Hard Day’s Night
A package arrived for me yesterday filled to the brim with books I’ve been salivating over for around, uhh… the dawn of mankind(and try not to be distracted by the pic to your left, kids): “Watchmen” by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (I get a hard-on just thinking about it), “Maus: The Complete Collection” by Art Spiegelman (the sir won a Pullitzer for this one), “The Ultimates” by Mark Millar and Bryan Hitch (Marvel’s Avengers reimagined as a government-sanctioned black-ops team? Shit, don’t mind if I do), “The New Avengers Vol 1: Breakout” by Brian Michael Bendis and David Finch (Spider-Man’s on the team now, bitches!!!), “The Walking Dead Vol 2: Miles Behind Us” (Zombies! The first volume was so great i had to know what happened next), “We3″ by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely (I actually read this yesterday. Nothing short of brilliant… if you ever want to know how a bunny, a dog and a cat operate as the world’s most dangerous weapons sanctioned by the military, you have to read this. I’ll lend it to you. And I know the premise sounds funny, but if you think you’ll be reading a funnybook then you’re sadly mistaken), “Night Fisher” by R. Rikuo Johnson (read many a review praising it), and “The Astonishing X-Men Vol 2: Dangerous” by Joss Whedon and John Cassaday (the volume previous to this one, “Gifted,” was the basis for the mutant cure plotline in “The Last Stand.” Also, Grant Morrison’s final run on X-Men (there are no words to describe how mind-blowing it is) ended with the killing of Jean Grey by, guess who? That’s right, kids. You get a cookie.). So, if I have been waiting so long to chug myself of some awesome comic book goodness, why did I even step out of the house? That’s a great question. Great question indeed, my friend. Actually, the night started out pretty well: went to the movies with SwissDoll and saw “Annapolis.” It’s alright, I suppose… Jordana Brewster would constantly make me melt through the hinges of my seat and Tyrese looks like one angry black man. Anyway, SwissDoll packed it in early with a proper “behave yourself!” and left. I started making my calls since the thirst for beer is strong with this one… Smoth, still hammering budget for the short film he’ll hopefully get to make in the coming weeks was at home, baby at her grandma’s and he’s ready to be taken out so I went, still a little reluctant to not packing my shit and going home to make sweet, sweet love to good books. I dunno what it is about this guy’s headquarters though, but my man should get a fan, fucking mierda, that place was hotter than my ass after eating hot n’ spicy burritos (sorry for putting that picture in your head. I didn’t want it to go that way as much as you didn’t, skipper) and what that did was just increase my yearning for a cold brew… so we went to Calle Uruguay again, with Marco spearheading the idea to meet with his wife at a local bar, “Liverpool,” because there were punk cover bands doing a show… wasn’t in the mood for it but I rolled with the idea; just in case, I called the other members of what I like to call “The Fantastic Four” because, shit… we’re fan-tastic. Whatever. Thing is that they were in the vicinity and the outlook wasn’t good; Smoth met with his wife and her wearing-too-much-black friends and upon quickly scoping the site I saw some elements I didn’t really want to know about (remember how I said that this place is a matchbox? Oh, Marley… then last night everyone decided to hang out at the same fucking area. I found it funny how some ex-girlfriends I saw outside, dressed like they were going to club as per Panamanian Night Life Stipulations, were walking into this place that had Rancid going full blast, the mosh pit almost busting out through the windows.
I leave Smoth with his wife under the pretext that I’d be right back; I also run into Key-K and some friends who were sweaty and drained from the moshing… it looked like it was good times, but I wasn’t up for it. Walked and met up with the others: Bounceddog, Magnus and Walo. They were with some of the girls from the other night… after a quick recap and gathered intel it turns out that the whole area was pretty much crap; the places were full but there was nothing going on for them… we didn’t feel like paying 5-10 bucks for a club if all we’re gonna do is what we did at Anemos, the only “club” that night that wasn’t charging cover and I shit you not, folks… we were watching “Wild On Tampa” on the TV. Seriosuly. The four of us were sitting at the bar, our heads up against the crowd watching the TV hung on the wall. At this point, after being about an hour and a half kicking the sidewalk (by the way, I forgot to mention that Smoth and company decided to leave since Liverpool was charging cover now and they weren’t having it. Me, the idiot, decided to stay) I bought a beer and almost passed out by how good it tasted. I was hot, bothered and fucking perplexed by what was going on… alright, when us four are together we notice 2 things: the girls, and ourselves making fun of other people. It’s brutal, man. Great too, but we could be doing it outside instead on inside where we’re watching TV against a loud music, people-posing background so I chugged my beer and we left the place. Walked up and down and all over… we were bored. Very bored. Time wouldn’t stop for us, though… we pretty much swung by every bar and club in the district except one or two… and as we were approaching the last one to cover, more special appearances started coming out of bars, the bushes, the sewers, from the tree branches and under my fucking shoes. People I was happy to see, people I was uncomfortable with seeing… all walks of this semi-charmed kind of life would pop out and scream, say hello, do the protocol and what not… seriously, I dunno what it is sometimes. Maybe I know too many people or this place is much smaller than I think, and if the latter’s the case then I’m amazed people from other countries can even find us on the fucking map. Whatever, I still wanted a beer… but that sentiment evolved into wanting to get the f-u-c-k outta there so Magnus started pimping the idea of Niko’s… alright, boys and girls, history lesson time.
