well_lahdidah and Nim and I saw Kung Fu Hustle on Saturday night. As we were leaving I saw several people seriously decked out in the lobby. One girl was wearing fishnet stockings. Who gets decked out to see Kung Fu Hustle? Then I realized they were the cast for the Rocky Horror performance.
Somehow we started walking towards the 8-Ball Saloon. It started to rain. On the corner of Main and Liberty, I beckoned them to stop for a moment underneath the entrance to The Parthenon. I wanted them to see some hipsters walk by. Three of them, a guy with two girls in tow, walked by. The guy was wearing almost all white, and had these ridiculous gold plastic fashion sunglasses. At night. I laughed so hard that I fell down and hurt my elbow and wrist a little.
We decided to follow the hipsters. We tried to guess what bar they would go to. Liberty Street? Bab's? The 8-Ball? It looked like they were headed to the 8-Ball when suddenly they stopped at the parking structure at Washington and First and ducked underneath an overhang to stay dry. We were forced to walk past, else look suspicious.
"I don't know," I said. "Part of the appeal of the 8-Ball was that we were following those lame-asses," I said.
"I feel like getting in a fight," well_lahdidah said.
"C'mon, let's get a drink anyway," Nim said.
"Excuse me," I said to a couple passersby, "Could you tell me what year it is?" They ignored me.
We went to the 8-Ball and, much to my dismay, found a steady stream of people going back and forth between The Blind Pig and the 8-Ball. "Oh, this must be the Disco Night that I got a flyer about," Nim said.
I had not been laughing at hipster fashion, but rather at costumes for a costume party! I felt silly, and my wrist still hurt.
Soon we were playing Erotic Photo Hunt. Next to the console, there was a very refined and well-dressed gentleman--who we suspect was wearing cuff-links--probably in his mid-forties, drinking whiskey, neat. I said to well_lahdidah that the 70s dress was far less amusing to me now that I knew it was for a costume party. Well-Dressed Gentleman turned and said, with an English-accent, "It is more humorous to think they are dressed with intentional self-reference, isn't it?" Or something like that. I don't think he mentioned irony. Then he proceeded to assist us with Erotic Photo Hunt until he started chatting up a young woman.
What on earth was this classy English cat doing at the 8-Ball? Perhaps, like everyone else that looked out-of-place to me that evening, he was merely in costume, possibly as Jonathan Pryce?