Rockout Friday Nights 2.21.03

I promised a recap of last Friday.

But I've been sleeping, you'll have to forgive me. Curled up in my bed or in front of the television (watching St. John's lose again).

This Pico had to recover, ladies and gentlemen. And from what, you'll ask?

Friday night was to be a celebration of Johnny K's 27 years on this planet in one piece. Good times. He asked me to call some heads to the Upper East. Which gave me pause. Not my kind of town, not my kind of neighborhood. It's like bad news and an advanced case of syphilis rolled into one burrito. But I agreed. Called up a disparate set of folks. Told them to come to the Upper East because... uh... I said so?

People came. I was sad about those who didn't come (and those I didn't see, apologies Julia); those who had to work (that bites, J-Izzo); and those for whom the Upper East mixed with some illin' ass sushi made them want to retch (hope you're upright, Holiday). And then there were those who made it.

Hm. I think I left high school to avoid certain people... but that's neither here nor there. And the Upper East... well, this bar was disturbing. The girls of 2000 seemed to have an okay enough time (thanks for coming) but not as good as the time I had with Silver, Steph, Lori, and AB Luuv.

See, after a pound of drinks and having been subjected to a man who, with one guitar and one forgettable voice blanched every song from Paul Simon to Bob Marley, we were itching for something else. AB Luuv, a late night DJ at [--a popular radio station--], had the answer.

Get some beers. Sit in the air studio. Drink. A lot.

It was 2 AM and as good an idea as any. Music, beer, and an all nighter like we were kids again. Kids in cabs, kids slipping into the empty studios of [--a popular radio station--] and drinking as much as we could. Except we're old and we couldn't drink that much. But we were up all night. Pretending to be the girls from Plainview who really wanted to hear a Coldplay song. Snickering at all of AB Luuv's radio stalkers. Almost answering the guys who called up for a request for Metallica or Pantera and asking, "hey, we're guys partying on a Friday night, what else could be better?" with "maybe some girls, a reason to get up in the mornings, and friends who aren't the same Jersey loser."

I passed out in the studio next door underneath pictures of semi-nude people, transvestites, and perhaps a pair of midgets. We were in the middle of the New York skyline, but the window was tinted and gave a poor indication that the sun was soon to rise... behind the drizzling rainclouds. Of course.

AB Luuv ended his shift at [--a popular radio station--]; we went our separate ways. I got home at 8, maybe 8.30 AM, and asked why my brother was up. Of course, he wakes up early. Actually, I wake early on Saturdays. Usually by 8.30. Not this day. I took my ragged ass to sleep, growled the way through the rest of the afternoon.