No one mentioned it, but it strikes me as I type that this would have been my grandmother’s 93rd birthday…
Standard Sunday with minimal activity. I think we may have gone to Wal-Mart. I’m almost sure we ate at one of the cafeterias. My parents eat at cafeterias a lot, as do many people in the south, young and old, black and white. It’s such a strange scene: hundreds of people lining up for cheap food, often with rugrats in tow. It’s much more integrated than you expect the south to be, you always see friends there, and the tea refills are always free (if DIY).
I picked up Jeff at the Metropolitan Rock and Roll Trailer tonight, looked at his new computer, and bonded with Pepper. Then we headed for karaoke night at the Palms. Jeff promised me there would be a dyke there who did AC/DC songs, but she never materialized.
What materialized was Ranger. I was standing at the bar and said to Jeff: “Look, there’s a guy with a purple Mohawk”. This is a pretty uncommon sight in Greensboring.
Jeff replied “Oh, that’s Ranger.”
Ranger, a San Francisco acquaintance of mine who I hadn’t seen in about three years. Probably because he’s been living and going to school in Greensboro for about three years.
Nightlife in Greensboro is undeniably tedious, but I’d forgotten how it can produce strange and wonderful surprises on occasion. This turned out to be one of the best nights out I’ve had in a long time. And with only two beers in my belly, yet.
Jeff, Ranger, and I, along with this other guy we acquired along the way (TJ, a cute but annoying hybrid of slacker and geek) hung out there until the karaoke became overpowering and then went to the Skybar (formerly known as Babylon).
A fun, mildly flirtatious evening. I’m not sure if it was going anywhere less subtle, but even if it was, it wouldn’t have gotten there until about 5AM. I was tired. I went home to sleep and have a nice wank thinking about boys with purple Mohawks and Unix geeks from Massachusetts.