Niko’s Cafe has been around for centuries. Not really, though… but it’s been around for a long time. It’s the Panamanian equivalent of a Denny’s but it’s a greek restaurant that sells Panamanian food and the breakfast isn’t 24 hours and well I guess it’s not really anything like Denny’s, smartass, but the point of this is to illustrate that it’s become a custom for clubbers, barhoppers and the like to drive on their drunken sturpor to this place at 2 – 4AM and catch some breakfast. I dunno how it is with other people though, but whenever we step into the fucking place it’s like there’s some magic dust in the air or someone’s puffing pot into the ventilation system because we start being obnoxious, going a mile a minute. The banter we have? Yeah, it increases. We’re sharper, meaner and leaner. I have no idea why that is… maybe it’s the food, or it’s the air but who cares… seriously, I hope that place stays open for when the aliens come in and wipe us out. They’ll enjoy the gyros.
I dropped Bounceddog off and got home almost at 4AM. Fucking mierda, 4AM and not a battle scar to show for it. Beer breath? Nope. Cigarrette smell of my shirt? No dice with that, either. Just a hyperventilation feeling that frustrated the fuck outta me. For a guy that needs his required 37 hours of sleep a day but only get 2 or 3, I’m feeling pretty good but my soul is crushed. I never thought I’d actually want beer breath and cigarrette smoke on my clothes but sweet pappy, it’s part of the guidelines that I should barely be able to walk if I get home at 4AM, if I get home at all. I’m young, handsome, charming and wanna have myself some fun, dammit! Call me conceited, and I’ll call you a jackass. Sorry for the unnecesary roughness, but seriously I just can’t wrap my head around the concept of not finding anything worthwhile! I’ve looked into myself and I see I’m beginning to slow down; as it turns out, I don’t yearn for fast times as much as I did say, 2 years ago. I love to get smashed, though. And I love having some fun and we just can’t seem to find it over at these clubs and bars. I like places like Liverpool and Unplugged where you can hang out and talk and listen to good music and bands and whatever, but I see that whenever the Fantastic Four is assembled we’re going on all cyllinders, and in order to go on all cyllinders we need women. Hell, alright, we don’t need women but as I’ve stated earlier, if we could be able to go into a club and walk up to whatever girl and talk and dance with her without any problems then this wouldn’t even be an issue; give it to the socially retarded night life to shoot you in the foot with that. So, as it turns out we fall prey into the same protocols that destory any prospects of wholehearted fun: we have our own tight knit group and it’s composed of men. Now, I like to dance. Not as much as I like to drink, but I like to dance. BUT, just like Dane Cook points out, I’m not gonna go to the guys and say “dude… I just wanna dance. Let’s go out and dance, bro.” Fuck you and fuck that. I don’t think it’s a macho thing as much as it is a heterosexual thing. I don’t dance with guys, period. Hell, why are we even discussing this?! Point is that we have many a supporting characters and special guests in our little show, but we’re always the constant. Now, I have my own personal views on the subject but those will be for another day (read: when it pisses me off) but the fact stands that there have been many a pointless ventures such as this one lately. Maybe we’re cheap and don’t wanna pay a cover charge and it’s cramping our style. Maybe we should shut up and trump the system, pretending we’re anywhere but here and walk up to girls without worrying about certain things as ground, jealous male friends, and their own inadequacies and prejudices of having a random guy walk up to them to talk.
Japan’s playing tomorrow against fucking Croatia. I hope these guys win. They have it in them… I dunno what’ll happen this weekend. I have some stuff pending and apparently everyone and their mom thinks I’m Big Poppa and is asking for money for various reasons. Oh! And before I leave you, I’d just like to wish the fathers in the fold a very happy Father’s Day. It’s BBQ time.
The pics were taken from the Best Pics of 2005 Thread and the Daddy Yankee Concert Thread, respectively, from DeAlante.com. I just put them there because night life, for some reason, is summed up to this for A LOT of people. And besides, I like boobies. Get off your high horse, too… you love them boobies too, you sly monkey, you!
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