(Presidents Day weekend, 2012)
Nice long weekend it was. On Friday we went out to the 322 for a pizza and there was a not very good screaming soul singer (with three back up singers in matching outfits) and a a bar band trio…it was all oldies and date night for the parents and divorcees who were getting drunk. The table of couples next to us, oh man. The women got drunk and soon all of them were talking about 80′s porn. The guys were driving apparently so were fairly sober and the women regretted things in the morning, I’m sure. As the night wore on the place got more and more crowded and the female percentage was probably 60% at least. Someone requested “I Will Survive” and the floor was flooded with bad dancers and it was surreal…I’ve lived in Silverlake so long I’d forgotten that that it hadn’t always been a gay anthem. I was expecting they’d segue into “It’s Raining Men” but no. Anyway, we left long before the evening ended. I didn’t get outta work that night till 7 and we didn’t get down to the 322 before 9 so this is what happens when you go out for late dinner on a Friday night. Actually all the people were having one helluva good time, it was funny seeing the 322 turned into a bit of a meat market. They used to book jazz on Fridays but the bills gotta be paid somehow. On Saturday we went to Farmer’s Market for the Mardi Gras thing….there was a good New Orleans style band doing funk, zydeco, etc and the people were drinking too much and throwing beads. The crowd was relatively tame this year and the drunkenness was toned down and I saw no wanton behavior…beads were being handed out but no one had to show anything to get them. Some years that’s a requirement. Well, it’s not, but some women pretend it is. Some men pretend it is. Most are drunk. I wonder about the sober ones. Like what do they do for a living. Are they teachers, secretaries? Lawyers? Were they in the office just a few hours ago? We’re they sitting in dull meetings answering dull questions and thinking about beads?
On Sunday we went to the York and saw Elliott Caine tear it up. He owns that place when he brings his band in there. It’s all Blue Note stuff, at least in spirit, and the crowd, hip and young and boho and most of them not strictly jazz fans, go nuts. A standing ovation even. At a bar. The band looked astonished. Elliott blushed, I swear. I wish it was like this all over. I wish it was like the old days. I wish and a lot of good that does.
Yesterday we did nothing but think about presidents, all day. You’re supposed to think about Washington and Lincoln, but I wondered about Millard Fillmore and Chester Alan Arthur. Somebody has to.