had no idea what had inspired me to put them in my music queue). Last night, when I related this story to Ashley, I said "I was solving mysteries all over the place!" and she drolled, "You're a regular Nancy Drew."
My bizarre film short played again, preceded by and followed by others. The video is some kind of anthology called "Real Strange Video" or something. I think Bob told me he'd make me a copy. It pays to have certain friends, I guess. If someone now would only provide me with a copy of Hide and Creep, I'd be the happiest woman alive. Which is funny if you think about it. (If you follow that link, please note that Horror movies are buy one, get one, and that Hide and Creep would bundle nicely with Shaun of the Dead.)
A month from today, Ashley and I will be getting ready to drive back up the Keys, ending our long weekend in paradise. That has nothing to do with The Way Out Club, except that coupled with a Tom Waits show, a night at The Way Out Club is sort of a paradise of its own.
bob and shari are good folks. the cover got steep though...8 bucks...wow.