Old Friends, Drinks and Murder Burgers

Old Friends, Drinks and Murder Burgers

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a few years -- Okay, let me rephrase that. Kwame, Lani, Girlie and Paul should remember the guys who lived downstairs from me and Geo, at our old apartment. Brian, Mike K and Steve were in a band that used the first floor as their studio, while we had the third floor apartment. That house was rockin. Many summer nights were spent hanging out, drink in hand, while the band (and sometimes Geo) jammed. They used to do the craziest shit. Once, I looked out the window and saw them swinging through the backyard on a big ass rope. After I got laid off, they even volunteered their "services" in my scheme to sell my friends for rent money. Is that friendship or what?

We hadn't seen them since before the destructacons were born, so on Saturday night we hit up one of their shows at C-Note in Alphabet City. The band played there frequently but the owner was selling the joint. By the way, closing up a bar and replacing it with a restaurant is just wrong. We're all on the same side here people. You want to close something down, close down a Starbucks or something. I never understood those places that exist solely to sell non-alcoholic liquid.

(L-R) Mike K, Brian, Steve, me, Geo, Steve, Steve, me, Mike K, Mike K, Brian.
And no, I don't know what it is Steve is looking at in every picture.

My favorite part of the night was when Mike J was accosted by some guy with dreads. I thought he was getting hit on, because he started blushing, so I immediately turned my back and pretended I was busy. There's a rule around our friends. We help each other out when one is in moderate distress, but not until we enjoy watching him or her squirm for awhile first. Like when some girl Abel isn't into sweats him, the lights get dimmed and everyone leaves the room for imaginary purposes. But we all come back eventually, after we've had a good laugh at his expense. Same dynamic here.

But the guy wasn't hitting on Mike. He was giving him a drunken history of his ancestors' slavery in the deep south, while Mike sat there pink and squirming like some Jewish pre-Civil-War landowner. Eventually, the guy started quizzing him on his sexual history. He asked when was the last time Mike had slept with a black woman and Mike replied that it had been awhile. Which I wasn't aware of, but thought maybe Mike was lying to appease his new friend. I asked him about it later and he asked if Dominicans counted as black. Which goes back to Kwame and Coleen's long debate on the subject, that I don't remember the resolution to.

Overall it was pretty fun. The guys played a good set and I always love seeing old friends. Plus... is there anything better than greasy ass White Castle after a night of shots? Anything that can be done with limited movement I mean. White Castle food is so roughneck that once it hits your stomach, it kills everything bad around it, so it's the only thing left.