stranger things have happened
I made friends with a stranger the other night. I was standing on a corner downtown (not that kind of standing, and not that kind of corner) looking up directions and this guy came up, hamburger in hand… “Sorry, do you know where Mercer is?” Funny he should ask, as that’s what I was trying to figure out. Fate? No. Coincidence? More likely.
But this isn’t about fate. Or coincidence, although that would probably be a lot more interesting. It’s not even about how my iPhone totally failed me when I needed it most and despite our best efforts and my inherent lack of direction we got lost. This is actually about how Wednesday somehow became the new Thursday, when Thursday has been masquerading as Friday, so Friday could become the playground of the kind of people that leave early for long weekends somewhere else. Yeah, nice life.
I had dinner with friends at Yours Truly. It’s been getting great reviews and I like the fancy foods. I also hadn’t seen my friends in awhile, and they’re the kind of folks that enjoy a ridiculously fancy plate of edibles, too.
It really is a nice place, although there’s a distinct aroma of hipster in the air. I’m pretty sure that’s why, since I arrived first and on my own, they sort of hid me behind the curtain. Ew, can’t have the sad, lonely looking girl where potential awesome customers might see her and think we cater to that sort. Then my friends showed up. I bet they immediately regretted that decision. “Damn it. She’s one of us…” Yeah! That’s right bitch-es. Undercover hipster, yo! This is a gat damn social experiment, and y’all just failed!
But seriously. It’s all faux (or real?) wood paneling, soft mood lighting, complicated drinks with more than three ingredients and the chefs bring your food to the table. That constitutes a hipsters wet dream. Nothing like rubbing elbows with the “common” folk to make you feel better about yourself, eh?
Witty sarcasm (or bitterness? who knows anymore…) aside, I actually did like this place a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Like, guaranteed I have to go back a lot. On Wednesday’s they only serve a snack menu. There’s only about eight or nine things on the list, but I still found I couldn’t decide on what I wanted, so we got several and split them. Deviled eggs were f*cking outstanding. Like eating a maki roll without the fish, and made of egg… I could handle a plating right now. Also, warm bread (served in a paper bag) and duck fat. Are you drooling? Oh wait, sorry… that’s me again. We also had an incredible lamb flat bread sandwich and Monforte cheese paired with Ospry Bluff’s honey and preserved beets. Ugh. The food insists upon itself but good God is it delicious. I know you’re not supposed to use words like “delicious” when you talk about food. So… it was like a buttery plate of butter that melted in your mouth like butter when it melts. Got the picture?
And instead of going with wine, I opted for one of their signature drinks, a pear concoction that, of course, is *not* on the menu anymore, because they probably print a new one everyday.
After dinner/snacks, I was supposed to meet up with the crew at some event for shoes somewhere. I didn’t really want to go because… well… fashion people. Enough said? But my friends were there, and it was on my way to the last engagement of the night, so I figured I’d stop by. Again, looking like a hobo (not in the hipster way) did me no favors and I was unceremoniously turned away at the door (“How did you hear about the event?” “I just told you, from WORK.”) I keep reminding myself that getting patently offended and contemplating leaving flaming poo on doorsteps is not a mature reaction. Someone else should probably second that, or I’m liable to do it.
It’s here we come to my corner standing and iPhone failure. Ron… at least I think his name is Ron. It could be Mike. I’m terrible with names… and I marched down a dark street in search of the John Candy Box Theater where a friend of mine was having two of her scripts read. She is studying comedy writing, although I think she’s hilarious without the schooling. We proceeded to walk right past it, cross the street and stand in front of the wrong building for five minutes, before being given some probably-seemed-obvious-to-her directions back where we came. Yes. I made us walk down the wrong street. Yes, we asked a couple of old men and they had no idea. Yes, he went into Starbucks and we got several confused looks before someone – a customer – pointed us in the right direction. Just in case you’re ever actively looking, the Box Theater is literally a hole in the wall. Blink and you’ll miss it.
While amateur comedy might not be your thing (it can be hard to watch someone fail so miserably in front of any size crowd of people), I’d recommend going to something like that just once, if only to say you saw him perform before he made it big. Think of all the people saying that about Jim Carrey or Dane Cook (no one says that about Dane Cook). It’s so hipster of them.
My way home took me past the same party that wouldn’t let me in and all my friends had spilled out onto the sidewalk, bobbing, weaving, smoking cigarettes, poking in their free totes and bragging about how many free vodka sodas they consumed. It was cold and they didn’t know what to do with themselves. I knew what I was going to do though, and that was hop on the street car and head straight for sweat pants, the cat, and my warm bed. Sometimes it makes me sad that I’m getting older and I can’t appreciate things like I used to. Sometimes though, I realize I appreciate what’s important just fine.